Her pussy grasping me rhythmically. Another orgasm, a small one, but delicious.
No talk. No need for it. We communicated with our eyes, our hands, our bodies. And anyway, what was there to say?
She slid back onto the counter and I bent over her, our bodies drawing close. Her nipples brushed against my chest. I kissed the creamy skin of her cheek, her neck. I was tempted by one dark moment to leave a mark.
But just for a second, I wanted to send a message to Damola that though he might have Oyindamola, she will still always be mine. But, of course, I didn’t. I wouldn’t ever do that to her or to him.
I looked into her eyes clouded with passion. I wondered what she was thinking. But I knew. The same as me, longing and loss. Passion and mourning for what could never be.
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I felt her a shiver. Her pussy grasping me rhythmically. Another orgasm, a small one, but delicious. She pushed me away. She needed a break. And I couldn’t suppress a smile. I knew what would come next.
She turned me so that my butt was pressed against the counter. And then she dropped down before me. She took me into her mouth. I shivered in delight, smiling down at her, as she made love to my glistening shaft. Her lips curved around my manhood, her tongue, playfully licking me up and down, swirling around the head of my dick.
She took my dick in long, slow swallows. Her eyes on mine, looking up at me. Not in submission, but recognizing our emotional connection. A connection real despite the fact that it is impossible not to be in love with a woman performing oral on you. At least at that moment, it short-circuits the brain.
I lifted her to her feet and turned her around. This was another thing we had learned over time. How long had it taken me to feel comfortable enough to ask for it, to enter her from behind? I thought she would be offended. She wasn’t. And she enjoyed it as much as I did.
Standing, with her legs together, it made me feel like a stud. She was so tight that way. But even more, I loved the way it gave me access to her body. I could fondle her gorgeous, hanging breasts, feeling her hard nipples brushing against my fingertips. I could circle her hips with my hands, delight in the sight of her beautiful, round ass quivering with the strength of my thrusts.
I thrust into her, harder, harder. Her gasps, her moans, exciting me, urging me on. We spun. I bent her over the counter.
How long had we been at it? Long, too long. We always lost a sense of time. I smiled, remembering the transparent excuses we had come up with.
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I felt her seize, a gush of wetness, a bite into the peach. I followed. Unable to resist, not wanting to anyway. We squirmed together, hard, then slower. She stood, my rapidly shrinking dick still inside her. She turned her head and we kissed. Awkwardly, over the shoulder. Then, as I fell out, we kissed again, deeper, wetter, less in passion now than in farewell.
I knew she would leave me now and go back to her real life. To Damola, her studies, Abuja. And I would as well back to work.
And those long walks in the estate, where no matter who I was with, my thoughts always drifted back to Oyindamola. I held her in my arms. Just one more moment. One last moment. And then, goodbye… at least, until next year again.
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