I let him kiss me. He smiled at me, and I half-smiled back. I let him walk out of my house with my self-restraint in his back pocket. Over the next few weeks, there wasn't a day that passed that didn't find us together, making quite a mess of one another. Delight lit my eyes when I'd greet him at my door each morning, excitement for a repeat at lunch, and sweet pity for his aches after work. He'd kiss me as though he needed it to breathe, and his hands groped until he worked my breathlessness into an aching moan. It never got old. No matter where we were, whether I was bent over or riding him, or on my back or side, it was always the chase that ensnared me. His pursuit made me succumb without fail.
He was never frustrated or too impatient to work me up. Rather, he enjoyed watching my smile of anticipation slowly morph into the wide-eyed gaze of unsteady quarry and then the desperate frown of a woman focused on keeping herself contained. He'd often turn off playing music or the nearby television, tell me he wants to "listen to me", and groan in approval when the breath I've been restraining builds into a cry of ecstasy. Every day, a few times a day, I was being worked over. I couldn't keep clean panties. Daniel peeked in my hamper a few times a week, looking over my collection of laundry and grinning each time he'd notice a couple extra pairs since the last pair he'd personally removed.
The thought of his lips on my skin and his fingers stuffing my hot, swollen pussy kept my slit too wet to keep from changing constantly. Every time I tried pulling his hands away, my own hands were popped or my ass was smacked - hard enough to be a punishment. It startled me. He'd tear his lips from mine and offer me a warm reminder, "Alyssa, move your hands, baby. Do you want me to stop?" I'd shake my head and bite my lip trying to fight the orgasm he was working on. He made me absolutely drunk with passion, and I sat up at night wondering how anyone could ever make me feel so incredibly good. I wondered why he wasn't mine as much as I was his, and I was reminded of his marriage.
"Good afternoon, Alyssa," came his voice from my earbuds one afternoon.
"Good afternoon, Daniel," I said with a smile and an imagined curtsy.
"I thought maybe we'd go on a little getaway soon."
I was silent as every question that mattered raced through my head and burned on my tongue. I had asked him in the weeks past what his intentions were, and though he'd told me he wanted to pursue a relationship with me and finalize his divorce, I never believed him. I was reasonably skeptical, and I couldn't help wondering what he'd tell his wife and daughter about his disappearing for a few days.
"How do you propose we go away together? You have a family, remember?"
"My wife and I have an understanding about my daughter, and I don't plan on telling her anything other than that I will be out of town."
"So I'm just supposed to take off with you for a long weekend? And then what?"
"Actually, I was thinking it'd be more like two weeks..."
