Secret Ingredient in the Kitchen
His finger slid under the edge of my panties, and I was already soaked. "Marina..." he whispered, and his lips tasted of cucumber and danger. My heart was pounding: they were all out there, beyond the fence. Any minute now, someone would walk in. The thought burned through me like a hot iron.
"They might just—" I started, but I didn't pull away.
"I know. That's what makes it good."
He pressed me against the refrigerator door, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth roughly. The taste of salt, of male sweat. I grabbed fistfuls of his t-shirt, hearing the drunken laughter outside the window. His hand found the silk of my panties under my sundress, soaked through with arousal.
"Quiet," he chuckled, dragging a finger along my skin. "Or they'll hear us."
He dropped to his knees on the linoleum, yanking my panties to the side. His tongue was hot and relentless. I tangled my fingers in his hair, swallowing my moans, staring at the empty path leading to the gate. Every second counted.
"I'm gonna come..." I choked out, feeling the wave crash over me. Spasms wracked my body, but I bit down on my fist to smother the scream.
He rose, wiping his mouth, his eyes burning. His cock jutted out of his shorts in a huge, straining bulge.
"We gotta make this fast," he said simply, spinning me toward the table. "Bend over."
I obeyed, gripping the edge of the countertop. He slapped my bare, wet ass, and the sound was unbearably loud in the silent kitchen. Then I heard him shove his shorts down, felt his hot, hard cock pressing against my entrance.
"Get ready," he whispered in my ear, and slammed into me with one brutal thrust.
I cried out from the shock—pain and pleasure all at once. He was thick, stretching me completely full. He started moving—short, hard, punishing strokes that made the table screech and slide across the floor. Each impact against my womb made me whimper into my sleeve.
"God... so fucking deep..." I moaned, while one of his hands held my hip and the other clamped over my mouth.
"Quiet, bitch," he growled, speeding up. His balls slapped against my skin with wet, smacking sounds. "Because any second now, your husband might come in looking for the ketchup... and find you right here, impaled on my cock."
Just the thought sent me over the edge again, my pussy clenching around him in convulsive waves. He groaned, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt.
"I'm gonna... cum... inside you," Ilya rasped, his thrusts becoming wild, frantic.
He pulled out at the last second, painting my back with hot streams of cum. The fluid trickled down my ass, drops hitting the floor. We stood there, breathing hard, listening. The laughter outside continued.
Ilya quickly tugged his shorts up and handed me a paper towel. I wiped myself with shaking hands, straightening my dress.
"Ketchup," he said in a perfectly normal, calm voice, opening the fridge.
I grabbed the bottle, our fingers brushing. He winked.
"Until our next adventure, hero."
Marina stepped out onto the porch, squinting against the sun. Her heart was still lodged somewhere in her throat. She carried the ketchup to the table, amid the laughter and chatter of the party, feeling Ilya's cum slowly dripping down the inside of her thigh.