Daniella had prepared herself for him. Presented what she had. He ached for it. Wanted it.

She sat framed in the space between the island and the living room where they slept. Sitting naked on a dining room chair with her legs crossed and a gun in her hand. He’d have loved this picture to keep himself company on some of those cold desert nights. She cocked her head and smiled, her reflection warbled, stretched to the tips of his boots on the warm polished floor.

Boots beat hollow sounds through the kitchen as he slowly closed the space between them, taking every inch of her in. Every smooth flesh curve, her cute knees, her painted toes. Kitchen smelled of cooking. His girl making them dinner while he tracked down the men that wanted them dead.

“What are you smiling at?” she said as he stood tall over her.

“You cook for me?” he said, his eyes going over the pots and pans and knives and cutting boards.

“I’ve been busy,” she said, eyeing him through narrowed lashes.

“I want to work up an appetite for dinner,” he said, and touched the end of his finger to the point of her nipple peeking out from behind all that cream and he scooped a puff, put his finger in his mouth.

She gasped, “How?”

“I’m going to start with dessert.”

“You want to skip dinner?” she said, her teeth dragging her plump lip back into her mouth, eyes peeking up at him through her brows. “All the effort I made...”

“All I want right now is to have this buried inside you,” he growled, absently hefting his growing denim bulge.

She brushed his hand away from his crotch, her eyes going over where his cock was pressing out the front of his jeans, dipping now down his pant leg as the sight of her brought him to hardness.

Her little hand went up and down his length, eyes glued to it, watching it swell and press against the cotton. “What? ...This thing?” she said, eyes still on it. “What are you going to do to me?” she said, eyes up to his now.

“I’m going to make you beg for it.”

She huffed through her nose, smiling, eyes growing lusty. “Do it,” she said. “Make me beg for it.”

His hands worked his zipper down, let her hear the brass teeth unclenching. Peeled his pants open and pulled it out for her, let her see it. Her lashes batted, her head cocked and he saw her chest rising with her breaths. He held it, stroked the tip along her chest. Guided it, the cleft in the head of his cock running up her nipple, his glans collecting whipped cream. Put it to her lips and she sucked it into her mouth, a white line of cream slipping around the wet seal where her lips met his cock. She sucked him clean. Her wet mouth felt so incredible on him. He did the other nipple. This time she hefted her breast for him, her hand a claw pressed into her soft flesh, lifting it and guiding her nipple to meet his swollen tip. He swiped again. Presented that to her smiling mouth and she sucked.

He bent to her, down on one knee before her, unhooked her knee from where it folded over her other thigh. Separated her legs and she resisted him.

“Let me see your pussy, Daniella,” he said. She sucked her lips into her mouth. “Open these legs for me.”

Her knees came apart and he saw the whipped cream mashed in her creases, frosted over her sweet pussy. His heart fluttered. Moved in then, worked his way closer to her, worked her legs farther apart. Moved til he had his lips to hers. They came together softly. He tasted her. Tasted the wine she drank. Tasted her tongue, pulled it from her, sucked on that tiny pink squirming thing. Kissed down her neck and she raised her chin, let her chest heave forward and her hands worked through his hair. Kissed her chest, his teeth dragging now, dragged til they came across her hardened nipple. So hard it must have hurt her. Skewed far from her body, a rough and excited bud, and his teeth closed gently on it, scored across her flesh, made her breaths come faster and faster. He pulled it into his mouth, His hands gripped the inside of her thighs and he’d made her so wet he could smell sex from her now. Sweet honey perfume rising from between her legs, making his heart hammer, making his own breaths come quick.

He kissed to her other nipple, her eager hands wrapped around his head, guiding his mouth, her eyes lowered watching this dirty spectacle, mouth agape. He peeled his jacket off. Sucked her nipple. Pulled it, plucked it, ran his tongue in spirals over its shape til it glistened in the halogen kitchen light and her breaths heaved her chest like ocean waves.

“Make me beg for it,” she gasped, her hips squirming in her chair.

