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A Perfect Wreck Mila Crawford, Aria Cole 2022/8/3 13:46:54

She’s purring against my straining member that’s dripping at the tip. She licks the head all over and tentatively surrounds it with her pretty lips. She’s never done this before, and I watch her with a grin.

“Cal, it’s definitely not going to fit in there. Be careful with that thing.”

She looks up at me with those vibrant green eyes that slaughter me every time. I run my fingers through her hair, gently pulling out the pins and letting the golden locks fall. She’s stubborn by nature and habitually contrary. Grabbing my shaft in her fist, she sucks in the ten inches, taking me to the back of her throat. My balls clench immediately, and I feel like I could come down her throat with just a few strokes. I gaze into her eyes and see that she needs my approval. I smile gently at her and take control of her head, fisting her blond hair and driving my dick slowly forward. I don’t want her to gag—but I do want to fuck her beautiful mouth. It’s this erotic mouth that I’ve jerked off to more times than I can count. To have her full, pouty lips wrapped around my cock and totally at my mercy is almost too much for me to take. I want to watch my come drip from those sinful lips down her neck, spilling onto her décolleté.

“Don’t swallow your saliva. Just let it build up.” I reach down and cup her tits, alternately pinching her nipples. She opens her throat more the more turned on she gets.

“You’re so good at taking my cock. Such a good girl,” I say as I caress her head and stroke her hairline.

“I want to see my come on your lips, Cal. Don’t drink it all.” I can’t even talk dirty because before I know it, I’m busting a nut. My semen shoots into her mouth, leaving my dick almost violently. My stomach muscles tense, and my body arches forward into a C. With a grip on my shaft, I watch Callie stick out her tongue as a landing pad for my semen. After the most carnal touchdown, it trickles lazily down her face until she pulls her tongue in and swallows.

I collapse to my knees and pull her into an openmouthed kiss—a move that at one point might have repulsed me, now only feels like another aphrodisiac. All is nectar from her lips.

“Did I do that right?” she asks me cautiously.

“You do every-fucking-thing right,” I say as I roll onto my back on the floor and pull her on top of me.

“Asa, get the door! I’m in the tub!” I yell through the crack in the door, to no avail.

He himself installed this deluxe, old-fashioned revival with clawed feet just so I could soak. But ask me if I have the time? Of course I don’t. Not with two-year-old twins, Dean and Avery, and another one on the way. I caress my swollen belly peeking out of the bubbles. I love my body pregnant—every part except my feet and cankles.

Maybe it’s the UPS guy, and he can just leave whatever it is on the front porch. It might be the swing I ordered or the yoga mat or the baby clothes. It could be an ax murderer, and my husband has decided to disappear at a prime moment.

I heave my well-soaked and softened body out of the tub and wrap fluffy white towels around my hair, my top, and my bottom half. This vessel now requires a three-towel bath or shower. “Asa?” I holler, leaving a trail of bubbles on our newly sanded hardwood floors. The beauty of being married to a real estate agent is that he can find you the loveliest house in Hartford and then renovate it until it matches your dreams. In the bedroom that’s full of blinding sunlight, I pull on yoga pants and soft Rolling Stones T-shirt that once belonged to my brother, Dean.

I fly down the stairs, and after bringing in the box from the front porch, I search the living room as well as the playroom in the basement, all the while calling, “Asa, Dean, Avery?”

He probably took them to the park. He likes to leave notes on the kitchen table or the whiteboard next to the fridge.

From the kitchen window, I spot Asa on all fours in the grass. He’s playing lion, and the twins are screaming and laughing, joyously toddling away from the swipes of his paws.

“There you are,” I say, stepping into the sun.

“What happened to the bath? I told you to take your time, hun.”

“There was someone at the door.”

Asa scoops up a cackling twin in each arm. He strides across the grass and leans in to kiss me, holding Avery and Dean, with their grabby-mommy hands, back.