With permission to be part of the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed, I take her nipple between my lips. Her hips are bucking and she slaps her pussy, so I know she doesn’t want gentle. I bite down, and she moans, her fingers going faster.

“Yes, Ez.” She dips between her legs, gathering her essence, fingering herself with one hand but she offers me the other, wet and shiny. I take her fingers into my mouth, lick the webbing between, drag my lips over her palm, searching out every trace of her. I knead one breast and suck hard on the other.

“Oh my God, that’s it.” She screams, her hips bowing off the bed, her body stiffening with the tempest of her pleasure. She rides her hand and bites her lip and pulls her knee back, opening herself wider to her plundering fingers. I keep kneading her breasts but pull back enough to watch her because I know this is just as much for me as it is for her. She knew what this would do to me. There’s already a wet spot on my shorts from seeing her come. She moans with the sensations and after several seconds, stills.

“Stand up,” she commands hoarsely, her eyes dark, possessive slits. “Undress for me. I want to see you.”

I do, my gaze latched on to hers. I peel the T-shirt over my head, relishing the hungry crawl of her eyes over my chest and abs. I undo the belt, pulling it through the loops and tossing it to the floor. My cargo shorts and boxers follow, falling around my feet. She licks her lips, her eyes zeroed in on my dick. I take it in my fist and pump, slowly, rubbing my thumb over the wet tip. In seconds, I’m lengthening, thickening. I widen my legs, plant my feet to brace for the torrent.

“I’m gonna come if I don’t stop,” I gasp.

“Then stop.” She spreads her legs. “Give that to me.”

I kneel on the bed between her thighs and line our bodies up. Supporting myself on one elbow, I push the hair from her eyes.

“Whose are you?” I’ve never asked another woman for this, never needed it. But at the core of who I am, I know I belong to Kimba. I want to hear that she feels the same.

“I belong to myself,” she says, a spark of defiance in her eyes. “And to the boy who married me when I was six years old.”

I pull back and stare down into her eyes, alive with love and peace and fire. “You remember.”

“I remember everything. You owe me a lifetime.”