Twenty Years, Still Burning

The rain hammered against the windows of our suburban home, mirroring the frantic beat of my heart as I pulled into the driveway. Twenty years. Twenty years since I’d last felt this raw, this desperate, this utterly consumed by the need for her. The scent of pine cleaner and something undeniably feminine – her perfume, a blend of vanilla and spice – drifted out into the night, a siren song that pulled me towards the back door.

I’d been gone for a week, a whirlwind of board meetings and cramped hotel rooms, chasing deals in Chicago. The city, as always, felt sterile, devoid of the warmth and chaos that only our life together could provide. I missed the comforting clutter of our kitchen, the chaotic symphony of our three kids arguing over the last slice of pizza, and, most of all, her.

The door swung open before I could even knock, revealing her silhouette framed in the warm glow of the hallway light. She wore a simple black tank top and shorts, her skin glistening with the remnants of a shower, and her hair damp against her shoulders. Even after all these years, she still took my breath away. The way the light caught the curve of her hips, the subtle swell of her breasts beneath the thin fabric – it was a primal urge, a visceral reaction that had been simmering beneath the surface for two decades.

“You’re home,” she breathed, her voice husky with a hint of anticipation. Her eyes, the same captivating shade of hazel I’d fallen for the first time, held a silent invitation.

I stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind me, plunging us into a world of our own. The scent intensified, a heady mix of her familiar presence and the lingering suggestion of something more. I reached out, tracing the line of her jaw with my fingertips, feeling the delicate pulse beneath her skin.

“Long trip,” I murmured, my voice rough with suppressed desire. “Needed to unwind.”

She didn’t reply, simply stepping aside, gesturing for me to come closer. My gaze drifted downward, taking in the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, before settling on the way her shorts barely contained her ample backside. The thought sent a jolt of electricity through me. I couldn’t help myself.

I stripped off my suit jacket and tie, the fabric pooling around my feet as I moved towards her. As I got closer, the warmth radiating from her body intensified, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. The anticipation built, a delicious tension that threatened to consume me entirely.

She shifted slightly, her movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment. Her hands instinctively moved to the small of my back, her fingers digging into my muscles with a possessive tenderness. I responded in kind, wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her close, feeling the heat of her body against mine.

“You smell incredible,” I whispered, my voice low and husky.

Her lips brushed against my ear, a silent promise of pleasure. I leaned in, deepening the kiss, my tongue tracing the delicate curve of her neck. Her response was immediate, a desperate need that mirrored my own. I pulled back slightly, taking a deep breath, savoring the intoxicating scent of her.

“Let’s get you clean,” I said, pulling her towards the bathroom.

The shower was hot, the water cascading over me like a cleansing wave. As I stood beneath the spray, my thoughts turned solely to her. I imagined her standing there, waiting for me, her body glistening, her heart pounding with anticipation.

When I emerged, towel-dried and refreshed, she was waiting for me, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She’d already changed into a silky pink slip, the fabric clinging to her curves in a way that made my pulse quicken. The color, one of her favorites, seemed to amplify her sensuality.

“You took your time,” she teased, her voice laced with amusement.

I ignored her words, my focus solely on her. I reached out, pulling her close, feeling the smooth texture of her skin against mine. The scent of her perfume filled my senses, a potent reminder of everything I loved about her.

As we moved towards the bed, my hands instinctively reached for her waist, guiding her into a languid stretch. She arched her back, inviting my touch, and I obliged, running my fingers along the curve of her spine, feeling the subtle tremor beneath her skin.

The heat in the room intensified as we drew closer, a palpable tension that hung in the air. I pulled her onto her stomach, her body relaxing beneath my touch. My hand moved down her leg, finding the dampness of her panties, and I paused, savoring the moment.

“You’re wet,” I whispered, my voice thick with desire.

Her breath caught in her throat as she realized my intentions. She arched her back further, her hips rising slightly, and her hands moved behind her, massaging my shaft with increasing urgency. The pleasure built, a wave of heat that threatened to overwhelm me.

I slipped my pants off, the cool air washing over my body. Her hands continued their rhythmic massage, their touch sending shivers down my spine. The anticipation reached its peak, and I let out a low groan, unable to contain the mounting pressure.

Then, with a final, desperate thrust, I emptied my load into her depths. Her moans filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that resonated deep within my soul. We clung to each other, lost in the aftermath, our bodies intertwined, our hearts beating in unison.

As we lay there, exhausted but exhilarated, she looked up at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and lust.

“Welcome home, my love,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with pleasure. “You always know how to make it a good one.”

Did you like this story? Twenty Years, Still Burning look, but like these, here Story taboo sex.