As if I’m seeing it for the first time.
All the nice things, all the big and expensive things. All for her.
And plenty of empty rooms that are waiting to be filled with the kind of screams I wanna hear.
The hungry cry of little babies. Our babies.
Making my way to the kitchen, I fix us both something simple to eat. A couple of big plates of cold cuts, salad, and some leftover chicken.
Half wondering if I should wait but end up refueling myself as I stand naked in front of the refrigerator.
The taste of her still on my tongue, even mixed with a little of my own efforts makes it the most nourishing meal I’ve ever had.
“You gonna save me some?” she asks, and I turn my instantly grinning face to meet hers.
She’s standing in the doorway of the kitchen wearing nothing but one of my shirts, with just one button done up.
“I made you a plate,” I tell her. My mouth full of food, but already knowing what would make it taste even better.
She floats over to me silently. Kind of bobbing and then wincing a little. Like she’s stepped on a tack.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, forgetting the food and moving over to her.
Holding her close to me and feeling her body shake, I ask her again. Firmer.
“Megan, what is it?” I ask.
But she’s giggling quietly.
“Oh, ya know… just trying to move around after being fucked senseless by the most amazing man alive….,” She sighs.
I hum a growl in reply. Grabbing a drumstick and bringing it to her mouth.
“Eat,” I command. And she does.
Holding the drumstick in my hands as she moves her mouth over it.
Her hands cupping all they can manage of mine and her sweet mouth taking the round, glistening meat in a way that only reminds me of one thing.
That mouth over my throbbing cock.
The hunk of meat between my legs pulsing to life at the sight of it.
Jesus, she’s fucking incredible.
She looks up at me, half gnawing, half sucking the meat until I can’t take it anymore.
Her mouth wet with grease, saliva, and most likely a little more of what I tasted earlier.
I think the double strength semen is a perfectly good color scheme for the living room… Don’t you honey?
Scooping her up in one movement, the food dropping to the floor, I tell her food can wait.
“But you just said to eat,” she says, wanting to pout, but when my hand slides up between her thick thighs it’s clear she’s on a special diet.
She can have whatever she wants, but she has to eat something starting with a ‘D’, during or after whatever else she’s having.
And I’ve already upsized her meal, which is hot and ready for delivery.