Chapter 6: Missionary, Eye Contact & Breeding Talk

Ethan’s bedroom felt smaller tonight, the low lamp on the nightstand throwing long shadows across the rumpled sheets and the faint blue glow of his computer screen bleeding in from the open door to the living room. The hum of the fan in the next room mixed with the distant city traffic outside, grounding everything in that everyday normalcy we both clung to. I’d shown up straight from the office still wearing my fitted dark jeans and a soft cream sweater that hugged my curves, the fabric warm from the day’s lingering heat. He’d ordered Thai takeout—pad see ew and spring rolls scattered across the coffee table in his living room—and we’d eaten cross-legged on the sectional like we always did, legs tangled under the low table.

But the conversation wasn’t the same. Every bite carried weight. I kept catching his eyes drifting to my mouth, remembering exactly how I’d looked riding him last week, and the memory sent a slow, insistent pulse between my legs. I’ve been replaying that creampie for days, my mind whispered, filthy and unfiltered. The way he flooded me, thick and hot, leaking out while I stayed seated on him. Phantom twitches keep hitting me at random moments—on the subway, during a client call. I’m supposed to be the coach, but my body’s been aching for more of him buried deep, stretching me until I forget where I end and he begins.

He set his container down and reached across to brush a thumb along my knee, voice low. “Last week ... you on top like that. I still feel you clenching around me when I close my eyes. You sure you’re okay moving to missionary tonight? I want to focus on control, on really seeing you.”

I swallowed the last sip of my water, heart kicking up. “Yeah. Missionary’s perfect for it. Eye contact the whole time. No hiding. You’re going to learn to last while I talk you through every sensation.” The words came out steady, but inside I was already slick, thighs pressing together under the table. We cleared the food in record time, the air between us crackling as we moved to the bedroom.

We undressed each other standing beside the bed, hands slow and deliberate like we were rediscovering territory we’d only just claimed. I tugged his shirt over his head, palms sliding down the lean lines of his chest, feeling the quick thud of his heart under warm skin. He peeled my sweater off, then unhooked my bra, letting my breasts spill free into his waiting hands. His thumbs circled my nipples until they tightened into aching peaks, and I arched into the touch with a soft gasp. My own fingers worked his belt open, shoving jeans and boxers down his hips so his cock sprang free—already heavy, flushed, the head glistening with that first bead of pre-cum I’d come to crave. I stroked him once, slow and firm, while he hooked his thumbs into my jeans and dragged them down my legs along with my panties. Cool air kissed my bare folds, already soaked, a thin trail of wetness tracing down my inner thigh.