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To have the cushioned feeling of being adored.

I embraced him, splaying my palms on his back and resting my
cheek on his chest. His heart beat wildly, a manic rhythm that matched mine, as
though we both anticipated what was to come. We knew I would give it a try,
that I’d utter words I hadn’t spoken in years, in a voice that was husky and
all kinds of sexy.

We just had to wait for
me
to fully come back. She was
there, simmering below the surface, filling my mind with all manner of filthy
things—she just needed that extra push to come out, that was all.

“Tell me. Remind me what I used to say,” I whispered. I held my
breath, knowing I would blush when he recited words from the past. How had I
become so...boring? So shy?

“Ah, that’s easy. I’ll never forget.” He held me tighter, his
warmth oozing into my skin like the heat of bath water. “Some days I sit and
remember, think about the old days and wish—”

“That I was like that again?”

Oh, God. I’ve made him as boring as me, having to turn to
daydreams in order to get his jollies. How long has he been thinking of the
past?

He took a moment before he answered. Weighing up how to phrase
it, I’d bet.

“Not necessarily that, no. Just wishing that you’d let yourself
go every so often. Not be so good all the time.”

“Good?” I lifted my head and stared up at him, into dark brown
eyes that melted my knees with their long, thick black lashes. “Is that what I
am now? Good?”

God, I
was
boring. I’d slipped into that rut people
talked about. The one where the wife became staid and unyielding in the
bedroom. Where a bed was just for sleeping, maybe a quick fuck once a month.
The rut I’d always vowed never to get into. But that rut was deep; it went so
far down that I couldn’t see over the damn top when it came to talking dirty. I
bristled, knowing exactly what he meant, knowing I ought to keep my mouth shut
because I’d let things spill out that weren’t intended for him. No, what I
wanted to say was a torrent of sentences berating myself, and I couldn’t do
that, not in front of Jacob. He said it hurt him when I put myself down. Like a
physical pain deep inside. If I ranted now, I’d do so knowing I’d upset him.

He stroked my face with both hands, staring down at me as
though I was the most precious thing to walk the planet, and I felt wretched.
For letting him down. Becoming ‘one of those women’. For allowing
us
to
change.

“Tell me,” I said, disliking the begging tone that rimmed the
words. “Come on. Tell me what I used to say. Help me say it again.”

I was desperate now, truly desperate to recapture what we’d
once had. The thought of how we’d been lately... God, it was shameful. I wanted
to say the words so badly, but something blocked their exit. They were all
there in my head; delicious, filthy sentences that would make any grandmother’s
toes curl; ones I’d read in a book many years ago, yet when I opened my mouth
to force them out, they lodged in my throat. Frustration added to desperation
made me whimper. I felt so helpless, useless, a stupid, insecure bundle of
nerves.

He smiled, a stretch of those beautiful lips that showed his
straight teeth, all except the one canine that stuck out a little. “Let me see.
What did you used to say...?”

My heart contracted with love for him. He was doing what he
always did—making everything okay again. Taking the pressure off me and
having the burden on
his
shoulders. How the hell had I been so lucky to
find him, to keep him? My eyes stung, and I blinked, swallowed hard and prayed
the tears wouldn’t fall.

He glanced up at the ceiling, a teasing gesture that had me
wanting to grasp him around the neck and force his gaze back to me. I wanted to
reach up and touch the knobbly scar beside his eye, to brush my thumb down his
cheek. His pretence of being deep in thought drove a spike of new frustration
into my gut, yet I smiled, because as well as doing this for me, he was playing
with me. Enjoying it, too.

“Fuck my cunt,” he said, lowering his head so his gaze met mine
again. “Fuck my cunt, that’s what you used to say. Jacob, come over here and
lick my wet pussy.” He brushed his lips over mine. “Remember that?”

