Page 17 of Six Month Wife

I nod, still breathless, still aching for her. “Yeah. You remember how good we were that night. You're even hotter than I remember.”

She pulls back an inch, blinking hard, like she’s sorting a dream from memory. Her hand lands flat on my chest, not pushing, but anchoring, as she pulls back and looks me dead in the eyes.

“That was you?”

“Wait. Did you not remember?” I ask seriously. This whole time, I thought she was fucking with me, playing a game.

Her pupils dilate, and for a split second, I wonder if I misread everything. But no, she’s still on me, straddling my lap, slick and flushed and breathing hard.

She swallows hard, like she’s trying to catch up. “No. I mean, I knew you were familiar. But I didn’tknow, not really. Not until this second.”

Then, quieter, almost to herself, she says, “Jesus. That was you.”

"The one and only," I try to lighten the tension.

She huffs a breath that might be a laugh. “Well… that explains a lot.”

I want to reach for her again, but I wait for her to let me know we're okay, that she's okay.

Something flickers in her. I think it's shock, maybe a little awe. Her thighs are still tight around my hips. Her hands are still on me. But her expression has softened.

“I thought you were fucking with me,” I admit.

“Well,” she breathes, her voice soft. “If I had known, I definitely wouldn’t have massaged your ass.”

I grin, my hands finding her waist again. “You didn’t massage it. You grabbed it aggressively, like you owned it.”

She huffs a laugh, still caught somewhere between shock and arousal. “Shut up.”

But her body’s already leaning in again. She's still electric, still hot, only now, she's even bolder. Her mouth finds mine, slower this time, but no less hungry.

Whatever happened, whatever realization cracked open between us, it doesn’t pull us apart. It fuses us together.

She kisses me like she means it. Like she’s trying to relearn the shape of what she forgot. Like maybe part of her did remember, deep down, and this is her way of catching up.

My hands move down to the curve of her ass as I shift underneath her, positioning us so my cock drags across the soaked fabric of her panties, on the edge of her entrance.

She gasps against my mouth, then grinds down, rolling her hips with more force than before.

“Do you want more?” I ask, my voice low, making sure before I go there.

Her answer is to reach between us and place the tip of my cock against her entrance, pushing at the edge of her lace.

I'll take that as a yes.

There’s nothing hesitant or shy now. We're going in, finishing what we started, with eyes wide open.

She shifts in my lap, grinding harder, her hips chasing friction. My cock throbs against the damp fabric separating us, and I swear I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t get inside her soon.

Then she pulls back, enough to speak.

“Fuck me from behind, like you did that night.”

Jesus Christ.

Her voice is steady. Almost calm. But the need behind it? That’s a roar.

My hands slide down her curves, gripping her hips as I guide her off my lap and onto her feet. She moves fast, peeling her soaked panties down her thighs as I rise from the table.