Sabrina barely waits for our front door to slam shut before she's on me, her hands everywhere at once like she's trying to map my body through my clothes. Her kiss is bruising, desperate, nothing like her usual measured control. I taste the lingering sweetness of pistachio ice cream on her tongue as she backs me against the wall, her fingers already working at my belt buckle with frantic determination. This isn't just desire, it's something wilder, something born from that chance encounter with Tara that's lit a fire I've never seen in my wife before.
"Need you," she gasps against my mouth, her breath hot and uneven. "Right now."
Her pixie cut is disheveled, those usually perfect blonde spikes sticking out at odd angles from where I've run my fingers through them. There's something disarmingly vulnerable about it, about her, that makes my chest ache despite the urgency of the moment.
"Bedroom?" I manage to ask, my own voice embarrassingly breathless.
"No time," Sabrina growls, yanking my belt free with a sharp metallic hiss. The sound sends a shiver down my spine, triggering memories I've spent years burying. Different hands. Different voice. Same desperate hunger.
I push the thought away and focus on my wife, on her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. On the way her fingers tremble slightly as she unbuttons my jeans.
"Sofa," she commands, already dragging me across our living room, leaving a trail of discarded clothing in our wake.
My shirt tangles around my arms for a moment, and she makes an impatient sound low in her throat before helping me tug it over my head. Her eyes rake over my chest, something possessive and hungry in her gaze that makes my skin prickle with anticipation.
"God your perfect," she whispers, pushing me down onto the couch cushions.
She stands over me for a moment, her chest heaving, before yanking her own shirt over her head in one fluid motion. Her sports bra follows, revealing her perfect breasts tipped with hardened nipples. I reach for her, but she bats my hands away, stripping off her jeans and underwear with none of her usual teasing grace.
Sabrina stands naked before me, her athletic body trembling with barely contained energy. There's something almost predatory in the way she looks at me, something raw and primal that makes my cock twitch against my stomach.
"Take those off," she orders, nodding at my boxers, the last barrier between us.
I lift my hips, sliding them down my legs, kicking them aside. Before I can even settle back against the cushions, she's straddling me, her knees pressing into the sofa on either side of my hips.
"Sabrina," I whisper, reaching up to touch her face. "Slow down a…"
She silences me with another bruising kiss, her hand wrapping around my cock with almost painful intensity. I gasp against her mouth as she positions herself over me, her body already slick with need.
"Can't slow down," she pants, her blue eyes locking with mine as she sinks onto me in one smooth motion. "Need to feel you inside me. Need to know you're mine."
The heat of her engulfs me, tight and perfect and home. Her thighs flex as she begins to ride me with an intensity that borders on desperation, her nails digging crescent moons into my shoulders.
"God, Sabrina," I moan, my hands finding her hips, feeling the controlled strength in each movement. "You feel incredible."
Her rhythm falters for just a moment, something vulnerable flickering across her features before the mask of desire slides back into place. She leans forward, her breasts brushing against my chest as she whispers against my ear.
"Better than her?" The question is a hot whisper, loaded with insecurity and dark desire. "Am I tighter than Tara?"
The name sends an electric shock through my system. Of course this is about Tara. About what happened at Swirlies. About the past I've never fully revealed.
"You're perfect," I assure her, running my hands up her back, trying to soothe the tension I feel coiling in her muscles. "So much better than anyone else."
Sabrina makes a frustrated sound, her movements becoming more erratic. "Don't lie to me," she hisses, her fingers threading through my hair before tightening into a fist. The slight sting against my scalp sends a jolt of pleasure down my spine. "Tell me the truth. Was her pussy tighter than mine? Did she make you feel better?"
I blink up at her, feeling confused why she thinks I would lie to her.
"Of course you're better," I try again, stroking her back, watching her face carefully. "No one compares to you."
Her eyes flash with disappointment, her movements slowing. "That's not…" she starts, then cuts herself off, looking away. "Never mind. Just fuck me."
But I finally see it now, the dark hunger lurking behind her eyes. The thing she can't bring herself to ask for directly. The fantasy she both fears and craves.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. This is for Sabrina. For the woman who saved me, who loves me, who never asks for anything but gives me everything.
"Actually," I say, my voice dropping to a register I haven't used in years, the one meant for the more masochistic clients. "Now that you mention it..."
Her eyes snap back to mine, widening slightly. I can feel her internal muscles clench around me, a physical tell that speaks volumes.
"Tara was the tightest cunt I've ever fucked," I continue, the crude language feeling foreign on my tongue after years of gentle domesticity. "She knew exactly how to squeeze me, how to milk every last drop."
Sabrina's breath catches, her pupils dilating until her blue eyes are nearly black. Her hips stutter against mine, losing their rhythm as my words sink in.
I seize the moment, gripping her waist and flipping our positions in one smooth motion. The couch cushions barely catch us as I press her down beneath me, taking control for the first time since I can remember.
"Is that what you wanted to hear?" I ask, hovering above her, watching her face carefully for any sign that I've gone too far. "That she fucked me better than anyone? That sometimes I still think about it?"
A whimper escapes her throat, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me deeper. "Yes," she gasps, her head falling back against the armrest. "Tell me everything."
