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You can’t help it, really. No matter how angry, or scared, or hurt you may be, you can’t turn away. It’s all the little things. The intensity of his vacant yet accurate stare; the way he inhales so deeply when he pulls you into his arms; the tenderness when he kisses you goodnight. The way his armor fits him; the daylight armor of his sleek suits, and the other armor. The nighttime armor that leaves nothing and yet everything to the imagination. That ass, so sensuous and tight, is so perfect. His lips, his slim hips, that sandpaper stubble that grows in so thick and quick. His hands; strong, dangerous, elegant. How hard he gets. Hard emotions, hard muscles, hard words, hard cock.
When your heart beats this fast, you know he knows, and you know that he will respond in kind. Right now, as he is sprawled on the leather couch, mask off, feet up, but still in the suit, your heart is pounding. You watch him listen to you, watch him grow hard as he smirks at the pulse pounding as loud as a deep bass beat in his ears from across the room. Your breath comes in silent pants as you watch him grow, stretch, thicken from the sound of your arousal. You stand there silently, watching him slide one lazy hand down his chest and across his abdomen, resting his palm just above that hard cock, fingers just barely brushing back and forth across the head through the skin tight leather.
Stepping across the floor you slip your dress over your head, dropping it as you approach him. He moves his hand and you straddle his hips, grinding yourself down against his hard length, feeling your cunt swell and dampen as you push your clit hard down against him. The groan from deep in his throat vibrates his entire body, and you slide up and down his bulge. His hands attach to your breasts, giving you someplace to lean as you ride his lap, feeling your excitement build. Your nipples, hard as rocks, are rolled between his thumb and finger as you let your weight fall into his hands, your hands coming to rest on his arms to steady yourself as you keep pressing your soaked panties against him through the suit, the damned suit that starts and ends every argument you ever have with him.
He bucks up against you, growling, his hands squeezing tighter around your full breasts, leaving fingerprint bruises that you know will show up by morning. You let go of his arms, arching backwards and grabbing his legs behind you, pressing harder against him, thrusting ferociously against his cock, not sure if it is him who is pulsing or you, and not caring at this point. He grabs your waist and stands up from the couch, carrying you to the kitchen island and turning you, bending you over it, ass in the air. You hear the sound of the zippers and Velcro and snaps being pulled frantically apart, your underwear being yanked down around your thighs. Gripping the sides of the island you push up onto your toes, legs spread wide, exposing your dripping cunt to his senses. You feel the thick, blunt head of his cock lining up with you, pushing in hard, his hands coming to grab your hips and pull you back onto his dick hard.
No sounds but grunting, moaning, and the slap of his hips against your ass for an eternity, for seconds, for all time and over all too quickly, his thrusts become ragged as your panting turns to screaming out his name, the first words since you walked in the door…
“Fuck, Matt, NOW!” you scream as you clench around him, feeling him respond by exploding inside you, pulse after pulse of scalding semen filling you. Your vision blurs as you fly over the edge of the cliff, muscles contracting convulsively around him. He sags over your body, the top half of the suit sticking instantly to the sweat on your back. Slowly you both regain (most of) your senses, breathing returning to normal. He lifts himself off of you and out of you, stepping back, leaving the bottom half of the suit in a rumpled pile on the floor as he lifts you up and carries you to bed. He chuckles lightly for a moment before commenting… “We never talk anymore.”