It’s becoming a ritual I can’t resist—I come home, slip into my room, and leave the door just barely ajar. I sprawl naked across the bed, legs parted, my fingers lazily circling the slick edges of my prize. Every move is for the mirror—I angle my hips just so, tilt my thighs wider, arch my back in a way that makes my breasts lift higher—knowing Tommy’s eyes are locked on the reflection. He lingers in the doorway, caught between watching and wanting, while I put on a show of indifference, dragging my fingers slow and deliberate, dipping just enough to glisten before teasing myself higher again. The tension coils like an overwound mainspring, tightly, humming like 38KV live wire, until at last I meet his gaze in the glass, let a wicked smile curl my lips, and crook my finger in a playful invitation. That’s all it takes—he breaks, crosses the threshold… and today's fun begins.
Tommy peels off his clothes in a deliberate rhythm, teasing me with each measured movement, and I watch, my own body tightening in response. He slides onto the bed beside me, our skin brushing, sending a flock of goosebumps across me as the heat between us ignites. My hand finds his hard length, a beautiful eight-inch dagger, and he responds at my delicate touch, every pulse and quiver a silent invitation. We linger there, suspended in coiled tension, letting the anticipation build, each breath a slow promise neither of us is ready to break.
As we cling to each other, I feel a gentle echo of Tim, my departed husband, in Tommy’s embrace—not as a wound, but as a quiet reminder that love can return in new forms. Their bodies share the same graceful strength, a familiar shape that now feels like both memory and promise. My fingers drift across Tommy’s chest, tracing the rise of his pecs, circling his nipple as it tightens beneath my touch, grateful for the closeness, for the chance to feel alive again.
Tim and I hadn’t been given much time before his death, but the fire we shared in those brief months carried me through childbirth, college, career, and the long stretches of emptiness in between. Now, with Tommy’s warm body pressed against mine, the ache that had slept inside me stirs like a long-slumbering dragon, stretching its wings. My hand wanders over the firm planes of his chest, savoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the heat of his skin searing into my palm. Every brush of contact wakes something deeper, a pulse racing through me as though my whole body had been waiting for this spark. I pause there, caught between memory and desire, trembling on the cusp of letting it all consume me.
Tommy shifts slightly, his lips brushing against my temple, warm and feather-light, and another tingle snakes down my spine. I press closer, feeling the press of his body, the weight of him anchoring me in this moment. My fingers wander lower, tracing the slope of his ribs, the gentle curve of his hip, each touch sending hot flashes through both of us.
He exhales softly against my ear, a husky whisper that makes my pulse spike, and I feel the tense coil of desire tightening between us. Neither of us wants to move too fast; every brush of skin, every shared breath stretches the anticipation, making the wait almost unbearable but more exciting. I want him fully, desperately, yet I long for the experience of this exquisite tension, drinking in the way his body responds to mine, the subtle movements under my hand, the quiet sighs of his breath, the silent language of yearning that flows between us.
For a moment, all memory and longing collapse into now—my heart racing, my senses alive, my body awake to every tiny, delicious friction of skin against skin. Tommy’s hands find mine, guiding, holding, anchoring, and I let myself melt into him, living on this suspended edge where desire and emotion entwine, where nothing needs to be rushed, yet everything pulses with promise of what is to come.
His hands roam over me with deliberate care, brushing along the curve of my waist, lingering where my skin is most sensitive. Each touch is electric, each stroke a whisper that stirs a promise deeper inside my psyche. I press into him, letting the heat of his body seep into mine, feeling his youthful strength beneath my fingers.
I let my lips drift over his shoulder, down the line of his neck, tasting the warmth of his salt-laced skin, languishing the subtle sensation that follows. Every sigh, every quiver, every pulse beneath my touch tells me he is as caught in this suspense as I am. Time seems to stretch, the room shrinking to the heat between us like two burning embers, our shared tension winding tighter with each gentle graze, every shared heartbeat.
Savoring every touch, I wait there, feeling the push and pull as anticipation and desire ebb and flow with the quiet promise in each caress, every pulse, every breathy sigh. Nothing needs to be rushed—yet I ache with the delicious knowledge that we could meld into each other at any moment, that every inch of closeness screams with the potential for release, if only we let it.
Kissing my way down his chest and stomach, I let my hand settle over his cock, tracing its length with feather-light touches before pressing my lips to it in a slow, teasing kiss. He jerks at my touch, and I pull the foreskin back just enough to reveal the flared head, glistening with precum. Licking that drop of its tip, I delight in the sweet flavor and consistency that resides on my tongue. Another kiss then feeling it pulse between my lips, the tension is spreading through him as it answers to the subtlety of my caresses.
My other hand drifts over his hips, grounding us both in the delicious tension. Exploring the delicate terrain of his skin, it is burning with a fever for me, every brush of contact fanning the fire that’s been smoldering between us. He groans softly, a low, urgent sound that makes my pulse spike, and I pause just long enough to drink in the sensation, relishing the moment where desire hangs thick in the air, suspended in anticipation of the act.
I let my lips glide over him, exploring every ridge and curve of his cock with slow, deliberate attention. My tongue teases the sensitive tip, swirling, pressing, and circling, while my fingers trace his hard length beneath, feeling every subtle pulse and shudder. Tommy’s hips shift and lift in response, pressing into me as though he can’t help but seek more, and I let him, answering in the delicious give and take of our connection. His cock fills my oral cavity to its fullest. His thickness and girth fill my senses completely for the moment
Trailing kisses upward again, I brush over his lower stomach, then back down, never rushing, reveling in the way his body reacts to each tongue stroke, each slurp. His hands rest lightly on my head and shoulders, holding me in place even as his own desire spirals higher. Every low groan, every quiver under my tongue tells me that he is as present as I am, that this instant isn’t just about sensation—it’s about the harness of need and intimacy stretched tightly between us.
I pause, lips just above him, tasting the tension in the air, wanting to taste the real thing again, but letting the anticipation amplify, knowing that the slow build, the hesitation, is as intoxicating as the act I will surrender to. Every brush of skin makes the waiting itself a delectable act, binding us together in both body and something far more profound.
Still drooling, I lower myself over his aching cock, fully engulfing it, wanting all of it inside me, needing to feel its throbbing desire for the release I will provide, desperately wanting to taste him, swallowing him. After a few strokes, I flip my leg over his head, straddling his face wondering if his dating has taught him what to do with what is currently spread before his eyes.
And oh, god—yes. He has learned. Every move proves it, every lick wrecking me in ways I can’t resist. His hips shove upward, deeper, harder, and I can’t stop my desperate moans that vibrate over his manhood. My fingers clutching his balls, frantically clinging, looking to unleash the flood of cum built up inside them, needing the release all that’s boiling inside him and the one about to explode in me.
Suddenly, it’s there—the salty gush, the unstoppable wave that drowns my senses. Taste, sound, scent, sight—everything is consumed in the blinding rush of his release. His tongue fiercely ravages me past the point of no return, and I answer in kind, my own torrent breaking loose in powerful acknowledgement of our mutual gifts to each other.
For a few fleeting minutes, we collapse into each other’s arms, savoring the afterglow. But the reprieve is brief—Tommy shifts, restless, his need already flaring anew.
