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The thought had been on my mind for a while, now. Invasive and crawling like a pest I couldn't shut out.

He usually went to bed an hour or two before I even start to think about sleep, and it was a common occurrence I would stand in the doorway, thumb tucked into my belt buckle, the rest of my fingers gently rubbing at my shaft. Much like tonight. Much like right now.

Latham was a heavy sleeper. Even when sirens and alarms blared at work, he didn't wake up until his body was good and ready. I had debated doing this for weeks...

No one was here except for him and I, anyway.

My muscled bruiser lay on a thin, plush mat on the floor, his robes loose over his body. Laying on his side, his legs were spread just a little as his arms reached to hug something (or someone) that wasn't there. His long, black hair was a mess equally under him and over his shoulders, almost falling into his mouth.

Part of me wondered how he could sleep like this, but this is how he preferred to sleep.

Quietly, I unlatched my belt, very slowly undoing my pants' button and zipper, not wanting to wake the man who wouldn't rise if the apocalypse was happening just outside his window. I could feel the anxiety in my chest - the feeling that I shouldn't take advantage of him like this...

My cock, on the other hand, had already soaked a bit through my underwear with the heavy anticipation of what I wanted to do.

I shook my head. I needed to either stop what I was doing or fully commit - so commit I did. I loosened and pulled off my tie. Unbuttoned my shirt's cuffs, then down the front before casting it off of me. Already the heat escaping my body longed for the cold touch of Latham's.

I stepped out of the room for only a moment, retrieving a couple towels from the bathroom before returning. I didn't want any significant evidence of what I was about to do.

Slipping off my shoes, then my socks, then finally my pants and undergarments, I knelt nude before my right-hand man. Just being so close to him, even without touching him... The Flow in my body reacted to his. It was a mutual feeling of repulsion and connection deep in the tissues of my chest. I knew the feelings would resolve with action.

Gently, again, as if I'd wake him, I pulled up the robes covering his ass and beautiful pussy. Just exposing them to the air made them pucker a little. I sat there a moment, just taking in his beauty - and how wet his pussy already was.

Before I knew it, my hand was on my cock again, stroking myself as I gazed upon Latham's body. With him asleep, I felt so much more comfortable letting myself go. I panted, groaning softly as I took in his scent- and I knew I had to do more than just stare.

I couldn't help myself but to bring my tongue to his fluids, lapping at them gently, carefully. He tasted divine - he always did - but the groans out of my mouth confirmed it even to myself just how much I enjoyed it. I pressed a hand to the side of his leg, cold and relieving of the constant heat I held, and shoved my tongue deep into his folds, drinking up anything and everything I could.

I didn't want to be anywhere else but here, in this moment. His pussy was everything I wanted. Its smell was intoxicating to me even in passing, when I could smell its juices when Latham was working. I wondered how anyone could get any work done with this man at their side.

I needed more, though. More than anything, I needed to feel the inside of his pussy. I'd felt it before, but there was something about this I desperately craved. To be unabashedly in love with him. To be intimate and passionate with him in a way I couldn't be if he were looking up at me.

I brought my face away from his crotch, his juices staining and drying on my lips, the scent still deep in my nostrils. To trade one bliss for another...

Positioning myself, straddling one of his legs, just about, I rested my cock on his ass, just for a moment. I peeled away more of his loose robe to see the Flow tattoos on his body, and just seeing them made my cock twitch. The intricate artwork I commissioned on Latham's body turned me on more than I thought it would when I let my guard down.

I lifted his asscheek just a little to spread his pussy hole a little wider... just enough... for me to push into him.

Most men love the feeling of the wetness and the tightness and the warmth of a good pussy hugging them close. With heat constantly plaguing me due to my Flow usage, the feeling of perpetual fever was immediately quenched by the coolness of his body.

For a moment I knelt there, my shaft slowly, more and more, pushing into him - until I felt his cervix at my tip. Oh, how badly I wanted to punish that thing. How badly I wanted to make him mine forever, to impregnate him and have him bear my child...

With my Flow usage, no doubt I was sterile, but the very thought of Latham being gravid turned a switch on in my brain. I went from not moving at all and enjoying being together to desperately needing to fill him with cum. I grabbed his arm and his shoulder as I started fucking him and fucking him hard. How perfect his body was... How perfect he was...

I felt delirious, almost, as if my fevered body only got worse when connected to him. Over and over again I felt my tip ram against his cervix, and over and over again I moaned loudly, enjoying every inch, every involuntary quiver, every microsecond of being closer to my desire.

With almost a collapse of myself and my ego, I held onto Latham as I reached my orgasm, filling him with more cum than I thought I could have ever given him. Pulse after pulse, I helplessly groaned in his ear, thrusting a couple more times to make absolutely certain his uterus got what it deserved.

Sweating, nauseous, and tired, I lay there for a moment, catching my breath. That was almost the best orgasm I'd had in a while. I got up gradually, pulling out of him and watching as my seed poured out of him, dripping down his leg and pooling on his robe and sleeping mat.

Seeing that almost made me want to go again. If only I had the energy.

I debated doing as I always did - letting him clean himself up after I used him. But this had felt... more intimate, almost. Perhaps I'd wanted to use him, but in the end, I felt I truly solidified my feelings towards him.

If it wouldn't be such a scandal, I'd want to marry him.

I brought over the towels and started cleaning him up. I pressed on his extended lower belly to try to push more of my cum out of him, the towel carefully collecting it as it flowed out of him. With another, I wiped him up and down, making sure to clean up what I could of the residue on himself as well as everything beneath him.

As before, I knelt there a while, just gazing upon my bruiser. I loved him. But I couldn't do this again.

It wasn't every night he came in to fuck me. Maybe every other night at the most, but it was usually once a week. After a long, hard day out, he'd stand by the door silently.

I'd come to expect it. Perhaps he did, too, because those nights I'd take the position I did the first time he took advantage of me.

I'm sure he thought I was dead asleep. I was a very convincing corpse when I was truly unconscious, so I couldn't exactly blame him. What I did blame him for was how different he fucked me when I was pretending to be asleep than when I was awake.

During the day, we'd have all sorts of sex - chained on a balcony, under his desk, in front of his "friends" (read: political adversaries). But never was he intimate like when he felt he was truly alone.

Did he think I'd judge him for being soft on me? For showing me that he, too, could feel pleasure deep to his core? I'd accepted the drugs he'd done after his wife passed had made him numb to everything, but no, he was just an anxious asshole that didn't want me to hear him moan.

And what a delicious moan he had.

Every night went the same as the first - not that I was complaining. He'd strip down, get some towels, then start eating me out. Feeling his hot tongue on my pussy felt so fucking good. I needed the release. I needed his whimpering groans in my folds even more.

Then, he'd mount me. Shove his thick, hot dick deep inside me, as deep as it'd go. Over and over again, he fucked to hit my cervix repeatedly - which hurt a bit - but everything else made up for it. His warmth. How he cradled me. His loud, needy moans of pleasure. His cum, loaded with his Flow energy, always made my head spin.

But there was a reason I didn't 'wake up' or say anything to him. Not only did I like having a release at the end of hard days, not only did I love to hear the noises he never let himself make, not only was I desperate to have his cum inside me... this was the only fucking time he bothered to do any sort of aftercare.

And, maybe, it was nice for once to be taken care of.