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“I missed you,” he says softly.

“I was gone for hours.”

He shrugs against me. “Still counts.”

I smile and tighten my arms around him.

My hands slide up his bare chest. I can feel the tension in his body—heat humming just under the surface.

“Babe…” I whisper, my voice cracking on the edge of the need building inside me. “I need you.”

His hands slide over my waist, warm and reverent, fingers spreading across the softness of my hips like he’s been waiting all day just to touch me here.

“You look beautiful like this,” he murmurs against my neck, kissing just below my ear.

The knot of my robe is the next thing to go—undone with a practiced flick of his fingers. It parts easily, exposing my full breasts, my belly, the thick swell of my thighs. I flush.

He groans low. “You drive me crazy.”

His lips trail down my shoulder as his hands roam—palming my ass, dragging over the curve of my hip, dipping just low enough to brush the outer lips of my vulva. I feel how wet I already am, the slickness between my labia warm and heavy.

He kisses down my spine and guides me forward until my hands brace on the edge of the vanity. The cool wood is a contrast to the heat of my body.

“I want you just like this,” he says, voice softer now. “Bent over. Letting me take my time.”

I tremble as he kneels behind me. His hands part my ass gently, reverently. His thumbs spread my entrance wide, exposing my vagina—already glistening, my clit swollen and eager.

“You’re soaked,” he whispers like a compliment, brushing a single finger down my slit. “Let me taste you first.”

He leans in and presses a kiss to my clitoris—gentle at first, then deeper, tongue swirling in tight, wet circles. I moan, my legs already trembling from the sensation. His hands anchor me in place as his tongue laps through my folds, dipping into my vagina, then back to flick against the aching bud.

“You taste like everything,” he says into me. “I’ll never get enough.”

I grip the vanity harder as he stands, his chest warm against my back now. He kisses my shoulder, then the back of my neck, then reaches down to guide the head of his cock—thick, hot, leaking—against my entrance.

“Ready?” he murmurs, voice pure affection laced with desire.

“Yes,” I breathe. “Please.”

He pushes in slowly.

The stretch makes me gasp, my vaginal walls parting to take him. Inch by inch, he fills me until I feel the pressure deep in my belly, the weight of him perfect, my body clutching around him.

“God,” he groans, pressing kisses along my spine. He holds still for a moment, buried fully inside, letting me adjust to the fullness. His hands spread over my hips, smoothing down the softness of my sides.

Then he begins to move.

His hips roll with slow, deep thrusts, the head of his penis dragging against every sensitive ridge inside me. My breath catches with each push forward, my clit brushing against the edge of the table. The rhythm is steady, tender but intense.

My breasts sway with every thrust, nipples tight, skin flushed. He leans forward, wraps an arm around my waist, and presses his lips to my shoulder as he rocks into me.

“You take me so well,” he breathes. “So tight. So perfect.”

My moans spill out freely now, hips rolling back to meet him. I want more—I want all of it. I’m learning not to hold back. Learning to let him see how much I love it.

“Faster,” I whisper. “Don’t hold back.”

His breath stutters.