Текст книги "Sex Love Repeat"
Автор книги: Alessandra Torre
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
VENICE BEACH, CA
MADISON
I am, for the next two years and three months, sterile. Then it will be time to pull out the hormone implant in my arm and replace it with a fresh one, and I can make that humongous decision again. To have a kid or not to have a kid. That is the question. It was an easy decision two years ago. But I am already waffling now. In two years I will probably be beside myself with the hefty choice. In a way, choosing a kid will be like choosing between my boys. It will be a conversation I will have to have with both of them, and I can already foresee their stance on it. Stewart won’t have time for a child, and will tell me so without hesitation. Any financial obligation he would support. But anything more... I’d be on my own. It’s just the facts of his life. Paul will ask what makes me happy. And whatever I say, he will go with. It is how our relationship has always been. He does what makes me happy. It is why he accepts the fucked up threesome that we currently live. While Stewart wants me to have a second man to keep me off the streets, to keep me from being lonely, to keep me in his life – Paul accepts that I have a second man because it was what he signed up for. And now, as in the beginning, he’d rather have half of me than none of me.
Paul and my first experience, under the Santa Monica pier, led to dinner—meat lovers pizza under the dim lights of Joe’s, cold beers downed, our bare legs brushing under the slanted brick bartop, knowing smiles exchanging space with flirtatious looks.
I thought that’d be it, but he persisted, got my number, called the next day. Showed up at the bookstore and pestered me till he snagged a second date. He didn’t have to work too hard. I knew who he was, had wandered down to the surf after Bip went oh-my-god-that’s-Paul-Linx crazy, spilling words like ‘surfing god’ and ‘sweetheart’ as if he was onceinalifetime special. I sat on the beach, sand smudging up my dress and sticking to my skin, and watched him on his board, watched the speed and dare of his ride, and let my mind wander down the what if road. What if I went on a second, then third, then fourth date? What about Stewart? What about his idea of a second, consistent boyfriend? Could I bring up that scenario? And if I did, how would Paul respond?
I watched him, admired the flex of muscles as he crouched, then jumped into the water, emerging with a big smile, his gaze catching and lingering on me in the sand, a question of recognition in his eyes. Then he waved, the smile broadening, and I waved, and I knew I would have to try.
I broached the subject on our fourth date, at which point I had grown a little attached to his quick smile and always-ready cock. I waited till after sex, when we were stretched out on his bed, his hand running gently down the line of my back, the room quiet, save our contented breaths.
“Bring many girls here?” I teased, the words playful, the thoughtful look he gave me not.
He reached over, dragging me atop him, till my head rested on his chest, my bare breasts on his stomach. “Not since I met you.”
“Well that’s an impressive feat,” I joked. “Seeing as we’ve screwed in this bed ... What? Three of the last four days?” I pushed up with my arms, crawling forward with my legs and sitting, straddling him. I tucked my hair behind my ear. “No girlfriend’s clothes hanging in that closet?” I tilted my head to the door—an accordion-style set that was probably, ten years earlier, painted white.
He stretched back his arms, locking them behind his head and studied me, his face serious. “Why would you be here if I have a girlfriend?”
I shrugged. “Maybe she’s busy. Out of town.” His eyes follow me, staying on my face. “Maybe she doesn’t care.”
“I wouldn’t be with someone if they didn’t care,” he said softly.
My eyes, which had been tracing the lines of his chest, his shoulders, the muscles enhanced by his position, finally came to his eyes, blue I had been avoiding as I attempted to find words that were unspeakable. “I ... have someone ...” His abs tensed underneath me, and his hands loosened beneath his head, his face tightening as he listened. “Someone I date—it’s not an exclusive thing.” I rush out the words, watching his features relax a bit. “He doesn’t care. I mean, he cares, but he doesn’t mind me dating other people. He’s too busy for a full-time relationship.”
“And?”
My eyes pulled back to his, surprised at the resolve behind him, the insistence to wait out this conversation until it reached final destination. I grimaced, and pulled the bandaid off with one, painful rip, anxious to get it out and move the hell on.
“This guy ... he’s a part of my life. I love him. I just wanted to put it out there. I don’t know what you’re looking for, if it’s a fuck buddy or—“
“I want a relationship,” he interrupted me, his face unreadable, and I fidgeted slightly on his hips.
It was too early to ask him the question, but I was already there, and he was waiting. Waiting while I was treading water, trying to figure out whether to dive deeper or swim for shore. Wondering if Stewart was worth this headache while knowing, before my mouth even opens, that he was. “With me? I know it’s early to ask that but—“
“Yes. I want a relationship with you.” His voice was quiet but firm, his hands sliding up my legs and stopping on my thighs. He looked at me as if he was completely in control of his emotions, utterly sure at the words that came out of his mouth. I yearned for that resolution, for that decision-making ability that he seemed to so cavalierly hold.
“I’m not available,” I whispered. “Not fully. I do want a relationship with you. And it’d be exclusive ... except for him. If we dated, he would still be in my life. That’s something you’d have to be okay with.”
His face darkened, his hands tightening slightly on my skin. “You’d date both of us?”
I nodded silently, unable to look away from the train wreck that was occurring between our eyes. “I love him,” I said simply. I did. I had fallen for Stewart quickly, despite the gaps of time that kept us apart, despite the little that I saw him. He just ... stayed with me. And it felt like every man I was with, every other touch I felt, was just a hollow substitute till I could have him again. Until Paul. Paul’s touch, Paul’s smile. It tugged at me in a new way. And I hoped, desperately, as I straddled him in that rundown duplex, a siren sounding one street over, that he would understand. That he would agree.
He didn’t agree. I could see the fight on his face, the inner turmoil that pulled him this way or that. He sighed, sitting up, our position changing, and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me tightly to him, crushing my breasts against the muscle of his chest, his lips putting one soft kiss on my neck. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Madd.”
It was the first time he called me that. I liked hearing it on his lips, even if it was attached to such a horrid decision. I left his place fifteen minutes later, wanting, hoping, he would say the nickname again. Hoping I would hear it roll off his tongue one last time. But he didn’t. He only hugged me close, kissed the top of my head, and studied my eyes, as if he could find out some secret answer that lay in their depths.
The second time I heard the nickname was one week later, when he showed up at the bookstore, his face flushed, his eyes intense, and told me that he changed his mind.
“I don’t like it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, biting his bottom lip with a look of raw need that had me gripping the paperback in my hand a little tighter. “But ... I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. If it’s what you want ... what you need. I’ll give it a try.”
We celebrated our new union right then, right there, pushing books aside and closing the doors, and he lowered me to the floor, his mouth frantic on me, ownership in every touch of his hands.
I think he was surprised at how easy it turned out to be. The seamless union our lives took. The separation played a big part in that. The separation of my two worlds. That was, and still is, the key that keeps this whole production running.
Now, two years later, I lie on his back, its firm strength golden in the morning light. He paddles, his muscles working smoothly underneath me, stroke after stroke that carry us farther and farther from shore, the sounds of the shore disappearing, replaced with sea gulls and ocean surf. He takes us out, till the waves subside and there is only calm, smooth rocking every ten seconds, my eyes closed, head flat against his back. Silence. No need to say anything, do anything that will break this perfect moment.
“I love you.” His words quiet.
I know. My unspoken thought floats away from our bodies. “I love you too.”
HOLLYWOOD, CA
My men are so different, yet similar in so many ways.
Their eyes, a similar tint of blue, yet Paul’s smiles at me with carefree abandonment and Stewart’s pierces my heart with its dark intensity.
Their bodies. Paul’s naturally muscular, his arms developed from hours of surfboard paddling, his abs ripped from balancing on a board, his thighs and calves strong from jumping, balancing, and kicking through currents. Stewart’s body, attacked like everything else in his life, with fierce devotion, aggression worked out with miles on a treadmill, weight-lifting, sit-ups, pull-ups, and calisthenics.
