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Do you know the best thing about being with a man like my fiancé?

He knows exactly what a woman wants, fulfils her sexual fantasies. He knows exactly what to say, how to act, where to touch and when to stop…or not stop.

The game of cat and mouse is his specialty.

And today, I’m the mouse.

I’m exiting my afternoon meeting when my phone alerts me to a message and I open it up.

‘Taxi is outside. Bring your umbrella.’

Taxi? I’m working, I can’t just leave. Umbrella? Why would I need a—the downpour outside makes me roll my eyes.

‘Now. I’m waiting, baby.’

He’s waiting for me when he should be working. He’s planned this and my stomach flips in anticipation. I skip work without another second of hesitation and jump in the lift.

The taxi takes me home and pulls up outside our house.

He’s waiting for me inside.

My core ripples with arousal, heat surging to settle between my legs, and my nipples ache against my bra. In an instant I want him. I want him so badly, I shoot from the taxi and to the front door. Silence greets me when I step inside and listen for him.

The mid-afternoon sun streams through the windows of the living room as I continue to search for him. I stop, feeling the warmth on my skin that dances with my desire. I bite my bottom lip and wait.

He doesn’t keep me waiting long; two large hands cover my eyes and the length of a strong body pressed into me from behind. I gasp, drawing in a sharp breath before he turns me and backs me up to the wall with his hands in my hair. His breaths are uneven when he looks into my eyes. His body is hot through the suit I watched him put on this morning. His eyes are burning with lust that matches mine.

He crashes his mouth to mine, fusing our lips together in a kiss that is desperate and fluid, frantic yet carefree. His tongue sneaks over mine to explore my mouth with confident strokes. He rolls his hips as he bites my lip, he dips lower as he kisses my neck and his hand slips into my pants. I’m wet, so hot and desperate for his touch that sharp breaths escape my lips as his fingers find my clit and he rubs in a jagged circle.

This is it. This is what I love because my fiancé is a damn sex god, a romantic sex god.

He called me from work, summoned me because he knew his charm would work because he was horny and he wanted me…and he wouldn’t wait.

He kisses me with a ferocity that makes me gasp. His fingers fuck me with the confidence that always makes me moan and pray for more while hoping it will last forever. Easing me back to lay on the sofa, he keeps me on edge by cupping my pussy and stroking with the tenacity that roars through him and makes the outline of his hard cock visible beneath his suit trousers.

He lays me down and I part my legs. He strokes and fuses his lips to mine, swallowing the moan that escapes when his fingertip catches my clit. My trousers are next, keeping my ankles locked together, legs wide before his head dives between them.

Christ, his mouth is as incredible as the rest of him.

He laps and sucks at my swollen lips, his tongue making leisurely circles over my clit as he hums against my sensitive flesh and makes my legs quiver.

I can’t breathe. I can’t draw a deep enough breath to clear the euphoria his mouth creates.

His tongue swirls and circles, flicks and sucks, strokes and plunges and…

I sit up, denying myself the pleasure my mind and body crave, delay our release a little longer to push him to his feet and reach for his belt. He undoes his shirt. I free him from the restraints of his trousers, taking him in my hand, needing him in my mouth…

Looking up at him, I extend my tongue and take my first taste of his glorious cock. He’s smooth and rigid, tastes of his favourite body wash and the salt from his flesh.

I suck and lick. He sighs and groans. I stroke his long length and cup his balls. He pulls off his shirt and slips his hand into my hair.

I need him trembling for me. I need him panting and wild and frenzied.

We should be at work. We should be buried in piles of paperwork.

Instead, we’re at home, immersed in our desire for each other and I want him to be buried inside me, giving us what we both need.

He flexes against my tongue and nudges further into my mouth. I kiss and suck and keep my eyes on his as I take him.

I gasp when he steps back and takes hold of me, turning me around onto my hands and knees and preparing me for the main event. I love the way he plays with me.

I love the way his hands squeeze my ass as he takes one leisurely lick and makes me mewl.

I love the way he breathes against my flesh, heating me from the inside out.

I love the way he loves me and his way of showing it is to command my body.

No words are spoken; they aren’t needed and there isn’t time.

He knows I want him. He knows I’m ready to take him and embrace him and fuck him the way we both need.

I know he’s preparing to give me everything he has. I know he’s tense and trembling and impatient.

He’s buried between my legs, fucking me with that sweet tongue that whispered beautiful things in my ear last night.

And then he’s inside me, and my breath is no longer in my possession.