Peeled his shirt off then, did it slow so she could watch. She loved his body and he loved the way her eyes went over it. She’d get this hazy, sexy look, her long black lashes narrowed. She cupped her own breasts, plucked at her own nipples, rolling them between thumb and forefinger. Her legs opened wider. Invited him.

He fell to her, pressed his chest to her belly, her hands sweeping over his traps and his neck, down his shoulders. He sucked on her between her breasts, turning to kisses as he went lower, bit at the soft flesh of her middle, his tongue ran circles around her belly button and it brought a tremor to her tummy that made them both laugh. Worked lower, chased her laugh away, turning it to a gasp as his mouth came very close to her hot pink sex. His hands stroked the inside of her thighs and when his mouth finally consumed her she cried out. He sucked her into his mouth, gathered up all those hot slippery folds in one mouthful, his tongue parting the membranes, finding her hood and seeking out that hard swollen button in there. She called out his name, high and excited, more breath than voice and it spurred him. His fingers stroked low, below her mound, his mouth sucking and releasing, his finger slipping up and stroking her labia, parting them, his fingers forming a V of peace and his tongue then darting and exploring, making Daniella's hips and ass quiver and flex. He got her shaking then, two fingers slipped inside her. She took him easily, so wet so excited and hungry. Tongue working and fingers plunging he got her so she couldn't sit still, jumping all over the chair, and the noises she made were high squeaks, calling out his name again, saying Yes-ss and ah and oh. Just the sex in her voice alone had his cock as hard as steel. Thrust up now from his open jeans, the wet tip sliding over the hard ridges along his sternum. He was going to make her come. He was going to make her scream and hear her voice echo all around the high ceiling of this kitchen. He’d make her come. Then he was going to fuck her. Then they were going to sit naked at the counter and he would see what she had made for dinner.

* * *

The thick ends of the fingers of his right hand pressed into her soft thigh. She watched them. His hard hands, still somehow well-groomed but masculine. Pressing her flesh. He had her legs spread wide, that intimate part of her exposed to him, her most secret part pushed up into his hungry mouth. He sucked, and his other hand thrust over and over, fucking her with two big fingers, making wet and smacking noises. He had her more wet than she could remember. She felt her juice slipping down her crack, spreading on her cheeks.

She groaned, loving her own sound in her ecstatic throat. She moaned again, just for herself, feeling the hum through her chest and up into her head. Her eyes wanted to close but she forced them to watch. Her fingers wove through his thick glossy hair and urged him on, urged his tongue faster and deeper and he understood, riding her body, meeting the thrusts of her hips with his driving tongue. He pierced her, flattened his tongue and spread the strong base so she could grind her button hard into him. Her knees came up, a little vulgar but they were all friends here, she turned her sex up for him, threw her legs over his shoulders and dug her heels into his steely back. He'd eaten up all that cream, took it all, left her skin shining. Licked and sucked, worked lower, between her cheeks and drew a long warbling high note from her at how dirty this day had become. He licked her from her anus up to her clit, and his fingers came back too and started their deep wonderful lunging again and it made her ache for his cock. Her eyes rolled right back. Two years without a man, now she was more than ready for that horse cock he had. So ready, two of his thick fingers felt like an appetizer.

She didn't really care where he’d been for four years, only cared that they were reunited, that they were one again. He wouldn't leave her. She could feel it. He was the same Rocco, but he was also profoundly different. He would hold onto her until the end. She would do the same. They would solve this current hydra and they would move on. They would be a couple and there would be no looking back.

