Fire Down Below
946 Words
It’s like he’s everywhere now.
At the school. At the gas station. Hell, even in my damn dreams — half-dressed and whispering things no married woman should ever hear, especially not from someone who isn’t her husband.
It was Saturday. Gerald had gone fishing with his brother, which meant I had the house to myself. I should’ve been doing laundry or grading papers. Instead, I was wandering aimlessly around my kitchen, replaying the sound of his voice on a loop. Smooth. Grounded. Dangerous.
I was halfway through folding a basket of towels when I heard a knock. Not the kind that says “sss,” either. No, this was slow. Heavy. Intentional.
I peeked through the curtain and there he was — John Jensen, standing on my porch like sin in slacks. Holding a takeout bag and that same damn crooked smile.
“You said you’d think about lunch.”
“I thought about it,” I said, trying not to grin.
“And?”
“I thought you should come in.”
“You don’t let people do nice things for you, do you?” he said quietly.
“I usually can’t afford to let them.”
“You don’t have to afford me, Katie. Just… let me.”
And before I could stop myself, I reached up and touched his shirt — crisp cotton, warm from the sun. He was real. But somehow… not.
He leaned in slowly, giving me a chance to back away.
I didn’t.
He stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind him, sealing us into something electric.
He didn’t speak. Neither did I. Words were irrelevant when tension practically licked the air between us.
John walked toward me with the calm confidence of someone who knew what he wanted. He wasn’t asking for permission. Not in a controlling way. No — he was waiting. Watching. Letting me feel the weight of being wanted.
I swallowed hard. “You’re trouble,” I said, my voice breaking like the edge of a match.
He smiled, lazy and slow. “Only the kind that reminds you you’re alive.”
Then, he kissed me.
It wasn’t soft this time.
It was devouring. Like he’d been waiting for centuries to taste me and now refused to waste a second.
His hands gripped my hips as my fingers tangled in his hair. His tongue teased the seam of my lips until I opened for him, and when I did, he kissed me deeper — like he was trying to memorize my taste.
I moaned into his mouth, and it was like that flipped a switch. He pressed me against the hallway wall, one knee sliding between mine to spread my legs. I gasped as the pressure built right where I needed it most.
“Upstairs?” he asked, voice wrecked and raw.
I shook my head.
“Here,” I whispered.
Right here. Right now.
He didn’t hesitate.
Hands everywhere. Fingers tracing the outline of my bra before unhooking it with one flick. My breasts spilled into his hands, and he kissed down my neck, across my collarbone, then captured one n****e in his mouth while his hand kneaded the other. He alternated, while continually looking at me…low and slow.
My back arched involuntarily. I couldn’t help the sounds escaping me — whimpers, moans, needy fragments of the woman I used to be.
His mouth moved lower, across my belly, down to the waistband of my leggings. He knelt.
“Don’t—” I started, embarrassed.
He looked up at me like I was a goddess. “Don’t hide from me, Katie.”
Then he slid my leggings down and hooked my legs over his shoulders.
His mouth met my center, and my knees nearly buckled.
Tongue. Lips. Rhythm.
He worshipped me like I was his last prayer — steady, purposeful, relentless. I felt the strength of his tongue flickering over my hot, swollen center. I continually climbed new heights and never felt as good as it was feeling now. I cried out, gripping his hair, and he growled in response — a low, vibrating sound that sent me over the edge.
I shattered.
He caught me.
Somehow, I ended up on the couch, breathing hard, eyes barely open.
John leaned over me, kissing my forehead like he hadn’t just torn me apart and put me back together.
“I need to be inside you,” he whispered. “But only if you want this.”
I pulled him down by the shirt. “Please.”
The rest was a blur of heat and breath and skin.
When he entered me, I gasped — full, stretched, completely possessed. He then placed me on his core in reverse cowgirl position. This man was going slow, pumping me with the power of a gentle giant. Allowing me to take all of him in, but teasing my core with slow, tempered thrusts. I can’t explain what I felt. I have never experienced raw, emotional s*x like this. He then turns me around. He took my breasts one at a time in his mouth, while slowly thrusting his manhood into my juicy core.
We moved together like we’d done it a hundred times before — like our bodies were made for this rhythm.
He whispered my name like a vow. Held my face like I might break. And when I came again — wrapped around him, nails raking down his back — he followed, head thrown back, body trembling, eyes flashing gold just for a second.
And I swear… in that moment… time stood still. I knew there was no turning back at this point. What have I done?
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD