Aren't you lucky?

Here's a little show of what Korrad and Kesha got up to when their sons were at the babysitters'...

He spun me around, his grip firm on my hips, and then I was being lifted--
The counter was just a little too high for me to bend over comfortably, but Korrad didn’t hesitate. He hoisted me up, my chest pressing against the cool granite, my boobs flattening, my fingers scrabbling for purchase.
The plate of breakfast I’d prepared teetered--crash—waffles and bacon hit the floor, but I didn’t care. Not when Korrad’s hands were spreading me open, not when he was lifting one of my legs as he stepped between them, not when the thick head of his cock was pressing against my dripping entrance.
“You sure?” His voice was a growl, rough with need, but there was a thread of concern beneath it. Always looking out for me, even now.
Consent was fucking sexy, wasn’t it?
“Yes--please—” I gasped, pushing back against him.
That was all the permission he needed.