She bucked against him now, picturing their life together, imagining every day like this...wanting it, needing it. Her grip tightened on his hair and she thrust herself to him, drove her hot wet pussy into him, let him thrust with his fingers, let him suck on her clit, felt his tongue sticking her, mashing her, her head fell back and she looked up at the cast iron chandeliers above, dug her heels hard into him, felt the muscle of his back, clapped her thighs against his ears, hard enough she could hear the flesh slap and then she came. She cried out and tried to choke it back, so loud she'd embarrassed herself, but there was no stopping it and she chugged and cried and called his name as it washed over her again and she looked down at Rocco, looked at him with love, framed between her heavy swinging breasts and above her fluttering tummy and she swelled up. Her orgasm got bigger and she inhaled so she almost burst, listened to the air whip through her, harsh and cold as she struggled with a tumbling wall of pleasure.

“Oh, Rocco, oh,” she cried, and she pressed her thighs together, stopped him from touching her. Every wet touch of his slippery tongue right now short-circuited her cerebral cortex and made her vision blink white. He’d found a live wire down there and if he wasn't careful he was going to burn her whole fucking house down.

She lay back in the chair, feeling his hair between her fingers, his kisses on the inside of her thigh. Her chest rose and fell in lurches. Her pulse pounded. Legs grew weak and heavy and slumped along his back. His breaths were deep still, his exhales gently soughing against her wet sex, winding her, getting her back in the mood. His hands came up to his neck and he parted her thighs, let them rest on his arms as he began to touch her again, spreading his fingers wide, across her belly, the spread of his outstretched hand as big as her waist. Slipped it up then to her chest, over her breasts, the other hand too, then they were gripping her, pulling her down to the floor with him, dragging her off the chair and supporting her, holding and caressing. She found herself down between his open legs, on her knees, plopped her butt on her heels, sensing a desperation, an urgency in his hands and his kisses.

His eyes burned into her with shocking intensity. Her eyes went down, saw the problem. His cock thrust out to her from his lap, angry, aggressive, harder than she'd ever seen it. Standing quite upright, up to his ribs, impossibly hard for a cock that was so big. His flared glans was swollen like a clenched fist. She touched it. Let the tip of her finger trace all his raised slippery edges, using the clear excitement streaming from him to make her touch glide. It drew a growl from him and he had her then rising up, his hands under her arms and lifting her with ease, turning her at the same time. The points of her elbows went into the chair’s cushion and she thrust her rump to him, tossed her hair back and watched him from over her shoulder. He stroked his cock, big in his own hand, his chin drew down, eyes leveled on hers and she felt her nipples tighten even harder.

“Ah,” she gasped when she felt his cock mash against her. Driving forward, and despite how wet she was, it felt like he was pulling everything in with him, reaming her with something too big, but he got it in, partway at least, drew it out, got it coated with her nectar and it wasn't long before he was stroking in and out of her and she felt his hot breath on her back. His boot slid on the floor, his knee, denim bunched below it, came up to her armpit and she braced herself for some serious fucking. Her hands lowered, fingers curling over the back of the seat, clutching, getting a hold to brace herself. She wanted it. She wanted it hard. Wanted him to deliver it the way he wanted. Knew what to expect given the look in his eyes, his hardness, his breathing. It excited her. She did this to him. It was her. She’d produced this monster. She deserved it.

She didn't shy from his aggression. She gave it back. Pushed her rump to his thrusts even though it hurt—she'd worry about the discomfort tomorrow. She fucked him and he fucked her. He got animal noises out of her. Grunting and growling and roaring as they rutted, him taking her from behind like a stag in the mountains. Hot animal sex. Passion and love and sheer base lust. The chair rocked on the floor, the felt feet not even quieting their violent action. His boot squeaked to her left, he made deep gravelly sounds of avarice in her ear and she reeled again, feeling another rising orgasm in her. Pleasure and pain and wonton brutal passion bringing it from her. When he came, when his hard stone column suddenly swelled and she felt every cable, tendon, and vein press out against its surface it set her off. She came when he did, and she howled and cried, feeling his seed spewing so deep inside her, splashing and swirling as he kept plunging, drawing the sounds of wet suction from his hard goring cock. He roared, drowning out her high feminine animal calls with his jungle cat growl. Eventually he collapsed on her back, whispering her name and caressing her arms. That thing inside her never wavered, never calmed. He was still hard.