Saturday silk

Saturday morning and the phone is on the windowsill while I say this before the day gets opinions. The navy blouse is on the chair from last night. I am in the silk robe, open, over the lingerie I did not take off, lace a little crooked, bob still holding its line. Brett knocked even though he slept here. Habit. I like it. I said come in. He stood in the light with two cups and looked at me until I laughed and told him to put the cups down and touch my cunt.

He set them on the sill and asked where. I said the lace first, then under it. His palms were careful on the silk, then surer when I nodded. He kissed my throat and told me I looked like a secret he was allowed to know. Romance with him is not vague. It is that sentence, and the way he waits. I opened the robe wider and guided his hand onto my cunt. I was already wet for a fuck. I said I woke up wanting your cock. He said then we do not hurry.

He sat on the edge of the bed and I straddled him, lingerie pulled aside, silk sliding off one shoulder. I took his cock into my cunt and stayed deep, rocking, forehead to forehead. He told me my cunt felt like heat and silk and that he loved watching my face. I asked him to keep his eyes open. I came like that, shaking, robe tangled at my elbows, and I did not climb off his cock. I said your turn, I want your cum. He held my hips and fucked up into my cunt until he came, gasping my name into my shoulder. We drank the coffee after, my legs still around him, his thumb stroking the strap on my thigh. I am leaving the blouse on the chair. Saturday can have the silk a little longer.