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When You're Good to Mama

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It's an excuse, the pajamas. June didn't forget to give them to him, and, "Do you have enough pillows?" isn't the question she wants an answer to, but it's a way to start the conversation.

Except when she knocks on the door and steps inside, he's naked to the waist, bottom half under the sheets, and there's a smile on his face when he says, "Time to sing for my supper, huh?"

She puts the pajamas on the chair by the bedstand. She smiles to see a pair of blue silk boxers she remembers running her hands over many times before. She leans in and he reaches up and they're kissing. He tastes good: dinner was a sweet curry and his mouth echoes ginger and peppers at her. She pulls back and smiles at him. "What do you do?"

"What do you like?" he whispers back.

"Hmm," she says, "it's been a while. Let's keep it simple."

"Come on in," he says. "The water's fine."

He pulls her forward, but gently, and she stretches out on top of his body. She opens her mouth for more kissing. She loves the feel of somebody else's mouth, hot and wet, breathing into her. His mouth is soft, too soft, and she nips at his lips, scrapes her teeth on his tongue.

"Hey," he says, pulling back. "I'm not going to kiss you if you're going for blood."

"I'm not a fainting flower," she murmurs, reaches her hand behind his head and pulls at him.

He shakes her hand off and frowns. "I'm not safe."

"Prison was like that then?" she says.

"Let's just say, it's not the first time I've done this dance."

"Okay," she says. "Then we need this." She reached over to the bedside table, pulls out a foil packet. Considers another second and pulls out a pump bottle of lube.

He smiles at her, and lays back down, pulls her with him. He kisses her more firmly this time, fills her up with his tongue, lets the drool get messier. It's good, and she squirms against him, against his hard on. She doesn't usually warm up this fast, but she's been thinking about this since she brought him home and started playing mannequin with him.

He takes down the straps of her nightgown, blinks at her night bra. "Should I take this off?"

She reaches behind and removes it herself. "I know how old I am."

He reaches a hand up to one hanging tit, rubs a circle around her areola. "Forget that you're tasty looking?" He pushes up against her, and he's larger than he was just seconds ago. He fumbles one handed for the condom. "I can go twice," he says. "It's been so long, can I—?"

She pulls up the edge of her nightgown with one hand, pulls his hand to her crotch with the other. She's not wearing panties and she's wet, not sopping, but you can feel the moisture.

"Oh, thank god," says Neil. He reaches sideways and tears at the condom wrapper, puts it on almost too fast. Then he pumps out a double handful of pale pink slick and streaks it along the length of his cock. "Preferred position?"

"Cowgirl," she says.

He boggles, then laughs at himself. "Giddy on up, ma'am," he says, and puts his hands on her hips.

She gets to her knees with just a little pull from him and sits down firmly on his dick. She's stretched around him and feels so full, it's amazing. She bends down to kiss him some more, and it readjusts the angle where they're joined and she starts to ride.

He picks up the rhythm from her, slow and sweet and deep, and they rock together for a while. He starts to speed up, and she pushes back at him, lets her weight fall more heavily on his hips. He pushes back against her, and the pressure hurts and feels good at the same time. "I need something," she says.

His eyes are closed, and he blinks them open slowly. "Hmm?" he says, then he reaches down and rubs a thumb on her clit.

"Softer," she whispers. He uses a second finger and he twists his fingers in there some kind of way that sets her off. She doesn't fake the head tossing and the moaning she would have in the old days. She pulls her hands up, though, off his body, and scratches her fingers in her own thighs.

The shudders last a long time, and when she finally stills, she realizes he's softening, pulling out of her, already. He rolls her onto her back, gentle and sweet, and gives her a kiss. "Thank you," he says.

"Thank you." She gets up, pulls the straps of her nightgown back up. "You want me to get you a washcloth?"

"No, I'm good," he says.

"Then good night and," she leans over, puts a kiss to his forehead, "sleep well."

"Good night," he says.

She walks out, and just as she turns the doorknob, he says, "I'll bring your bra back tomorrow night."

"Looking forward to it." She leaves.