She’s Bent Over The Kitchen Counter, Still In Her Cutesie Pajamas, Hair Messy From Sleep. The Coffee

she’s bent over the kitchen counter, still in her cutesie pajamas, hair messy from sleep. the coffee machine hums softly, filling the room with its warmth, but i’m not paying attention to that. no, i’m watching the way she gasps when i press up behind her, tugging down her shorts with a lazy sort of ease

"mm, morning already ?" she mumbles, voice still thick with sleep

"you know the rules, sweetheart," i murmur, running a hand down her spine, watching the way she shivers. "doesn't matter the time."

she exhales, a shaky little sound that makes me grin

i push inside, slow, unhurried, relishing the way she clenches around me : tight, warm, perfect, like she was made for this. her hands grip the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening as she lets out the prettiest little moan

"shh," i hum, fingers curling in her hair, tugging her head back just enough to whisper against her ear. "you don’t want to wake the neighbors, do you ?"

she shakes her head. obedient. sweet. always so good for me

but when i start to move, hips snapping forward in deep, steady thrusts, she trembles, desperate, falling apart so easily

"you're such a good girl," i coo, gripping her hip, holding her in place. "letting me abuse you like this. letting me take what's mine."

her fingers dig into the counter, body arching as i fuck her through the sleepy haze of morning. her breath stutters, her thighs shake, and i know she’s close. so close

but the coffee machine beeps, and i pull out just as she whimpers, leaving her empty, aching for more

"better hurry up and pour me a cup," i murmur, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. "i'm still not done with you, my darling doll..."