It escapes in a rush and refuses to return when he eases every perfect inch into me and fills me to the hilt. With his hands on my hips he thrusts in and out. One hand gives me a gentle smack and I gasp. Then I moan. Then I close my eyes and focus on the feel of him.

I push back, trying to take a breath.

He shunts me forward with powerful hips and a hard thrust. My breasts bounce from my bra, desperate to be free to bask in the sensitivity he creates.

The wet collision of flesh, the sound of heavy breaths and the creaking of the sofa are the only sounds that accompany us and lend anticipation to the rush. Is he watching his cock slide in and out? Is he watching my skin redden with a warm flush? Is he watching how wet I am? How I coat him with slick heat as he sheaths himself inside me?

My body begins to tighten when he strokes the spot deep inside me. My stomach quivers and my legs tremble in an uneven rhythm. Arching my back I grip the sofa and look back over my shoulder.

Me. He’s watching me. When I lick my lips and keep my gaze fixed on his, he squeezes me a little harder, drives into me a little slower and a thousand times more intensely.

In a quick move, he flips us over, lays on the sofa and pulls me to straddle him. The way he looks at me almost splits me in two as I lower myself onto him and throw my head back with a moan.

He knows how I like it—like this when I control how deep he goes, how fast I allow him to fuck me, and I get to watch his beautiful face contort with pleasure and control. He watches with a sedate smile, unbuttoning my blouse as I ride him until he’s as deep as possible, filling me completely and meeting my thrusts to give me the friction I need to get off.

My blood heats as the cool air licks my chest. My heart pounds as he pinches my nipples through the lace. My pussy clenches around him as he drives into me and keeps his eyes on mine. I kiss him. I kiss him with so much hunger and love—hunger to come, to detonate around him as quickly as he plunges into me. Love for him because he knows what I need and he’ll serve me my pleasure before taking his own. Our tongues dance and dual. Our breaths escape in fast huffs and collide to fill the room with harsh moans and sighs of primitive lust.

But my lover is not as selfless as he seems.

I like to look into his eyes while he fucks me.

He likes it from behind.

He nods, giving me instruction although refusing to break this silent moment with words that are of no use here. We know each other. We read each other. We want the same things.

I allow him to manoeuvre me, shift me on top of him so I’m facing away and he takes all of my weight. With my hair tickling his chest and my body quivering around him, on the edge of the cliff and ready to take flight, he holds onto my waist and drives up into me. His hand reaches around to seek out my clit and he strokes wildly as I moan and groan and buck on top of him. I hastily tear at my bra and pull it off. I need to feel everything and my pebbled nipples absorb the electric atmosphere around us and ache to feel the release.

I want to come—I need to come, but the exertion becomes too much and the battle to hold my own weight wins over my body’s need to let go. He flips us over again, commanding my body like he has since we first became one, and lays me next to him to keep me on the edge.

I fall.

I allow my body to finally succumb to the intoxicating pleasure and the tremors ripple through my body as I clamp tightly around him and let my eyes roll closed. My clit throbs in celebration and need for more. My walls tighten around him, drawing his orgasm closer and asking him for another.

They’re not unrealistic demands.

My body knows his. I know what he’s capable of. I know what he can do.

He holds me still, driving in and out, stealing a moan from me every time his balls collide with my body. Taking hold of my wrist, he guides my hand to my pussy, encouraging me to stroke myself. I oblige, rubbing furiously as the need to come again creeps up on me.

Hooking one of my legs over his shoulder, he turns me. Once again our eyes connect and it’s enough to tip me over into a gentler yet intense orgasm, as my release ripples around him and he slows his pace.

Leaning over me, he begins his own race and I take my bottom lip between my teeth, keep my eyes on him to encourage him to let go, and I let him use my body to extract his own satisfaction. He thrusts in and out. He groans and takes shallow breaths. His fingers flex on my skin and perspiration lines his top lip. He becomes a god all over again, but not of the corporate world; he becomes a god of passion—a man lost in his own desire.

I love him for it.

When we arrived at the apartment we were dressed for work. We were in the 9-5 frame of mind we need to get us through each day and to each weekend.

Now we are primitive. We are frantic and frenzied and lustful. We are naked and perspiring and wet. We are trembling and exhausted and aching.

But still we want each other.

I still circle my clit as he finds a pace that will get him off.

He still touches me like he can’t get enough, while I look at him and smile like I can’t, either.

He’s still hard, still strong, still the alpha male I fell in love with.

It still makes me moan when he stills, his cocked jerks inside me, and he comes.

It still makes me sigh when he fills me up and takes himself in a firm grasp to give me every drop.

THE END