round oak table

The front door behind her.

Wrists over her head.

And there was laughter in her eyes.

Three words, four maybe, and I drew her into the dining room, lifting her onto the round oak table that dominated the space.

It was lunch break at the school down the street and we had only fifteen minutes before she had to be back and teaching again.

I unsnapped her jeans: hips, thighs, legs, off. A pink thong, left in place, legs over shoulders and I lightly bit the inside of her thigh. Her fingers gripped my shoulders, then hair, tangling, and I pressed my advantage, making a feast of her while I gripped her ass and drew her closer to the edge of the table for the leverage needed to devour.

She shuddered to a climax.

Her smile caught me and then she was off the table and on her knees, unsnapping my jeans and taking me into her mouth. I didn’t last long – we didn’t have long – and her eyes never left mine even as my fingers clenched in the back of her hair.

Moments later she was back in her car, and on her back to school. And I was counting the small marks on my shoulders her fingernails had left behind.

One Response to “round oak table”

  1. FK Says:

    That was a tasty feast d’jaevle…

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