Chapter 23 Made of Water

"The coffee is ready."
Maggie's voice sounded shy and timid, a bit nervous. The coffee had no place to go, so the glass was placed on one side of the dining table.
Only that area was considered decent, tidy enough to entertain guests. In the center of the table, there was a small porcelain vase, holding a blooming pink water lily.
Harold shifted his gaze away. He was around 5'8" tall, like a towering figure in this small place that couldn't contain him.
He took a few steps and stood in front of the table, examining the coffee in the glass.
He took a sip, unable to describe the taste. "What kind of coffee is this?"
"Low cocaine."
He made a sudden decision to come here, catching Maggie off guard. Besides the mayor and the head of the TV station who could afford expensive tea, others would usually just drink cola every day.
He raised an eyebrow. "Low cocaine coffee?"
Maggie quietly corrected him, "Yes. Don't drink too much. It might give you diarrhea."
His conscience still intact, Harold laughed. His short, dense eyelashes cast faint shadows beneath his eyes. "Don't you welcome me?"
Maggie grabbed the edge of the tablecloth, her gaze slipping around the room. She was indeed not accustomed to it. There was nowhere to step, and the messiness caught her off guard.
"It's not that. I only had this here."
Harold's smile deepened as he stroked the textured surface of the glass. "I came uninvited, my fault for being abrupt."
Maggie didn't respond, seemingly accepting. Her joy, anger, sorrow, and resentment, the pleasure and displeasure during intimacy.
She was straightforward and didn't hide anything.
Harold stood up, and she thought he was going to leave. She hurriedly ran to the entrance and pulled open a drawer. "The stairs have no lights, let me find a flashlight for you."
She stretched her waist, her water-blue jeans tightly hugging her round and shapely buttocks. A ray of light gracefully transformed into a dark shadow, falling at her feet. Harold closed in, his breath entering her ear. "You wanna me leave?"
Maggie's face heated up, her bones tingling from the sudden touch. He drew closer, brushing aside her stray hair by the ear, gently and tenderly touching her small and plump earlobe.
His fingertips were rough from calluses, and her earlobes were sensitive, unable to withstand the teasing. She gradually became weak.
Harold's abdominal muscles and the heat between his legs burned against her lower back through his shirt and pants.
She could hear his heartbeat, vigorous and powerful, inch by inch, attacking and entangling her.
In her sham marriage, she felt desolate and neglected.
The tide of desire broke through the floodgate, surging and flowing fiercely. How to close it, how to take it back?
The porcelain vase on the table was shaken off and shattered on the floor.
His inserted fingers forcefully opened her entrance, and Maggie groaned, crawling on the edge of the table, her body electrified. The thrusting was intense and rough, grinding against the sensitive spot inside her passageway relentlessly.
She moaned in pleasure like a trembling bud on a branch, her forehead flushed a light shade of pink, her arousal wetting his fingers.
His palms were so wet and slippery.
"It's so wet, Maggie, you must be made of water."
Harold's dick was standing erect, a palm and a half in length, his skin slightly dark, and his dick dark purple and ferocious. He had a high sexual energy, but always hidden and suppressed. Deep down, he had extreme tendencies.
He lifted Maggie, pressing her against the table, gripping her delicate ankles, and spreading her legs wide open, folding them back until her knees almost touched her shoulders.
She began to cry, her voice thick with sorrow, wanting to cover up, "Don't do this..."
"Don't do what?"
Men are visual creatures, and the exposed tender pussy under the light, with its pink flesh gaping open and the tight and narrow passage.
His jawline was tight, veins popping on his forehead, his dick rubbing against her slit, sliding back and forth, "Like this?"
Harold growled low and hoarse, his hips thrusting violently, forcefully penetrating her, the intense fullness rushing into her. Maggie let out a loud scream.
The entire dining table shook violently, the man's shirt unbuttoned, the hot sweat dripping onto her chest, like hot wax spattering and scorching her skin.
The deeper he thrust, the tighter it got, the more it gripped him, with juices overflowing.
His voice was deep and suppressed, with a fatally seductive low panting, "Is it good?"
Maggie could only cry out in pleasure, experiencing the countless waves of sensation filling every pore, penetrating her bones and flesh.
His senses were overwhelmed, thrusting and pounding hard, his dick being greedily sucked and squeezed by Maggie's opened pussy, foaming up at the point of contact.
His balls were covered in her juices, slapping against her crotch, leaving their skin red and lascivious.
She couldn't catch her breath, her pussy tightening even more, Harold's waist suddenly sore and swollen, his semen surging with force. He pulled out, spraying thick cum between her buttocks, his dick dripping with water, feeling like a freshly forged iron rod from a furnace, poking at the base of her legs.