Husband Away, Father-in-Law Stays - Chapter 9: Chapter 9
You are reading Husband Away, Father-in-Law Stays, Chapter 9: Chapter 9. Read more chapters of Husband Away, Father-in-Law Stays.
By eleven o'clock that night, Richard's fever still raged unchecked. Watching his pained expression twist in the lamplight, I resolved to keep vigil until his condition improved.
Around midnight, some color finally returned to his face, though beads of sweat still dotted his forehead. After gently wiping him down, exhaustion from the sleepless night before dragged at me. My eyelids grew impossibly heavy, and before I knew it, I'd slumped against the bed, drifting off beside him.
I wasn't sure how long I'd been out when I suddenly registered strong hands kneading my breasts—hot, uneven breaths puffing against my neck. Jerking awake, I found myself curled against Richard's chest, his other hand already beneath my skirt, fingertips teasing the soaked lace of my panties.
My mind blanked. Before I could react, something thick and unyielding pressed against my backside through the fabric. His fingers slipped past the barrier, tracing slick, desperate circles between my thighs.
God, his hands were huge—alternating between rough strokes and maddeningly light touches that made my hips jerk. He didn't seem fully awake, his movements hazy and disjointed. Even half-conscious, his instincts knew exactly how to wreck me, my curves molded against him like an invitation.
I hadn't been in the mood—not at all—too focused on nursing him back to health. But under his relentless fingers, heat pooled low in my belly, my body betraying me with every shuddering breath.
Arching into his touch, I guided his fingers deeper, a broken moan slipping free as pleasure coiled tight. By now, his fingers were glistening, the scent of my arousal thick between us.
Then—without warning—he thrust a thick middle finger inside, and I nearly sobbed at the sudden stretch. It shouldn't have felt so good, so much, but my body clenched around him, craving more.
If he'd shoved his cock into me right then, I'd have come apart instantly.
The shameful thought had me squeezing my thighs together, aching for the hard length pressed against me to finally—
But just as my need crested, Richard stilled. His ragged breaths warmed my neck before he rolled away, fingers slipping free. The loss was brutal.
The fire he'd stoked now burned unchecked. Two months of neglect had left me desperate, and before I could think, I was moving.
Sliding silently from the bed, I peeled off my soaked panties and skirt.
Lifting the blanket, I found Richard still in his briefs—though his cock had escaped the waistband, the flushed tip gleaming under the dim light.
Holding my breath, I tugged at the tight fabric. His sheer size made it a struggle, the material straining as I worked it down his hips.
When it finally gave way, his arousal sprang free—thick, veined, and utterly unforgiving.
Around midnight, some color finally returned to his face, though beads of sweat still dotted his forehead. After gently wiping him down, exhaustion from the sleepless night before dragged at me. My eyelids grew impossibly heavy, and before I knew it, I'd slumped against the bed, drifting off beside him.
I wasn't sure how long I'd been out when I suddenly registered strong hands kneading my breasts—hot, uneven breaths puffing against my neck. Jerking awake, I found myself curled against Richard's chest, his other hand already beneath my skirt, fingertips teasing the soaked lace of my panties.
My mind blanked. Before I could react, something thick and unyielding pressed against my backside through the fabric. His fingers slipped past the barrier, tracing slick, desperate circles between my thighs.
God, his hands were huge—alternating between rough strokes and maddeningly light touches that made my hips jerk. He didn't seem fully awake, his movements hazy and disjointed. Even half-conscious, his instincts knew exactly how to wreck me, my curves molded against him like an invitation.
I hadn't been in the mood—not at all—too focused on nursing him back to health. But under his relentless fingers, heat pooled low in my belly, my body betraying me with every shuddering breath.
Arching into his touch, I guided his fingers deeper, a broken moan slipping free as pleasure coiled tight. By now, his fingers were glistening, the scent of my arousal thick between us.
Then—without warning—he thrust a thick middle finger inside, and I nearly sobbed at the sudden stretch. It shouldn't have felt so good, so much, but my body clenched around him, craving more.
If he'd shoved his cock into me right then, I'd have come apart instantly.
The shameful thought had me squeezing my thighs together, aching for the hard length pressed against me to finally—
But just as my need crested, Richard stilled. His ragged breaths warmed my neck before he rolled away, fingers slipping free. The loss was brutal.
The fire he'd stoked now burned unchecked. Two months of neglect had left me desperate, and before I could think, I was moving.
Sliding silently from the bed, I peeled off my soaked panties and skirt.
Lifting the blanket, I found Richard still in his briefs—though his cock had escaped the waistband, the flushed tip gleaming under the dim light.
Holding my breath, I tugged at the tight fabric. His sheer size made it a struggle, the material straining as I worked it down his hips.
When it finally gave way, his arousal sprang free—thick, veined, and utterly unforgiving.
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