You’re sitting across his lap in just your cotton panties, legs straddling the soft hairiness of his thighs, bent forward close enough that your tits are brushing his chest. His face is tipped up a little and he’s kissing you, soft and unhurried, like he’s nowhere else to be for a decade or so, languid-slow, like he’s forgotten the shape of your mouth and is learning it over again.
‘Oh,’ you say, and press closer against him, take his cock in your hand, but he puts one of his own over yours and gently pulls your fingers away, one by aching one, brings your hand to his chest and tucks it up over his heart.
‘Slow,’ he says, ‘slow as you can, my girl. You feel my heartbeat?’
Of course you do, thunking strong and regular under his ribs. He runs one hand up your left side, slow and dragging over your skin, and presses his palm flat over your breast, nipple caught at the root of his two fingers. Your heart’s beating against his palm and you’re so bone-deep aware of it, the pulse of your blood under his hand and the beat of his under yours, looped in synchronous rhythm a little outside of time.
It’s been like this for almost an hour, both of you on the plateau, breath dragging unsteady, skin flushed with arousal, trying to keep your bodies loose and unclenched. You keep wanting to close your eyes, tighten your muscles, clutch at the pleasure pulsing hot and unfocused at the base of your spine, but he’s played this game longer than you have, played it for years. His dick’s hard and thick between you, pressed up against your belly where you’re leaning into him, smearing across the shaking muscles of your tummy, but his breath is still mostly even and his eyes are mostly clear, watching you. Once in awhile he catches his lower lip for a bloodless few seconds between his teeth. Three times now you’ve started to escalate, tighten, tip your hips into him (Christ your panties aren’t even off), and every time he says “open your eyes honey” and ‘unwind for me baby, not yet, stay here with me,’ and he puts his hands on the small of your back and pets the round of your hip, gentling, grounding, and your cunt is one long fluttering ache and you think, you think that if you start coming you might just never stop, you might just shake and shudder and scream on his lap forever with one of his hands pressing you down gentle-close over his cock.
You must’ve made a noise, cause he shifts the hand on your breast just enough to brush your nipple, make you open your eyes again.
‘Stay soft, baby,’ he says, almost against your mouth, and hitches you closer over his thighs. ‘Slow and easy, pretty girl, look at, look at my face,’ and he’s dragging your panties to the side and hooking his dick with his thumb, pulling you onto him, and you’re boneless and your face is wet and oh but your hand’s pressed over his heart, thunk thunk thunk –