The Flat

17

Somewhat shook up, I swallowed and tried not to drop the ring down the sink. Hands trembling, I put the blue box back in its place. My heart was thumping hard. I positioned Aaron's shampoo back on the shelf. Forfeiting washing my hair, I took a quick shower and returned to the bedroom thereafter to join Aaron in bed.

By the time I woke up, Aaron was out of bed. I strode down the hallway and saw that he was cooking supper. I relaxed against the doorway and tried to enjoy the sight of him, carefully and methodically fiddling with the pan.

He had his apron on. How sweet, just like him. I could see it now: no potato salad was going to get the better of Aaron. I should enjoy this. This was my life now. I refused to think much about it. As a matter of fact, I didn't want to think at all. Because the moment I let myself ponder, I knew I'd question every decision I've made that has led to this kitchen. And I didn't want that.

Aaron was barechested, apart from the apron, just cooking in jeans. It did something to me, the sight of his back, the muscles shifting under the skin as he moved. Lust began to tug at me, mingling with the overwhelming sensations I'd been feeling all day. I needed the escape. Perhaps this was who I had become, using sex to avoid addressing my unresolved feelings.

I padded up behind him and slid my hands round his waist, kissing his shoulderblades, and then started to brush his crotch through the denim.

"Hey, cut it out," he said.

I ignored him and silently slipped out of my night shirt. Then began to brush across his spine with my nipples. He groaned, immediately becoming erect beneath my hands.

I started to unbutton his fly and rubbed him gently through his boxers. He moved with me, trying to press himself against my hands. I tickled and stroked him lightly for a minute or so, and when I felt him thickening and distending under my touch, I smartly withdrew and backed towards the kitchen table. Then I slowly wriggled out of my knickers, starting to touch myself.

"Babe," he breathed, his hard-on likely chafing against his blue jeans.

He looked like he wanted to be where my fingers were. To come where my fingers were. But he sensed I wanted something else first and he came towards me, ripping off his jeans to free his swollen cock, and dropped to his knees, burying his face in my centre, hearing me groan.

He started to kiss me softly, marvelling at how wet I was, and when he felt her thighs relax slightly, he began to lick in slow, sure strokes, aiming to please.

Oh god, I thought.

I reached down and moved his head, arrogantly guiding him for my pleasure. When he sensed I was close, he grabbed my hands in his hair and pinioned it behind my back, as if to tell me to hold it off.

He shivered with desire, watching my astride him, her breasts swaying, my mouth suddenly determined and lustful, crashing down on his. I loosened my ponytail and was brushed his cock with my hair, in long, sweeping caresses, stroking him with a million feathery touches. I felt desire and surprise rip through him. Then I grabbed him with my right hand and positioned myself, slick and open, above him.

"Do you want it? Tell me how much you want it," I whispered.

He stared up at me, aroused and amused.

"Or I guess I could just leave you here," I teased.

"No! I want it, OK. Just fuck me, damn it," he gasped, and I smiled, lowered myself on to his straining cock and flung my head back, my body arching. He exploded inside me a second later while I still rode him for a few seconds, finding my release.