Porch Passion Rekindled

Jack freed himself, his length hot and heavy as he dragged it along my crease, teasing me with its weight. Feeling bold, he nudged it between my thighs, gliding against my folds, stirring a slickness I’d forgotten I could produce. His teeth sank lightly into my left shoulder, and his right hand dipped lower, fingers circling my clit with a precision that made my knees buckle.

Jack’s touch was masterful, always had been. His fingers, still slick from my mouth, danced over my sensitive skin, parting me gently, then pressing just right, sending sparks through my core. My body responded, coating him as he slid against me, his breaths ragged. He dipped his fingers lower, gathering my arousal, and brought them to his lips, groaning like he’d tasted something divine. Then he bent me further over the porch railing, my breasts swaying free as the dress gaped open, exposed to the humid air.

He drew back just enough for me to reach down, guiding his tip to my entrance, trembling with want. I needed him to fill me, to break me open like he did when we were kids sneaking off to his dad’s garage. Jack didn’t hesitate – he thrust in with a single, deep stroke, stretching me so fully it bordered on too much. I gasped, but the slight sting gave way to pleasure as he settled inside, perfectly snug. He stilled, hands tracing my spine, then gripped my hips like anchors, starting a slow, deliberate rhythm that hit every nerve.

The tang of detergent from the clothes mingled with the motor oil on his skin, his belt buckle clinking faintly against the railing with each move. His sweat-soaked shirt clung to my back, our heat merging in the sticky air. I was unraveling, filthy and alive, owned by a man who’d ignored me for years. It was a resurrection of sorts.

His hands slid to my shoulders, pulling me back to deepen the angle. Each thrust felt like it reached my soul, his length dragging against every sensitive spot. The slick, rhythmic slap of skin on skin echoed faintly, a primal sound that drowned out the crickets. My body was a live wire, dripping down my legs, a mix of us and the summer’s heat.

Jack’s size was always a marvel – long and thick, the kind of thing that made me shy to admit how much I loved it. It curved just right, the head flared enough to catch every ridge inside me, sending shocks with every withdrawal. If he wasn’t carrying that extra weight, he’d still turn heads, but this felt like rediscovery.

Sorry, I’m getting sidetracked. Jack’s grip tightened, his thrusts growing hungrier but still measured, savoring every inch. My thighs were slick, our mingled sweat and arousal cooling in the breeze. His left hand slid to my throat, gentle but possessive, and I nipped at his fingers, tasting grease and salt as he quickened his pace, the railing creaking under our weight.

The night was silent except for our gasping breaths, blending with the hum of a distant streetlight. We swallowed our cries until Jack’s voice broke through, rough and raw.
Fuck, Amy, you’re so damn wild, you’re gonna feel me for weeks.

I flinched at the wrong name but didn’t stop, too close to climax to derail it. His words stoked the fire anyway. His coarse hands roamed, his heat consuming me despite their roughness. I surrendered, letting him drive into me with a ferocity that shook the porch boards, my body meeting his thrust. My thighs quaked, my breaths jagged – I was seconds away.

I’m coming, oh God, – I gasped, muffled against his palm.

A heartbeat later, Jack’s release hit, his warmth flooding my body, his spasms searing me from within. I shuddered, my body clenching around him as waves crashed through me, my nails digging into the railing. His groan was primal, echoing in my chest as he eased out, still pulsing, leaving me dripping and spent.

Hell, darlin’, that was unreal, – he panted, hiking up his jeans, his length still glistening in the dim light before shuffling back inside.

I stayed put, not turning to face him, catching my breath. The neighbor’s son, a lanky 21-year-old, was watching from his window, eyes wide. I wouldn’t have said no to him in another life, but what gnawed at me was finding a walk-in clinic for peace tests of mind – and where Jack would crash tonight. A wrong name’s no dealbreaker for a fuck like that, but it might be for a marriage.

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