I blushed—damn it, I knew I would—and memories came
flooding back. Me on the bed with my legs open wide, my clit aching, throbbing,
the need for him to lick it, suck it into his mouth, so strong it took my
breath away. Me bending over the bed, hands on the mattress, feet apart on the
rug, begging him to
fuck my cunt
from behind. I’d said those words and
more, my God I had, but could I say them again?

He continued. “Jacob, suck my nipples. God, yes, suck them
harder. Suck them until they hurt. That’s it, baby, bite them. Hold them
between your teeth and pull. Harder. Fuck, Jacob, fuck I’m so wet...”

And I was wet now. As I shifted slightly from foot to foot, my
labia glided and juices seeped, dampening my inner thighs. My channel clenched,
a sharp spasm that coincided with my clit expanding. I dug my nails into his
back, drawing them down to his buttocks, and counted to ten. He kissed the top
of my head, his hands exploring, casting warming circles on my arse. We stood
this way for what seemed a long time, me rolling those words around in my head
to test them; see how they sounded years after I’d last spoken them.

“Fuck my cunt,” I whispered, tasting the delicious filth of
those words on my tongue. “Suck my nipples,” said with a little more courage
and a little less embarrassment.

“Just a bit louder, love. I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

I knew he had, knew he was doing what he always did.
Encouraging me. Letting me know I could do anything I wanted if I put my mind
to it. I lifted my head, a surge of desire swelling my folds, and swallowed the
last of my nervousness.

“Do it, Jacob,” I said, staring straight at him, a challenge to
myself to see this through. “Fuck my cunt and suck my nipples. Hard.”

In what seemed less than half a second, Jacob had spun me
around and pressed my back to the window. His big hands were firm and
determined and radiated brute strength, the action just rough enough to send
yet another wave of giddy excitement through me—that damn book again.

The thick, tempered glass was cold, a shock of ice that brought
more goosebumps. My heart was beating so hard and so fast that the sound of my
pulse drowned everything out except the rasping of our breath. It was the
accompaniment to the dull thuds, a sexy scratch of noise that scuffed the air,
our own form of music.

“Fuck, it’s good to hear you’re back,” he said, bending his
head to lick up and down the column of my neck. “I’ve missed you.”

God, I’d really let things go, hadn’t I? There was no time to
ponder that now, because his wet tongue was working wonders on my libido,
preventing anything other than what he was doing from filling my mind. His
breath heated my skin, raising the hairs on the back of my neck, and a small
shiver went through me. It spread inside and out, encompassing me as though it
were a live being coming out of hibernation. It left me giddy and hyper-alert,
sensitive to everything related to heat—the mugginess of our close
proximity, the slowly warming glass at my back and arse, the hotness where our
bellies and chests touched.

I clutched his arse, massaging with slow kneads, pulling him
towards me a little more so his erection pressed against my lower belly. He was
so much taller than me, and the need to have that hard length between my folds
prompted me to place my arms around his neck and stand on tiptoe.

“I need to feel your cock on my cunt,” I said into his ear,
more forcefully than I’d intended. I was still trying on my old self, seeing if
it fit me these days, and for a pleased moment I realised it did.

Very well.

Bolder, I went on. “Need it rubbing up and down my slit. Wet
from my juices. You like that, right? Yeah, you like it, don’t you, Jacob?” I
smiled a small smile as he stiffened further, and it gave me courage. “Fuck,
yes, you like your cock covered in my wetness. Like me licking it clean.” I
raised one leg, bent at the knee, indicating I wanted him to pull me, hold me
over his rigid length. “Come on, Jacob. Lift me up so I can press my sopping
pussy against you.”

His sharp intake of air made my smile grow wider, and a stutter
of breath huffed out of his mouth and onto my neck. I had him right there,
right where I wanted him, and it hadn’t taken much effort at all.

Back into the swing of things, growing more daring by the
second, and adoring the fact that he was loving my words so much, I said, “I
want to get off just by sliding up and down. Just from your fat, wide cock head
brushing my clit.” The thought of it snatched the air from my lungs for a
moment, but I recovered quickly enough to say, “And you remember when we did
that before, don’t you? Yes, you remember. You came too, my pressure dragging
down your foreskin...”