Their love. Paul loves me with unconditional warmth, his affection public and obvious, his arms pulling me into his warmth, his mouth littering my body with frequent kisses. Stewart loves me with a tiger’s intensity, his need taking my breath away, his confidence in our relationship strong enough to not be bothered by the presence of another man. He stares into my soul as if he owns it, and shows his love with money, sex, and rare moments of time.
Tonight is one of those rare moments. I have his attention, his cell phone is away, and he is staring at me as if I contain everything needed to make his world whole. I step forward, towards his seated form, the dress hugging my form to perfection. He sits up in the chair, spreading his knees and patting his thigh, indicating where he wants me. I sit sideways on his thigh, my eyes held by his, his hand stealing up and running lightly along my bare back. “You are breathtaking.” His voice gruff, he leans forward and places a light kiss on my neck. “And you smell incredible.”
“Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself.” And he does. In a suit that no doubt costs more than my dress, he looks every bit the successful executive that he is. Short, orderly hair. Clean-shaven chin. Those intense eyes staring out of a strong face. “Is the car here?”
“It’s downstairs. But it can wait.” He runs a hand up my knee, sliding the material of the cocktail dress up.
I wait, my breath becoming shallow, my concentration focused on the path of his fingers, as they travel higher, taking their time, the tickle of rough skin against soft flesh. He leans over, brushing a quick kiss over my lips and then moves lower, soft kisses making the path down the line of my jaw, whisper soft against my neck, and deepening in touch when they reach my collarbone. His hand caresses my thigh, the brush of his thumb moving higher up my thigh until it is just breaths from my sex. I groan, sliding my hips forward, but his hand stops me, gripping my thigh and holding me still. “Not yet. Let me enjoy you for a moment.”
There is the sound of approaching footsteps, and I open my eyes to see a suited man, our driver, round the corner and stop short when we come into view. His eyes drop respectfully and he speaks softly. “Mr. Brand, I’ll be downstairs with the car when you are ready.”
Stewart mutters something unintelligible, the man taking the cue and leaving, the firm pull of the door behind him leaving us alone. Stewart’s hands push apart my legs, moving the fabric of my dress aside and leaving me bare and open to his eyes. He looks down, examining the exposed skin, his mouth curving into a smile. “No panties?” His eyes flick up to mine.
“They’re in my purse. I figured they would be useless until we got to the event.”
“That,” he says softly, his fingers teasing the edge of my lips, circling the edge of my sex in slow, tantalizing brushes, each touch closer but not yet there, “is why I love you. You know me so well.”
His eyes stare at me, dark pools of lust and want. While Paul and I talk, incessantly, often, about anything and everything, important or not, Stewart and I fuck our way through this relationship, our time often too short for anything more than physical contact. Sex is how we connect, share our feelings, emotions, and love. I stare back into his eyes, my eyelids closing slightly when he slides one confident finger over the knot of my clit, that finger effortlessly sliding down and into me, the small invasion a tease of perfection. “Look at me,” he breathes. “I want to see your eyes.”
I reopen my eyes, my mouth parting as he cups my sex, slipping a second finger in with the first, both of them working together, stimulating me in their movement, his thumb staying firm on my clit, soft pressure that moves slightly with each stroke of his fingers. He watches my eyes, sees the moment that the fire of my need hits them, sees the crescendo and burn of my arousal, adjusting the pace and pressure of his fingers in accordance with my want. I feel the curl of pleasure, growing in my belly, our eyes caught in a web of want, pulled to each other, my eyes barely noticing the sexy pull of his mouth into a smile as my breathing increases and I thrust into his hand. His other hand steals around my waist, sliding up my chest and pulling on the fabric there, tugging my neckline down till a breast is exposed, his hand gripping and tugging on it just hard enough to make me gasp.
“I want you like this forever,” he whispers. “Spread open on my lap, your skin in my hands, your pussy hot and tight around my fingers. You are so fucking beautiful.”
I buck under his hand, my heels finding the floor and pushing off, my hand sliding up his pant leg, desperate to feel the heat of him in my hand before I come.
Blackness.
