He looks at me like Iβm the only woman on earth.
And maybe thatβs why I give him everything.
I know Iβm older.
My skin has stories, my body isnβt what it was at twenty.
But that doesnβt matter.
Because Iβve learned how to love β how to give β in ways I never knew back then.
And now, I crave the way he melts under my touch.
Tonight, I wear something soft. Loose. No bra. Just silk against skin. I catch his stare as I stretch on the bed, toes pointed, legs crossed, smiling with that slow confidence he says drives him crazy.
βYou want me?β I ask softly.
He nods, already breathless.
I start with my feet.
Heβs always loved them β the way I slide them up his thighs, tease him with my toes, stroke him slow and deliberate while keeping eye contact. I press against him gently, curling around him, watching him tense beneath the pressure.
"You like that?" I whisper, voice low.
His eyes close. His hips twitch. I know every reaction.
And I give him more.
Soon, I lean down and take him into my mouth β warm, wet, steady β sliding my tongue in slow, loving circles, moaning softly just to let him feel the sound. His hands find my hair. Not to control. Just to hold. To anchor.
I take him deep. I love that stretch. That fullness. The way my throat tightens, my lips swell, my jaw aches β and I donβt stop. Not when he whispers my name. Not when he trembles. I want all of it.
And then I climb on top of him.
I guide him inside me β slow, wet, deep. I roll my hips with that slow, practiced rhythm that always unravels him. My breasts bounce freely, sweat gathers in the curve of my back, and I moan like a woman whoβs been loved for yearsβ¦ and still wants more.
He tries to grab my hips, to take control β but I donβt let him.
I slow down, lean in, kiss his neck.
Then I shift.
I let him slip out, change the angle, lift my hips just right β and guide him into my tightest place. He gasps. I bite my lip and push down, inch by inch, until Iβm full again. Stretched. Shaking. Completely owned.
And I ride him like that.
Full of him. Loving it. Giving him everything.
When he finally lets go β body jerking, voice rough, breath gone β I hold him through it, kiss his chest, whisper praise against his skin.
Because Iβm not just giving him pleasure.
Iβm showing him what it means to be worshipped by a woman who knows exactly what sheβs doingβ¦ and why sheβs doing it.
All of me.
Always.
ghostbeetle
2025-05-14 17:45:47 +0000 UTC