I remember the exact moment I first took her hand – fifteen years ago, in a smoky bar where her laughter hit me deeper than any whiskey. Now she sat across from me by the fireplace of our country house, the firelight dancing on her cheeks, and time melted into a smooth disc where only this one evening mattered. My cock was already getting hard as I watched her, how the light traced her curves, how her breasts breathed beneath the velvet dress.
The Silence Between Us
The table was set, candles flickered, the red wine breathed in the decanter. Outside, November rain beat against the windows, and inside it smelled of wood smoke and the fine lavender scent of her skin – that scent that could still bring me to my knees in a second and make my cock stiff as steel. She wore a dark green velvet dress that bared her shoulders, and the thin gold band I had given her for our wedding. Her fingers played with the stem of her glass, and her gaze rested on me, older and deeper than any words we had ever spoken. I could see her nipples outlined beneath the fabric, hard and ready.
“Do you remember our first anniversary?” she said softly. “We slept in this room, and you wrote me a love letter.”
I nodded. “You still have it.” I thought about how I had fucked her back then, for hours, until we both lay exhausted and dripping with sweat in the bed.
“Of course. It’s in the box beside the bed.” Her smile still had that one quirk, that slightly crooked twist that made my heart stumble every time. “We were so crazy back then. Couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”
“Aren’t we anymore?” My hand wandered unconsciously to my crotch, where my cock was already pressing against my pants.
She set down her glass, stood up, and came around the table. Her steps were soft on the floorboards, the dress rustled, and when she stood before me, she placed her hand on my cheek. The touch was warm, her fingers trembling slightly. I felt my cock twitch as she looked at me with those dark, hungry eyes.
“We are,” she whispered. “We just forget sometimes.” Her hand slid lower, over my chest, my stomach, until it rested on my crotch, directly on my hard cock. “I haven’t forgotten you,” she breathed.
I pulled her onto my lap, her legs wrapping around my hips, and for a moment we just held still, feeling each other breathe, the heartbeat slowly synchronizing. Her ass pressed against my stiff cock, and I could feel the warmth of her wet cunt through the fabric. The rain outside grew louder, the fire crackled, and I buried my face in her hair, inhaling her scent like a drowning man, while my hands glided over her body.
The First Touch
My hands slid over her back, the soft seam of the velvet, and then lower, to her ass, which nestled firmly into my palms. I kneaded her plump cheeks, felt them tense under my fingers. She sighed, and her breath was warm against my ear. “I want to feel you,” she said, her voice rough with lust. “Not just the everyday. You. Your cock inside me.”
I lifted her up, carried her to the bedroom – our bedroom, which we had furnished years ago, with the wide oak bed and the white linen sheets. The rain now drummed against the windows, and the room lay in semi-darkness, only the glow from the fireplace casting flickering shadows. I laid her on the bed, knelt beside her, and looked at her. Her eyes were dark in the twilight, her pupils wide with desire, and her chest rose and fell faster. I could see the wet spot on her dress, where her cunt was already pressing against the fabric.
“I love you,” I said, and the words felt new, as if I were saying them to her for the first time, while my hand was already pushing up her skirt.
“I know,” she replied, and it didn’t sound arrogant, but like a promise. “Show me. Fuck me. Hard.”
I leaned over her, kissed her mouth, slowly, exploring, as if I had to rediscover her lips. She opened to me, and her tongue met mine, a first, hesitant game that quickly gained intensity. My hand found the zipper of her dress, pulled it down, and the velvet released her skin, baring her shoulders, her breasts that peeked out from under the thin lace bra. I tore the bra aside and her breasts fell out, full and heavy, with hard, dark nipples that craved my mouth. I kissed her neck, the hollow at her collarbone, and felt her tremble. Then I took a nipple between my teeth and bit down gently.
“Ah, yes!” she moaned, and her back arched. “More, bite me harder!”
I obeyed, nibbling and sucking on her hard tip, while my hand massaged the other breast, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger. She grew wet beneath me, I could smell it, that sweet, heavy scent of her aroused cunt.
“Your hands are so cold,” she whispered laughing, but her laugh broke off as I put my lips to her nipple and sucked hard. She arched her back, pressing herself toward me, and I took the tip between my teeth, nibbling gently until she gasped and buried her fingers in my hair. I let my hand wander lower, over her belly, to the waistband of her panties, which were already soaked.
“Take me off,” she begged, and I obeyed, stripping the bra and dress from her body until she lay naked before me, in the flickering light, with pale skin and dark shadows. I tore her panties down and her wet, shaved cunt lay open before me, the labia swollen and moist, a thin thread of juice dripping onto the sheet. I let my gaze wander over her, over the curves I knew so well and that still surprised me every time. Her legs were spread wide, and between them it glistened wet, inviting, ready for my cock.
The Foreplay of Hands
I undressed slowly, while she watched me, with a hungry expression that made me harder. When I was naked, my cock stood stiff and erect, the glans glistening wet, a thick drop of precum beading at the tip. She licked her lips when she saw it. I lay down beside her, and my hand wandered over her belly, lower, until I found the wet warmth between her thighs. She moaned softly, as if the touch sent electricity through her body.
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