My eyes shut and I moan, my legs convulsing around his fingers, the strum of his thumb on my clit softening, whisper soft, stretching out my pleasure as I moan over and over again. When it fades, when it softly pulls delicious heat from every area of my body, the need grows. Intense, animalistic desire, a craving for every bit of him in every place on my body. My eyes snap open and find him watching, a curve already in place across that sexy mouth, his hand on his open fly, pulling out the object of my desire and stroking its hard length against my bare leg.
I push his back against the chair, stepping over his leg, straddling his waist and lowering myself down, my sex so wet it drips, my need so great I moan. His hands catch me, carry my ass down, impaling me with his cock, his own groan sounding in the large room, his eyes darkening as I tighten around him. “God, you were made for me.”
“I’m your dirty little slut,” I whisper, sliding up and down, my heels firm on the ground, his hands tilting and pulling my ass how he likes it, in a way that causes my clit to hit his pelvis, the tight squeeze on my ass pleasurable in its slight bit of pain.
“You are my slut,” he grounds out. “You need my cock.”
“So bad,” I agree. “I can’t get enough of you.”
He thrusts from below, pulling me down, the extra depth causing me to gasp, my body to grind, the pleasure shooting a spike of arousal through my core. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.”
“Again.” He thrusts, sitting up, looking into my eyes, our faces inches apart as I look slightly down on him.
“I love you,” I whisper, gripping the back of his chair.
Then his eyes close and he leans back, sliding his hands up and tugging the other side of my dress down, exposing both breasts to his hands. And I know what he wants. I know, just like I know every inch of his body, exactly what he wants. I lean back, my hands resting on his knees, my back arched, my body open before him, and fuck his cock. Pumping up and down on his so-hard-it-will-break shaft, my legs carrying my body, his eyes opening and skimming greedily along my skin, his hand reaching forward and lifting the hem of my dress, strumming the bead of my clit until I come, body tightening, mouth screaming, world exploding.
Then he takes over, leaning forward and scooping me into and against his chest. My legs wrap tight around his body, his cock stiff and slick inside my sex, he carries me over to the wall, presses me up against it, and holds me there with strong arms. Then he thrusts, over and over again, whispering my name softly, and then louder, ‘til he comes with a massive groan, his legs shaking beneath him, my own wobbly when he lowers me to my feet. He keeps me there, pinning me against the wall with his body, my breasts tight against his tuxedo, his hands stealing into my hair, his mouth soft and sweet on mine. Drinking from my mouth, tasting me, taking his time, inhaling my scent.
“I missed you this week. I needed that.” His voice is gravelly, thick with satisfaction and truth. He tilts my head up, looks into my eyes, then lowers his mouth back to mine.
DELPHINE, W HOTEL
A-FRAME: [noun] Large wave with distinct
shoulders on the left and right side
of the peak. Can result in two surfers
surfing the same wave;
one going frontside
and the other going backside.
Two hours later, my fingers steal under the tablecloth, reaching over and gripping Stewart’s leg, sliding up his thigh, his hand catching mine, his eyes shooting a questioning look in my direction. He coughs gently, breaking eye contact as he glances to the woman on his right. “That’s correct, Beth. With quarterly projections where they’re at, there should be no need for additional debt. If anything, we should capitalize on our current assets.” He listens to her response, his hand firm on mine, keeping me at bay. But I need him. I need to feel his strength beneath my hand, to feel his arousal in my grip. When the conversation turns away from him, he leans over, plants a soft kiss on my neck, and whispers in my ear. “Do you need something?”
“Yes. You. Now.” It is an unfair request, one I shouldn’t make, but I am panting for him. I will not make it through this four-hour dinner, through the polite chitchat that will follow, cigars in the men’s club while I sit with dignified wives in the front parlor. I need a release, need firm hands digging into my skin, his mouth on mine, cock inside of me.
He studies me, a war going on behind those eyes, his glance flitting around the table and then down at his watch. He leans forward again, close enough that I can smell his scent, the masculinity crawling across the table and robbing me of rational thought. He grips my wrist, pulling my hand tightly and places it on his crotch, brushing his lips against my ear as he speaks. “Call him.”
