Fantasy Fulfilled

"Daniel."

He was in the kitchen when he heard her call, waiting for the coffee maker.

He went into the living room to find her sitting on the couch, legs crossed, and his eyes were drawn to her thighs, bare and pale and smooth beneath her skirt. Her short skirt. Her very short skirt.

She never wore skirts that short. Unless...

She was looking at him with a very sly smile. "Will you help me with something?" She spread her legs, and--

Oh, God. He felt himself grin. This was his fantasy, the one he'd told her about last week. She wasn't wearing any panties.

God, the look she was giving him--that lustful, hungry glint in her eye always drove him crazy. She raked her nails lightly up her bare thighs, hiking up her skirt even farther, and he felt his cock beginning to grow heavy.

She glanced down at his groin, and looked up again with a self-satisfied smirk, leaning back against the cushions and spreading her thighs wider.

He walked over to the couch, trying to ignore the discomfort of his hardening cock pressing against his tight jeans. Standing over her, he unzipped his jeans and felt instant relief, his erection no longer pushing against the hard denim. Not enough relief, though.

She pressed her hand against the bulge in his boxers, and he groaned softly with the sensation of her hand on his shaft, warm even through the fabric.

"Mm, fuck me, Daniel. Please." Her breathy tone made his dick throb even harder.

He shoved his jeans and boxers down just enough to pull his fully-hard cock out, and he straddled her body, kneeling on the couch cushions.

She welcomed him, her hands on his ass, pulling him closer, and he shuddered as his cock pressed up against her slick, wet warmth.

"You want me?" he asked her, face buried in her sweet-smelling hair, his hands running up and down the smooth skin of her thighs as his cock throbbed insistently. It took every ounce of self-restraint not to push inside her right then. But he wanted to hear her say it first.

"Uhn, God, yes," she said, her voice a groan, a desperate plea. "God, fuck me." She pulled him against her body, tilting her face up to look into his eyes.

He kissed her, his mouth pressing hard against hers, her lips opening to him, and she pushed against him with just as much hunger. Her hands kneaded his ass, her hips grinding against his.

He had to have her now.

He lined the tip of his cock up with her slick entrance, and looking down into her eyes, he pushed himself inside her, feeling her deep groan of satisfaction against his neck as he filled her.

God, she was so warm, so tight around him, and she bucked beneath him, pulling his hips against her body.

He began to move, slowly at first, back and forth, pulling almost out of her and pushing forward again so gently because he knew it drew the sexiest moans out of her, made her body tense up beneath him, made her throw her head back against the cushions. He kissed her exposed throat, the pulse point pounding beneath his lips and his tongue.

He let his hands slip up underneath her skirt, caressed the soft flesh of her hips. God, that was his favourite thing about her body: the fullness of her hips, wide and curvy and sexy and so female.

He felt her buck again, groaning impatiently, and he realised he'd stopped thrusting, too distracted.

Feeling a sudden pressure around his cock, he dug the tips of his fingers into her hips, riding out the sudden burst of pleasure. If he was taking too long she would clench herself around him, her way of teasing him, telling him enough was enough, and she wanted it now.

He thrust into her harder, and she moaned as she pushed forwards to meet him, tilting her hips so that his cock pushed deeper inside her.

As he drove into her he buried his face against her shoulder, inhaling lilac body wash and the deeper, more subtle scent that was her, and no one else. The one that lingered on her pillow, in her clothes, in her hair.

The noises she made were so familiar: the deep, rhythmic exhalation on every downstroke, peaking with a soft moan as he buried himself deep inside her body, and every sound made him want to drive himself into her harder, faster; brought out the raw, animal urge in him to take her, have her, fuck her.

Over, and over, and over, and over; harder, and faster, and deeper.

He could always tell when her climax was close, because her quiet moans took on a higher pitch, became more insistent, like a desperate prayer for release.

It wouldn't be long.

He could hold out this time. He could.

He thrust again, holding himself back; and again, and again, and again...

And she keened softly, finally, her muscles clenching around his cock, buried deep inside her, her breath coming out in a rush. Her whole body tensed beneath him, fingers digging into the flesh of his ass, and he let himself go, let himself come inside her as she clung to him, her body frozen in that moment of sheer pleasure.

He collapsed against her body, panting, and he could feel her chest heaving beneath his own. He eased back just slightly, putting enough of his body weight on his knees so that he wasn't crushing her, and he brushed her tousled hair away from her face, tucked it behind her ear.

She leaned up to kiss him, and he met her lips gently, chaste after the primal lust that had consumed them minutes earlier.

When she pulled back she smiled back at him, her eyes half-hooded with lazy satisfaction, trusting and affectionate.

"Thanks, Catherine. For doing that."

She leaned up and kissed him again, quick and soft, and when she pulled back, there was a warm half-smile on her lips. "My pleasure."