Kitchen Floor Sex


With my back to the front door, my hand on the knob, he thrust me into my house by my hips. With his warm mouth, his lips as supple as mine, he exacted ease and an unexpected skill guiding me to the bed. I led him into the kitchen.
“Drinks.” I said as I set my wristlet on the counter.




“Sure,” he replied. Nordic complexion and a low-key sexy style pushed himself up onto my kitchen counter and watched me.
“Heineken or Belvedere?” I asked, stepping out of my heels.
“Heineken.” Before I reached into refrigerator, he spun me from behind. His hands traveled my face, pausing at my neck and ears, lightening around my hairline, a romcom move I loved. Jack never touched my face.
I pushed him down on the kitchen floor. 




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