Wishful Thinking

Syren’s already naked when Mick finally walks in. She has his belt in her fist. He opens his mouth to apologize and she stops him with a look. He knows the rule on their anniversary: get home, get hard, get to work. She drops to her knees, takes him deep without a word. Spit runs down her chin, over the heavy swell of her tits, into the soft dark hair between her legs. When he’s wet enough she stands, turns, and plants both palms on the table. He spreads her ass, tongue first, then two thick fingers working past the tight ring while she pushes back. Every time he pulls them free she swallows him again, tasting herself on his skin. She keeps him right on the edge until her thighs shake. Only then does she guide him in. He fucks her ass slow, deep, until the slap of skin fills the room and her breath turns ragged. Mick comes first, pulls out, feeds the mess back to her mouth. She swallows like she’s been waiting all night. He’s still catching his breath when she turns, calm again, and asks what he brought her for dessert.