He needed to stop, back away, let her get dressed, send her on her way, finish the bottle of wine, and pass out in the hammock.
Instead, she gripped him by the back of the neck and pulled his head to her tit. “Yes!” she purred.
He sucked at her tit, taking it firmly in his hand. She sucked air through clenched teeth and pressed her hips against his pulling his jeans against her panties by tightening the grip of her legs laced behind his lower back.
He backed away and looked at her. She didn’t smile at him this time. Her face contorted in a different way – a way he didn’t understand when he was younger – a way he didn’t understand a year ago. He would have interpreted the look of sadness and pain as some sort of regret. He would have backed away, settled her beside her and held her gently never wanting a woman to look frightened or sad he would have played the big brother.
Over the summer, since his wife had told him she needed to move home, since being told he was okay but not worth the effort, he had learned to interpret the look the young girl gave him as something different.
He switched tits, gripped it even more tightly than he had the first one, sucked at it even harder. He even took her nipple in his teeth biting it gently and tugging at it, pulling at it.
She growled, and dry humped his engorged but still hidden cock.
Yes, he had lost weight. Yes, he had gotten in shape. That wasn’t why he fucked differently now.
Layed out on his kitchen island like a chocolate cake cut and served he devoured her the way a dog attacks table scraps.
His arm moved around her. His hand gathered her hair. He gripped it firmly in his hand. He tugged enough to pull her head back and buried his face in her throat. He sucked a mouthful of flesh into his teeth and growled. She gasped. He moved on.
Her tits again, briefly.
Her ribs.
Her hip.
There was soft tender unmarred flesh. Her lower belly was like filet mignon. He kissed it, sucked at it, and bit at it. He tugged at her panties with her teeth. Her hands wrapped around his head.
He ran his tongue along her lace panties. He smelled her pussy and his mouth watered.
He traced the panties around each leg. She growled this time.
He released her hair.
He took her thighs in his hands. Lowering himself to his knees, he accosted her with his lips teeth and tongue through her panties. She continued to coo and growl until she could take it no longer and reached down with her free hand to pull her panties to the side.
“Slowly,” he thought to himself. He ran the length of his tongue over the cleft of her sweet lips feeling with each pass the swelling of her sweet clit.
She rocked her hips, and her legs struggled against his grip, but still, her hand held her panties pulled aside.
“Oh shit!” she muttered. “Oh shit! Shit! Shit!”
His assault moved from slow torture to rapid, rabid, onslaught.
She came with surprising violence, her body thrashing about the counter, her legs kicking at his shoulders as she fought against his grip. She squealed a little. He continued until the fight was out of her and her body lay quivering in front of him.