Chapter 17 - The Understanding

Steve’s gaze lingered on Charlotte, her mouth sealed around Evelyn’s dark nipple with a soft, rhythmic slorp, slorp, slorp. Heather’s hand, gentle yet firm, cupped his cheek and turned his face back to hers. Her striking blue eyes were glistening, with tears tracing a path through her perfect makeup.

“Make love to me, I need it,” she whispered, her voice cracking with a raw vulnerability that shattered his focus on the present tableau.

He kissed her then, not with the frantic passion of before, but with a deep, soulful intensity that poured every ounce of the confusing, overwhelming love he felt for her into the connection. Her lips yielded to his, tasting of tea and a sweetness that was uniquely Heather. He could feel the dampness of her tear against his skin.

Breaking the kiss, he made his way down her body, his lips blazing a trail over the regal slope of her neck, the elegant line of her collarbone. He worshiped the soft, heavy weight of her breasts, sucking a taut, pink nipple into his mouth until she gasped, her back arching. Mmmphf. He finally reached his destination, spreading her legs to reveal her glistening center.

It was, as she’d said, a swamp. Her slickness coated her inner thighs, the musky, intoxicating scent of her arousal filling the air around them. Her folds were puffy and flushed a deep, needy red.

“Please, just put it in me!” she pleaded, her hips making small, desperate circles. “I’m more than ready already. Fuck me, Steve. Please.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Giving heather a swipe of his tongue before climbing back up her body, he positioned himself between her thighs. The broad, leaking head of his cock pressed against her soaked entrance. He looked into her eyes, seeing not just his grandmother, but the fierce, beautiful leader who had chosen him, and the woman who was laid bare before him, his love.

He pushed forward, not with a brutal thrust, but with an excruciating, perfect slowness that made them both cry out. Squish.

“Oh, fuck ... Grandma...”

“Yes, baby ... oh, yes...”

He sank into her inch by breathtaking inch, every nerve ending in his cock screaming as her velvety, clenching heat enveloped him. He could feel every tiny bump, every throbbing vein within her gripping channel. She was impossibly tight, a silken fist milking his length, and so incredibly wet that the sound of their joining was a lewd, continuous squelch.

He buried himself to the hilt, their pelvises meeting with a soft, wet smack. He held himself there, buried deep inside her, feeling her internal muscles flutter and clench around him in a series of tiny, delicious spasms. Glrk.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, dropping his forehead to hers. “Your pussy is fucking perfect. It’s sucking my cock right in.”

“It’s your pussy, Steve,” she moaned back, her nails digging into his shoulders. “It’s always been waiting for you. Now fuck it. Fuck your grandmother’s needy, old pussy.”

He began to move, setting a deep, rolling rhythm that was less about frantic pace and more about profound, intimate connection. Each withdrawal was a slow, dragging agony, his thick shaft glistening with her juices. Each thrust was a homecoming, a thump of his hips meeting hers, driving the air from her lungs in a pleasured gasp.

Their coupling was both beautiful and excruciating, a dance of souls intertwining as he maintained the slow, deliberate pace. It wasn’t about the destination but the journey—each second stretching into eternity, each movement a testament to the depth of their connection. How could he not fall in love with this truly exceptional woman? Her body moved with a grace that spoke of years of strength and wisdom, yet her vulnerability shone through with every breathy gasp.

She clung to him, her nails lightly scratching his back, as if she feared he might vanish if she let go. His heart pounded in rhythm with hers, their bodies synced in a melody only they could hear. How could she not yearn for the man who had awakened her youthful exuberance? Her eyes, filled with a mix of desire and adoration, locked onto his, refusing to let him look away.