Christina rolled the last burrito and placed it in the pan. She stepped aside so I could sprinkle the cheese. After I was finished, she opened the oven door and I slipped the pan in. While she cleaned the counter, I checked the recipe and set the timer.
“We got eight minutes to kill,” I said.
“Good, clean the frying pan while I load the dishwasher,” she said.
“I was hoping we could do something else,” I said. I stepped behind her and placed my hands on her hips. The bulge in my pants pressed against the crack of her ass framed by her sweatpants.
Christina laughed. “We’ll never finish in eight minutes. Those days are long behind us.”
“Who cares about finishing?” I said. “Can’t a man just fuck his wife for eight minutes if he wants to? Or is the honeymoon already over?”
“Yeah, I think that happens after twenty years,” Christina said. Her ass pressed back against my trapped cock. “And it is probably seven minutes now.”
“Then we better hurry,” I said.
“Well, take my pants down already,” Christina said.
I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her sweats, making sure to catch her pink underwear as well. As she took a step back, I pulled them down and helped her step out of them. After the Easter Incident, we don’t fuck with our pants around our ankles. As I set her sweats on the table, Christina leaned forward and braced herself on the counter. A dark bush peeked from beneath her thighs.
My pants and underwear took less time to remove. Christina was already stroking her pussy. The wet sound hurried me along. I stood behind her and pressed the head of my cock to her lips. Slick fingers guided me in.
We moaned together. Our bodies joined once more. My hands on her hips, her elbows on the counter, we began to fuck.
The timer ticked on. Hips and ass created slow steady claps of sound. Groans and the occasional gasp filled the kitchen.
A plate moved. A cup rattled in a bowl. Spoons rattled together.
“Are you cleaning?” I asked. My hips kept moving.
“Just a little straightening up,” Christina said. Her sex clenched tighter.
I growled in disbelief and amusement. My hand grabbed her long black hair, streaked with gray. A sudden pull and there was a cry of pleasure. My hips slammed into her with increasing fury.
“Fuck,” Christina said. It was both a swear and a statement of fact.
It turned out that eight minutes was more than enough.