Make-up Sex

John grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward the bedroom. His anger had shifted, curdling into a desperate, hungry need.

"You think you can just decide who lives in this house?" he growled.

"I just want us to be a family, John," Nicole whispered, her voice trembling.

He shoved her onto the mattress, the springs shrieking. He didn't wait, ripping her lace underwear aside with a sharp tug. As he knelt between her legs, Nicole felt a warm, viscous slurry slide down her inner thigh—Jefferson’s seed, still thick and clinging to her cervix from the afternoon's humiliation."You're soaking," John muttered, his eyes darkening.

"I've been waiting for you," she lied, the guilt tasting like copper in her mouth.
He lunged forward, his cock slamming into her with a wet, heavy thud. The friction created a loud, rhythmic squelching sound as his shaft plowed through the mix of her own arousal and the white, creamy residue Jefferson had left behind. Nicole gasped, her legs shaking as he hammered into her, his balls slapping against her perineum with every frantic thrust.

"Tell me you're mine," John demanded, his breath hot against her neck. "I'm yours," she moaned, though her mind flickered to the bald man in the office.

He grunted, his pace accelerating into a blur of friction and heat. The air in the room grew heavy with the scent of sweat and musk. John let out a jagged cry, his body stiffening as he surged deep inside her, pumping his load into the same space where Jefferson’s cum still lingered.

He collapsed on top of her, breathing hard. He rolled off, leaving her shivering and empty. Nicole stared at the ceiling, the dull ache of unfulfilled desire pulsing between her thighs. She hadn't reached her peak; she was left suspended in a cold, hollow longing.

"I'm Sorry, Nicole. I love you. Your Brother can stay with us. I am just so frustrated with my Situation and I let it out on you. That was wrong. Again, I'm sorry." John apologized after catching his breath.