Certain

Slowly, I sank toward the floor, ultimately kneeling on the cool hard tile and feebly gripping the edge of the countertop. I could still feel my heart beating faster than normal, and even though he was no longer moving deep inside me, I could still "feel" him there, his girth forcing my body to accommodate him, his length brushing against my cervix. I could still "hear" his barely-restrained growls in my ear from when he had been bent over me, pressing my chest onto the countertop and squashing my breasts beneath my ribs. I could still "feel" each deluge of his love splashing inside me and being forced from my body with each frenzied thrust.

I moaned softly, keenly aware of his seed trickling down my right thigh and probably even dripping onto the floor beneath me. As I tried to catch my breath, my eyes were still clamped shut, vividly remembering the very close-up view I had had of the coffeemaker and the toaster and the white countertop and yellow kitchen wall while he had roughly taken his pleasure from me.

I first heard him kneeling behind me and then felt his hands on my sides, pulling me backward until I was leaning into his bare chest. His hands moved to my breasts, kneading them just the way he knew I adored. He was trying to keep me primed, trying to keep me ready for him while he took a little time to recover.

This was nothing new between us. We would sometimes go for hours like this, although typically it would be in the bedroom. This was not the first time that he had taken me in the kitchen, and I had no reason to believe that it would be the last time that we would share such pleasure in the room reserved for the preparation of meals.

I reached up and backward, interlacing my fingers behind his neck in an act which would inherently thrust my chest forward. He took the unsubtle hint, squeezing my breasts more firmly, pinching my nipples just enough for the pain to be slight and erotic. I moaned again, the insides of my eyelids showing an image of what we must have looked like if seen from the living room: an older man with graying and balding hair holding a younger woman with long violet-dyed hair and dangling gothic-inspired earrings kneeling on the floor of a kitchen between the refrigerator and the main part of the counter, his strong arms enveloping her as his large hands practically engulfed her breasts while her own hands dipped between her obscenely-spread thighs so her fingers could gather the combined love which was emerging from her body. I could only guess at what an outsider would think at seeing the two of us together in such a compromising position, but at the moment, it really did not matter to me. All that mattered was that I felt loved, cherished, desired.

When my lower legs eventually began to ache from the position on the hard floor, I slowly extricated myself from his grasp. On my hands and knees, I crawled away from him just slightly, just enough so that he could have a clear view of the remnants of the white mess he had lovingly made inside me. Only then did I turn around, looking through the curtain of violet and up at his proud face. Glancing down to his groin, I saw that he was already gaining his second wind, and I carefully lowered myself onto my stomach, stretching out upon the cool floor which caused my nipples to harden just a little more. He reached down to me and brushed my dyed strands aside, sharing a contented smile with me before my lips were obscenely stretching around his tip and slowly descending his relengthening manhood.

Not for the first time, I could taste us both upon him. I cleaned him with my tongue, savoring how my flavor mixed with his. My head was soon bobbing merrily, and fortunately he kept my hair away from my face so that I could concentrate fully and selflessly upon his pleasure. Feeling him twitch in my mouth and between my fingers made me proud that he had chosen me to share such acts with him. Feeling the love in his touch caused my heart to swell within my chest and a renewed trickle of lust to seep from the base of my torso.

Seemingly a few heartbeats earlier, we had both been bent over the kitchen counter as he had rapidly taken me. We had essentially been two primal beasts in heat, not caring at all who saw us, simply basking in the pleasures of the flesh. Now, the lovemaking was much slower, almost languid, yet equally as impactful.

Then we both heard it: the closing of a car door. With one mind, with one purpose, we both sprang to our feet, bent to gather our clothes, and sprinted up the stairs. She could not know. She could never know. She might suspect, but we could never let her know for certain.