I pull back, confused, his hand cupping the back of my head, keeping me close to him, my eyes studying the tumulus depths of his blue. “What? Who?”
“Him. Call him. Have him take care of you. I can’t leave.”
There is only one Him in our life, our world comprised of only three people. I try to process his words, spoken without anger or light, in a serious, I’m-not-fucking-around tone. I shake my head, his eyes sharpening at my reaction, his hand pushing my own down on his cock. His voice rasps in my ear, thick with arousal and authority. “I want it, Madison. I want him to fuck you in the powder room while I sit here with these stuffed shirts. I want you to come back to this table with your cheeks flushed and his cum inside of you.”
I feel the twitch of him beneath my hand, see the flicker of excitement in his eyes, and realize the truth of his words. “Seriously?” I whisper, almost afraid to voice the question.
He slides my hand up, letting me feel the hard ridge of his arousal. It is pushing at his pants, his excitement unquestionably hard. “Call him. Now.”
I sit there for a moment, the hum of conversation muting as my mind processes this new avenue. My need moans between my legs, its intensity doubled by Stewart’s words, by the twitch of him that proved his sincerity. Can I go there? Can I bring these two worlds so close and still escape with our twin relationships intact? I excuse myself and step away, pulling out my phone, watching the dark gleam in Stewart’s eyes, a sexy smile crossing his lips. He is serious. He wants me to be fucked while he sits a few rooms away, surrounding by wealth and business. I dial Paul’s number, biting my lower lip and step farther away from the table, holding Stewart’s gaze.
“Hey babe.” Paul’s voice is lazy, as if he’d dozed off on the couch.
“Come into town. The W Hotel in Hollywood. I need your cock.”
A minute later, I return to the table, smiling demurely at Stewart, who rises at my entrance and pulls out my chair, his napkin hiding any erection he may have. Leaning down as he pushes my chair in, he softly speaks. “Is he coming?”
“There are so many places I could go with that question.” I murmur. “But yes.”
He sits back down, reaching for his wine glass and smiling at me. “Good.”
I try to pay attention to the conversation. Try to eat my salad and smile politely, nod appropriately, laugh when the overweight man to my right makes a joke. But I am waiting, my leg jiggling nervously. Waiting for the buzz of my phone against my leg, for the moment when I will know that he is here. My call had surprised him, his soft voice hardening when he heard my directive. I could imagine him sitting up, trying to put the pieces together, hearing the raw need in my voice. He knows me, as well as Stewart does. Knows that when my blood rushes and need hits me, that there is only one thing that can satisfy it. Cock. Thrusting roughly, taking my body as its own. He knows that I can’t contain it, that the need grows and expands until my fingers or someone else’s body fucks it to sleep. He knows that I won’t want to make love. He knows that I will need my brains fucked out, and he knows exactly how I like that done. As Stewart does. They have memorized my body, learned my tells, fucked me enough that every movement is delivered before I have to ask.
I am brought back to the present when I hear Stewart speak, his voice calm and intelligent, the rough scrape of his voice only visible to me, who knows it so well. I can see the slight tighten of his jaw, can see the fire in his eyes when he casually glances my way. He is aroused, and allows my hand to confirm it when I reach over. Full-blown, hard as a diamond, aroused. It confuses the hell out of me and makes me wet at the same time. Then my phone buzzes, and I am out of time to think. I stand, gripping my purse, waving the men off as they start to rise. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. I’m going to step outside for a bit.”
False concern crosses Stewart’s features as he rises, excusing himself and escorting me to the door. “You will be the death of me, you know that?” he says softly.
“I could say the same for you.”
He stops, outside the door. “Have him fuck you hard,” he bites out, pulling me into his body with sudden aggression. “And whatever he doesn’t take care of, I will. Just give me a few hours to finish up this business. Hurry.” He slaps me on the ass, hard enough to sting, my panties soaked at the forbidden nature of this entire experience. I grip my purse tightly and step out of the restaurant, into the hotel lobby, and head for the restroom.
