His big hands slide around, one moving down my body and the second up. He gently pulls me back so that I’m standing in front of him, my ass still pressed back into him. His left hand cups my breast, tweaking and playing with my nipple until it’s so hard it’s almost painful. His right hand finds pay dirt between my legs, gliding easily through the wetness coating my clit. The moment he presses into it, I see stars.
“You tighten around me when I do this,” he whispers against my ear, continuing to thrust his hips forward, filling me to the max.
I don’t know what to focus on. The hand on my nipple, the one on my clit, or the fact his bare cock is driving me straight to orgasm. Probably a combination of all of it.
“You’re going to make me come,” I tell him, needing to lean forward once more. He doesn’t stop me as I place my hands on the armrest of the couch and bear down. Arching my back, he seems to hit just where I need him to.
With one arm still wrapped around my waist so he can toy with my clit, I ride his cock hard until I’m flying over the edge, my orgasm ripping through my body like an exorcist on speed. “Fuck,” I scream, feeling him tense behind me. To help him along—even though I’m pretty sure he’s already there—I reach between my legs and grab his balls, gently stroking them with my palm and fingers.
Samuel roars, my name slipping effortlessly from his lips, as he thrusts hard one last time, emptying himself into my pussy. I don’t stop stroking his balls until he’s shivering and gasping for air. His sweaty chest presses into my back as we both sag together and fall onto the couch.
“Holy shitballs,” I mutter, placing my lips on his forearm.
“Yeah.”
We lie together, a mess of tangled limbs on the small, yet comfortable couch, and try to slow our breathing. The only sound is the occasional car passing by and the steady beat of his heart under my ear. I could easily fall asleep, letting the serenity lull me into the darkness, but I don’t. All I can think about now is how mad he was when he came home.
“I’m sorry I painted your living room without asking if it was okay first,” I tell him, nestling my jaw into the side of his chest.
Samuel sighs. “No, I’m sorry I freaked out the way I did.”
“It’s just so…white and clinical here. I was trying to breathe a little bit of life into the place.”
He’s silent for a few long seconds before he responds. “I get that. It’s just, well, having you here is already pushing me outside of my comfort zone. These changes, they’re just a lot to take all at once.” There’s a pain in his voice, but I know it’s only because he speaks the truth. He’s as anal as they come, so me painting all his stuff is probably a hard pill for him to swallow.
I should have realized that before I did it.
“How about we make a deal,” he starts, running his nose along my forehead and sliding his fingers in my hair. “You can make small, subtle changes while you’re here, but you have to run them by me first, okay? And maybe, start in the guest room?” he says with a chuckle.
Smiling, I reply, “You got it, Sammy. I’ll make sure to ask before I buy the purple bath towels I was looking at and the black light for your bedroom.”
He stiffens around me. “Black light?”
“You know, all the rage back in the day. You can write messages on the walls and then when you turn on the light, the messages appear. I remember we used them in the compound every once in a while. I’m pretty sure the names on Master Leonard’s wall was his sex list, but I tried not to look at it when I went in to gather his laundry. He always left on his black light.”
“That’s…gross.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I brought home dinner,” he finally says, kissing my forehead. “Why don’t we run and get cleaned up and then we can eat.”
“Sounds good. I’m ravenous.”
And not just for food…
***
The days fly by and before I know it, another week has passed. I’ve made very few changes to Samuel’s house, little almost unnoticeable changes, as to not cause him any additional stress. Elma hasn’t been well for more than a week, but insists on going in every day, even though her son, Robert, as well as Samuel have tried to convince her to go home. Personally, I think she’s just tired. The woman has been working that funeral business for decades, and what she really needs is some R&R.
Samuel is working nonstop, putting in late hours at visitations and going in early to prepare for the funerals. It’s all part of the man he is, the one I’ve fallen in love with. He’s driven and committed, giving more of himself than required to make sure the job is done well, and right. He’s so dedicated to his job, but it’s hard to watch him wear himself completely out.
That’s why I’m stopping in for lunch. I have a basket full of fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans, and rolls. I purchased some additional veggie kabobs for me and even some fresh, warm peach cobbler for dessert.
The low hum of a buzzer sounds when I enter the funeral home. I was grateful not to find extra cars in the lot, so I’m not interrupting funeral planning or something. That would be embarrassing.
Before the door is closed behind me, Samuel appears from the office. “Freedom?” he asks, concern written all over his face. “Is everything all right?”
“Oh, yeah, fine,” I tell him, holding up my basket of goodies. “I brought lunch.”
“Lunch?” He seems completely perplexed by this scenario.
“Yep, you know, food? I thought