“Jesus, Karen. You’re fucking killing me here.”

He lifted me, settled my slit against his cock, and grabbed my
arse. Pressing down, he applied light force and, my God, I could’ve come just
from that. I buried my head in the crook of his neck, willing myself to calm
down. It was difficult, though—my clit throbbed in time with my heart,
and that thought returned, the one about someone using binoculars, and I found
myself more turned on than ever. This wasn’t indecent exposure, it was
decent—
fabulous, exciting and off-the-charts hot.

Not being so ‘good’ now, was I?

He began to move, sliding and rubbing through my slick folds. I
hooked one ankle over the other and gripped as best I could, thankful that he
was holding me so tight. I was weak with desire—all my energy had been
diverted to my cunt. All I could think of was the pressure of his shaft working
over my clit and the sensation of my pussy moistening further for him. It was
so wet I imagined it dripping down my thighs, trickling to my knees and soaking
onto the plush carpet.

“Talk to me some more,” he demanded, his lips just touching my
left temple. “God, talk to me some more, love. Talk dirty, talk filthy,
whatever comes into your head, just say it. I want to hear it. I want to hear
all of it.”

A whole host of words tumbled through my mind. Foul, rank
words, utterances suitable for porn films or worse. Words I wouldn’t have said
to him before when we’d talked dirty. But we were older now, life had moved on.
We had been through so much together.

As though my inhibitions had become as transparent as the
window I was pressed against, I suddenly found it easy to let loose these new
words. This was Jacob—I could say anything and it would be okay.

I took a deep breath; surprised by how husky my voice sounded
when I started to speak. “Your cock is like a steel rod fucking against my
clit. But I want more. I want you to ram it anywhere you want. Take me and do
whatever you want with my body, Jacob. I’m yours. What I want doesn’t
matter—this is all about you and sating your needs.”

He grunted, and, although he kept one hand tight on my arse, he
slid the other upwards and tangled it in my hair, squashing it between my crown
and the glass pane. He pulled me closer, my head and my arse, as if he couldn’t
get near enough despite the fact that the fronts of our bodies were connected
completely.

“Yes, that’s it, harder, rougher,” I gasped. “Do whatever you
want. I’m just a rag doll. I’m here for your pleasure. It doesn’t matter what I
feel. Hurt me, overpower me, drag me to hell with your most primitive desires
and fuck me into oblivion. To a place that’s so dark and hot that I won’t even
remember my own name. You own my cunt, my mouth, my...my arsehole. It’s all
yours. Fuck me harder, Jacob, so much harder!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said, easing his head back to look
at my face.

His eyes were wild and flashing; swirling vats of lust. It
thrilled me utterly to see something so new and exciting in irises I’d stared
into so many times, and knew like the back of my own hand.

“I’ve got to get inside you, now,” he groaned. He bent his
knees and shoved his cock deep into my cunt.

I cried out at the forceful stretch of his invasion, but he
silenced me with a savage kiss, his open mouth hot and wet and frantic. Against
my cheek his breath was hard and fast as he pistoned his hips back and forth.
Squeaks from my sweat-damp skin rubbing on the window filled my ears, and I had
a fleeting mental image of what my soft, pale body must look like from the
outside—my flattened arse pressed to a bloodless white with a big, hairy
hand digging into the left cheek and creating dents. My pussy and the dark
cleft of my anus exposed and my spine and shoulders shifting with the force of
his thrusting.

Gasping for air around our passionate kiss, I locked my hands
at his nape. My pussy squeezed him tight, building up to a fantastic orgasm. I
remembered how much I enjoyed fucking while we were standing. His rock-hard
pubic bone bashed into my clit so perfectly, dragging it upwards with each
sublime thrust. Why had we gone for missionary so many times over the last few
years when this was so divine? What else had we forgotten that was so good?