Chapter 107

Miles drives us back to his place and we go in through the front door.

“Coffee?” he asks, as he tosses aside his coat. It lands on the back of a nearby chair.

“Okay,” I reply. Removing my own coat, I drape mine carefully over top of his.

He turns and heads into the kitchen. Slower, I follow him.

His kitchen is elaborate, with steel appliances and deep cherry red cabinets. He has an expensive looking expresso machine on top of the marble countertop, but instead of going to it, he heads to an older-looking coffee maker.

“Old reliable,” he says, tapping the side of the coffee pot.

As he makes the coffee, I glance around the kitchen. Aside from the coffee pot, most things seem sterile and unused. The kitchen itself doesn’t feel lived in. Either he has a diligent maid service that swings by every day or he doesn’t spend much time in here.

With the coffee maker set, Miles turns to me. He watches me a moment, before inching closer. “What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“I’m guessing you don’t spend too much time in this room,” I say.

“I don’t spend much time in this house,” Miles admits. “My schedule is usually so busy, I’m lucky if I can make it back here to sleep.”

He must be tired, then.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have coffee, after all,” I say. “Maybe we should just go to bed so you can get some rest.”

Miles smirks. “We can head to bed, but we are not going to be resting.”

My cheeks heat up, so I turn my head away.

Miles comes closer. Tucking his finger under my chin, he turns my head so that I’m looking back at him. His smirk has softened. He doesn’t seem like he’s teasing anymore.

“You have no idea how much you worried me tonight,” he says. “How could you think to go to that place alone?”

“Cynthia said the same thing. She threatened to send the police,” I say, trying to lighten the tone once more. The new weight to this conversation felt too heavy on me. I was embarrassed, knowing he and Cynthia are right. Amber could have been dangerous.

“You should have listened to her,” Miles says. His hand slips away from my chin and traces slowly down the column on my throat. He leaves it at the base of my neck, his thumb gently stroking along my collarbone.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“You should be,” Miles says. His voice grows rougher. His eyes darken. “Though an apology doesn’t feel like enough.”

“How can I make it up to you?” I ask, though I suspect I already know the answer. My nipples start to harden, peaking against the cups of my bra. I press my thighs together. In anticipation over what’s likely about to happen, my panties dampen.

Miles’s free hand grips the side of my blouse, just above my hip. “You should be punished,” he says, and tugs the fabric. “Take this off.”

“Here?” I ask, glancing around the kitchen.

“I don’t want my coffee to get cold,” Miles says. “Take off your top, Esther.”

The command in his voice sends pleasant shivers through my body. Slowly, I start to unbutton my blouse. When the buttons are free, I slip it from my shoulders and it slides to the ground.

Miles drags his gaze down to my chest. I’m wearing a cute pink lacy bra today. It pushes my breasts up slightly, making the swell of them even more pronounced. Miles hums in apparent appreciation of the view. I preen under the praise, bending my back to push my chest out further.

“Now the skirt,” he says.

Obediently, I open the zipper on the back of my skirt and then slide it down my hips and thighs. Once it’s over my curves, it drops to the floor. I kick it away, into a pile with my discarded blouse.

Miles looks over my body. My panties match my bra, light pink lace. The panties are a bit more see-through though, not leaving much to the imagination. As Miles stares at the apex of my thighs, the ocean in his eyes becomes a hurricane.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes.

I blush even more fiercely and start to turn away again. He has to be lying, doesn’t he? He’s a known playboy and young than me. I’m a woman in my thirties who has had two children. Compared to the tight younger bodies he’s seen before, I must look like a used-up worn-out mess. Sexy underwear or no.

As if sensing my dismay, Miles closes the distance between us. He places his hands on my hips and then not-so-gently, twists me, so that my back is placed against the cold steel of the refrigerator.

“Miles,” I gasp, as my warm skin presses against the cool metal.

Miles crowds me, trapping me between his body and the fridge. I have no escape from between the coolness at my back and the hot man in front of me.

Without any preamble, Miles rips his own shirt off with such speed that I’m certain he must have torn it. I can’t tell though. I’m far too distracted looking at the way he’s staring at me, like he wants to devour me whole.

His pants go next, boxers with them. Soon, it’s his naked body pushing against me. His dick is fully hardened, pressing against the juncture of my hip, catching on the lace of my panties.

He snakes his hand between us, sliding down my belly, palm to my skin.

Anxiety strikes me. Surely he can feel the pudge that I’ve never been fully able to work off after having kids. If he does notice though, it doesn’t seem to affect him at all. His dick remains rock hard.

His hand continues searching down. He doesn’t dip it under my panties like I expect. Instead, he traces his fingers along the lace. When he reaches my clit, I gasp, but he merely teases me through it as he continues. When he feels the dampness, he groans lightly, a deep rough growl.

There, he pushes the panties to one side and slides a finger inside of me.

I claw at his shoulders, suddenly feeling weak in the knees.

If this is supposed to be a punishment, I don’t understand. It feels more like bliss.

His hand slips out of me. Cupping under my thighs, he forces me up. I hook my legs around his waist. He presses his thighs under me to give me more support. Then, pushing my panties to the side, he lines up his cock to my entrance and slides inside with one, long, demanding thrust.

He gives me no time to prepare. Suddenly I went from the stretch of a single finger to cock-filled. And his dick is sizeable, easily the largest I’ve had.

I gasp at the sudden stretch. Just as I had to time to prepare, I have no time to recover before he starts fucking into me in earnest. His hips buck hard and fast, shoving me up the side of the fridge before gravity drags me back down.

I feel like I’m riding a wild bronco. All I can do is hold on and take it.

He re-angles slightly, now rubbing my clit with each fast-paced forward drive.

The pleasure ramps up, eliminating all sense of dwindling pain. I throw my head back and vocalize my pleasure. “Ah. Oh. Aaah! Miles… Oh!”

He feels so good inside of me, hitting me just the right way, that tears well in the corner of my eyes.

He drops his face into the crook of my shoulder, his teeth on my bare skin.

I’m being fucked by a wild animal, a 25-year-old man.

His hips quicken, snapping into me with wild abandon, pistoning like a car engine.

I can’t take much more. “Miles… Miles, I --!”

He angles again, hitting my g-spot, and that’s all it takes.

“Miles!!” I topple over the edge.

He keeps going, as fast as before, with a pace and stamina that shouldn’t be possible.

“Miles…” I whimper, overly sensitive, but still on board for this. My fingers dig into his shoulders. The tears fall from my eyes.

Miles, voice wrecked, breathy and lust rough, say, “Take your punishment.”

I’m in for a long night.