Wearing Nothing but His Socks

She had her hands in the dirty dishwater when he came flying around the corner wearing nothing but his socks, his hair disheveled, and his face unshaven.

"He's outside!  Quick...to the bedroom!"

"What?!"  she feigned shock, but her naughty smile betrayed her.  Since they'd had kids, "quickies" were definitely where it was at.  They'd tried all kinds of possible places (yes, even the closet), and had been interrupted more than a few times, which was part of the intrigue - they could be caught with their pants down, at any moment.

The difference between a quickie and regular sex was that there was never time for foreplay, no time to undress, no time to think about all the reasons that they shouldn't.

"He's out there with friends...what if he brings them in?" she offered the concern, but knew he was already beyond worrying.  No time.

He grabbed her around the waist, pulled her to the bedroom, and locked the door.  Her cotton lounge pants were hardly an impediment to his searching, as he pulled them down around her ankles and pushed her over the bed, which, handily, was the perfect height for it.  Down on one knee, without romance or a ring, he slid his finger from the crack of her ass, across her puckered asshole, between her lips, and stopped at her clit.  With two hands, he spread her open and licked her to wetness - nothing that could really be called foreplay...really just a fast way to lubricate her.

She listened carefully for the front door, but it was hard to concentrate with his tongue where it was.  And when he stood, and eased his dick into her from behind, she lost her sense of hearing.  Completely deaf, she pushed her ass into him, urging him to go faster.

His hands held tight to the handles created by her position, pulling her to him with each thrust.  She grabbed hold of the quilt and bit it hard, suppressing her verbal reactions.  She was already dripping her own wetness down the inside of one thigh.

He pulled out briefly to turn her over her, still right at the edge so he could remain standing.  He liked the view of her tits bouncing under the tight white t-shirt.  Even in a bra, he could envision the pink nipples pointing at the ceiling.  And he knew he could bring her to instant orgasm this way.  Her feet resting on his shoulders, his palm on her clit, rubbing vigorously in a circular motion, his dick pumping into her pussy.  He could always tell when she was close:  the arched back, the beautifully pained look on her face, her fists clenching whatever they could reach, and all of her lower muscles contracted.  And when she came, he couldn't help but follow.  Just the rhythmic tightening of her pussy was enough to send him over the edge.  And when he gushed his hot cum into her, she came again.  She loved the feeling of him warming her from the inside out...little tendrils of heat moving up her belly, across her chest, around her neck, and settling in her cheeks.  That "freshly fucked" blush of utter contentment.

"Mooooooooommmmmmmmm!"

In unison, they both said, "Oh, shit!" and instantly separated, scurrying to find proper cover.  She grabbed a pair of underwear, hoping to contain the liquid trying so hard to come back out the way it went in; he ran for his robe.

Unlocking the door and peeking her head out, she yelled back down, "What do you need?!"

"James wants to know if I can go to his house for lunch!"

She didn't even think it through...."Yes!  Yes you can!"

Traipsing into the bathroom, she slipped her hands inside his robe, "Looks like we're going to get a little more time on this one..."

She dropped to one knee, without romance or a ring, and took his mostly hard penis into her mouth.