Watching porn

I came home and caught him with the tapes he kept hidden under the couch, the kind people watch when no one else is around. He stayed locked on the screen, barely noticing me. Watching him like that stirred something hot between my legs. My panties were already damp by the time I stepped closer. Blonde and brunette girls filled the screen, moving with each other, taking it in every way the film allowed. The sound of skin on skin mixed with soft moans from the speakers, and my pulse matched the rhythm. I slipped my shorts down without thinking, then my top. My nipples tightened in the cool air. He finally looked up, eyes dark, and the sight of him hard made my breath catch. I knelt between his knees, took him in my hand, stroked once, twice. He tasted clean when I wrapped my lips around the head, letting my tongue circle until he gave a low grunt. When he told me to turn around I obeyed, palms flat on the floor. He worked me open with spit-slick fingers, slow and careful, until the tight ring yielded and he pushed inside. Every thrust hit deep; I pushed back, wanting more, needing the burn to turn into that electric pleasure I chased every time I watched alone. Later, on the carpet, he finished across my lips and cheeks, thick strands that I licked from the corner of my mouth while the girls onscreen kept moaning. I stayed there, breathing hard, legs spread, feeling the slow leak between my thighs and the sting that reminded me exactly what we had just done.