I start to move inside her, slow deliberate thrusts that make her gasp with each controlled push. This is dangerous territory, but the way her body responds to my words tells me everything I need to know.
"She used to tie me up," I murmur, leaning down to nip at her earlobe. "Spread me out on her bed like a feast. Sometimes she'd edge me for hours, not letting me come until I was begging, crying, promising her anything."
Sabrina moans, her back arching off the sofa. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging in deep enough to leave marks. Marks that will remind us both of this moment tomorrow.
"Other times, she'd make me go down on her first," I continue, adjusting my angle slightly to hit that spot inside her that makes her eyes roll back. "Wouldn't even touch my cock until I'd made her cum at least twice with just my tongue."
"Fuck," Sabrina gasps, her internal muscles clenching around me. "Did you like it? Did you like being used like that?"
I study her face, making sure we're still in safe territory. The flush spreading across her chest, the desperate hunger in her eyes, the way she's meeting each of my thrusts with rising urgency, all signs point to this being exactly what she needs.
"Sometimes," I admit, the truth slipping out before I can filter it. "Sometimes I loved it. Loved feeling like I was just a toy for her pleasure."
Sabrina's eyes flash with something dangerous, something possessive that makes my heart race. "Would you let her do that to you again? If she asked?"
I freeze mid-thrust, my body suddenly rigid with tension. The question hangs between us like a live wire, dangerous and electric. My heart hammers against my ribs as memories of Tara flood back, her commanding voice, her knowing touch, the way she'd make me feel simultaneously owned and cherished.
But it's not the thought of Tara's hands on me again that makes my breath catch. It's the emotional implications, the tangled web of past and present colliding in ways I never prepared for.
I start moving again, slower now, more deliberate. Sabrina's eyes are wild with need, her body trembling beneath mine.
"I don't know," I whisper honestly, watching her reaction carefully. "Is that something you really want?"
Her fingers dig deeper into my shoulders, her hips rising to meet my thrusts.
"Isn't that kind of scary?" I continue, increasing my pace slightly. "Thinking about what could happen?"
Sabrina moans, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before snapping back to mine with renewed intensity.
"Wouldn't you hate it," I say, driving deeper now, feeling her body tighten around me, "if you lost your loving husband to the girl who pissed in your shoes in high school?"
Something shifts in Sabrina's expression, a flash of vulnerability quickly consumed by dark desire. I can feel her getting closer, her breathing becoming erratic.
"The same woman," I growl, pounding into her with an intensity that surprises even me, "who probably made you feel the lowest you've ever felt in your entire life?"
The effect is immediate and overwhelming. Sabrina's body convulses beneath me, her back arching off the couch as she cries out, unintelligible sounds of pleasure mixed with something that might be pain. Her inner muscles clamp down on me in rhythmic pulses, the intensity of her orgasm triggering my own release before I can prepare for it.
White-hot pleasure explodes through my body as I empty myself inside her, my hips jerking uncontrollably against hers. For a moment, the boundaries between us blur, I can't tell where I end and she begins, our bodies moving as one in the aftermath of shared ecstasy.
As the waves of pleasure gradually subside, I collapse against her chest, both of us gasping for breath. Her arms wrap around me, holding me close as our sweat-slicked bodies cool in the evening air.
I feel the last tremors of Sabrina's orgasm around me as I struggle to catch my breath. My heart hammers against my ribcage, the weight of what just happened, what we just said, settling over us like a heavy blanket. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my sweat-slicked back, her touch gentler now that the storm has passed.
"You're incredible, Leo," Sabrina whispers, her voice hoarse from crying out.
Something warm blooms in my chest at her words. Despite everything, my past, the things I've done, she still looks at me like I'm something precious. I smile and press a loving kiss to her lips, soft and tender after the violence of our coupling.
"I love you," I whisper against her mouth, meaning it more than I've ever meant anything.
She pulls me closer, my head tucking naturally into the crook of her neck as I snuggle against her. Our bodies fit together perfectly, like puzzle pieces designed for each other. The couch is too small for both of us, but neither of us makes any move to get up.
"I love you too," she says, her fingers threading through my hair.
We lie there in comfortable silence as her breathing gradually returns to normal. I'm almost drifting off, lulled by the steady rhythm of her heartbeat beneath my ear, when she speaks again.
"So... would you be willing to fuck Tara again?"
My eyes shoot open, sleep forgotten as adrenaline surges through my system. I lift my head to look at her, certain I must have misheard, but the expression on her face tells me I didn't. There's a vulnerability there, a desperate need that makes my stomach twist.
"Sabrina, I…" I start to refuse automatically, the denial rising to my lips.
But something stops me. Her eyes are pleading, wide and uncertain in a way I rarely see them. This powerful woman who rescued me, who loves me despite knowing the broken pieces of my past, is asking me for something that clearly terrifies and excites her in equal measure.
Can I really deny her this? After everything she's given me?
I sigh, searching her face for any sign that she doesn't really want this, that she's testing me somehow. All I find is raw, honest need.
"Only if it's something you really want, Sabrina," I say carefully, watching her reaction.
She nods slowly, her fingers tightening slightly in my hair. "I think it is," she whispers, the admission costing her something I can't quite name.
"Okay then."