Morning

The coat hung open over a black tee. Coffee was in my hand. The clogs were by the door and my feet were bare on the tile. Matt sat on the counter in his shorts, hair ridiculous. He cooks somewhere else. He is my boyfriend, which means he knows when to stay out of my mise and when to put himself in my hands. Before I poured a second cup he said, Will you lead again. I want your hands. I want to be told. I set the coffee down where it could not spill on either of us. I said yes.

I stepped between his knees and slid the shorts off. His cock was half hard, then not half at all, once I wrapped him. Slow morning strokes. A splash of oil from the bottle by the lemons, practical, not a performance. Hands on the counter, I said. He put them there. I kissed him with coffee still on my tongue. The stroke stays mine. He nodded. I edged his cock while the kitchen ticked and cooled, stopping when his thighs went tight, starting again when his breath dropped. Good. You know what my morning is. Stay in it.

I climbed onto his lap, tee on, underwear pulled aside, and took his cock in my cunt. I fucked him lazy and deep and kept his hands on the counter until I wanted them on my ass. Then I said so, and not before. He held on, grateful, and I still set the pace. When I wanted more I put his wrist where I needed it and set his fingers on my clit. Circles. Do not speed up until I speed up. He matched me. I came with a hoarse sound I would never let out during service, forehead to his, cunt tight on his cock.

I stayed on him and finished the job with short rolls of my hips, one hand around the base of his cock, my mouth at his ear. Cum. I want it in my cunt. He fucked his cum into my cunt. At the last second I had put his hands back on the counter, and he kept them there, obedient and wrecked. We did not hurry after. I reached the coffee. It was still hot. I drank and then gave him the cup. The clogs stayed by the door. His cheek stayed on my collarbone.