Her reward

Adam picks her up.

Lana makes a small sound, arms around his neck, and does not ask where. The pizza box is still on the table. He carries her down the hall anyway, one arm under her knees, the other at her back.

The bedroom is dark. He sets her on the bed.

He undresses her slowly. The shirt comes up. His mouth finds her stomach on the way past, then the place under her breast that used to make her twitch when they were dating. She twitches now. He smiles against her skin and she feels it.

“You remember?” she says.

“I remember.”

Her shorts are next. He eases them down her hips, kissing a knee as he frees one leg, then the other. Panties last. His thumbs hook the sides. He looks at her face while he draws them off. She lifts her hips.

Naked, she is flushed. A little shy, which is ridiculous, and he sees it.

“Hi,” she says, almost a laugh.

“Hi.”

He moves lower. Fingers first. He strokes through her, finds her wet, and presses in with two, slow, curling. Lana sighs. His mouth is on her thigh.

“You’re soaked,” he says.

“What else did you expect?”

He kisses her cunt like a greeting. Then he licks. Flat tongue. Unhurried. The taste is not a surprise. The care is. He fucks her gently with his fingers while he sucks her clit, then eases off to lick the whole of her, then comes back. Lana’s hand finds his hair.

“You’re eating me like you missed it,” she says. “I missed your mouth. Don’t rush. I want to feel you.”

He groans into her and the vibration makes her hips lift. He holds her down with one arm, tender, not pinning her like a toy.

She reminds him she used to cum on his tongue when they were dating. She tells him she wants that again.

“Look at me,” she manages, and he looks up, mouth wet, eyes on hers, and the chemistry is almost unfair. Old want. New permission. A man being careful with a woman who is only his wife until his wife comes home.

“Don’t stop,” she says. “Please don’t stop. I’m close.”

He does not stop.

She cums hard.

It hits her and he keeps going, thighs shaking around his head, a cry she does not muffle. She squirts, a hot rush over his mouth, his chin, his fingers, and he does not pull away.

He licks her through it, drinking, letting her shake, murmuring against her until the squirt thins and she is panting, spent, one hand still in his hair like she forgot to let go.

“I made a mess,” she whispers, laughing.

“Good mess,” he says. His face is wet. He kisses the inside of her thigh. Then her stomach.

Then he comes up and kisses her mouth, slow, so she can taste herself.

He lies down beside her and pulls her in. Her head on his chest. His arm around her back.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I did,” Lana says. Her voice is small and honest. “I really did. You didn’t have to do all this. But you did it like you meant it.”

“I meant it.”

He kisses her hair. They stay like that.

Pizza forgotten. Mia in another country.

Lana listens to his heart slow down. He listens to her breathing even out.

They drift off tangled, his mouth still tasting like her, her body still humming, asleep before either of them can name what they are doing.