Pulse of Unspoken Desire

I faltered, doubt flickering, but desire surged stronger. I climbed onto his lap, meeting his eyes briefly — his burned with want, mirroring my own. I positioned him at my entrance, already slick, and lowered myself, gasping at the stretch. He filled me completely, a slow, deliberate pressure that made my breath catch. I gripped the couch, pausing to savor the sensation, my walls pulsing around him.

• “We shouldn’t do this.” – he murmured, voice strained.

I didn’t answer, instead rocking my hips, cautious at first, testing the depth. He understood, one hand steadying my waist, the other slipping between us, fingers brushing my clit with a featherlight touch. I closed my eyes, losing myself as his lips found my breasts, sucking gently, each pull sending sparks through me. My movements grew bolder, hips rising and falling, the rhythmic slap of skin echoing. His fingers worked in sync, slick with my arousal, circling faster, and I felt the pressure coil, tight and urgent. The first orgasm hit hard, my nails digging into the couch as I cried out, but I kept moving, chasing more.

He shifted us, easing me onto my back on the couch. I was dripping, desperate, and spread my legs wide, urging him on. He entered me again, deeper, each thrust a delicious stretch that hit every nerve. The friction was exquisite, his tip grazing a spot that made me shudder. I touched myself, fingers frantic, as he drove into me, his rhythm steady but fierce. My moans filled the room, raw and unfiltered, my body arching to meet him. Another climax built, relentless, and when it broke, it was blinding, my body convulsing as I clung to him, lost in the intensity.

As I trembled, he pulled out, his hand guiding himself as he came, warm streaks spilling across my stomach and breasts. I watched, mesmerized by his shuddering form, and impulsively leaned forward, taking him into my mouth again, tasting the last of him — salty, thick — as the rest of his release slid down my skin.

I grabbed my cardigan, not bothering to clean up, and moved to the door, my heart thundering.

• “I hope you can forgive me now, Julian. Goodbye.” – I said, voice thick with emotion.
• “It’s not goodbye, Laura. I’m thankful for you.” – he replied, his voice soft.

I left and never saw him again. When Nora called to say Julian had passed, the grief was unbearable. I never told my husband, and I still grapple with whether what I did was right or wrong. But in my heart, I carry no regrets.

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