I knock gently on the unisex door. “It’s me.” My voice croaks on the last word. This is the closest my two worlds have ever come to colliding. Stewart and Paul. In the same building. My dark and my light. One, now seated, surrounded by finery, listening attentively to talks of profit and loss, his cock hard, hidden underneath fine linens and discussions of intellect. And my light, swinging the door open and pulling me inside, slamming it closed behind me and flipping the latch. No words spoken, his hands thrusting me back, his mouth greedy on mine as he tastes champagne on my tongue, our need thick in the air. I reach for him, my hand running down his worn tee and grip the top of his jeans. He has not changed clothes since I saw him last, has not dressed up for his entrance into this hotel, and I love the contrast. His messy hair to Stewart’s combed. Five o’clock shadow to clean-shaven. The smell of sweat to cologne. I normally get a cleansing period, the twenty-minute drive between my worlds clearing my head, my skin, my palette. Now, walking instantly from one to the other, the comparisons are overwhelming. He pulls back, releasing me. Wiping a hand over his mouth, his eyes take a slow tour of my body.
“Look at you,” he whispers. “Dressed up like you are a good girl.” He hasn’t seen me like this. With my hair conservative and a cocktail dress on, pearls at my neck. He slides my dress up, the expensive fabric stiff, staying where it is put, the black peep of lace panties exposed. I stay still, my back against the wall, legs slightly forward and spread a few feet apart. My chest heaving, need gripping me, I watch him unzip his pants and pull out his cock.
“Suck it. On your knees, in this bathroom. Suck my cock while your boyfriend sits at the table.”
There is an edge to his voice, an anger that is not normally present. An emotion that is turning my easy-going Paul into something darker. Sexier. I love it, love the bite in his voice, the possession in his hand as he grips the back of my head and pulls me fully onto his cock. He thrusts into my mouth, his eyes on mine, the connection between us unbroken as he fucks my throat, growing with every pump, the fire in his eyes making the need between my legs almost painful in its intensity.
I pull off of him, gasping for breath, his arms pulling me to my feet before I even speak, his arm pining me to his body as his other hand wraps around, slides underneath the edge of dress and squeezes my ass. Hard. So hard I gasp, his eyes tight on mine and he releases it, running his fingers down the crack of my ass and fingering the channel of my sex, covered in lace, his fingers running back and forth over the spot, a grin stretching across his face at the dampness there.
“Is that for me or him?”
I don’t answer, reaching between our bodies and fist his cock, wrapping my hands tightly around it, every vein in the organ outlined in the rigidity of his arousal.
“Answer me Madd. Answer me while I fuck you right here. While I make you scream so loud that people walking by will hear.”
“Make me,” I whisper, a challenge in the tones.
His hand tightens around my waist at the words, his eyes holding mine with a fierce look as he listens to my words.
“Make me scream your name while he conducts his business. Make me your slut, right here and now and send me back to him with your cum dripping out of me.”
He groans, pushing me back against the wall, spreading my legs with his knees. He reaches down with both hands, gripping my panties and pulling, ripping the sheer fabric with one strong jerk. Then his body is back against me, his chest hard to mine, his bare cock rough and bobbing at my entrance, pushing for and then finding the wetness of my sex and pushing inside. “Jesus Christ Madd,” he groans, shoving upward, his hard thighs pinning me to the wall, his hands yanking at my straps, pulling my cashmere cardigan off my shoulders and jerking the top of my dress down. He thrusts again, his thighs relaxing and then flexing, every fuck bouncing me back against the wall, his hands clasping my breasts, squeezing them into his palms.
“Make me scream,” I grit out, my eyes on his. They are tortured blue, cloudy with arousal, latent with need. “You know that he fucked me? Before we came here. I straddled his cock and rode him. His hands rough on my skin, his cock taking my body. He was inside me Paul, right where you are now.” He roars, his voice raw and primal, pushing me against the wall, losing control as he slams against me, faster and faster, until my body becomes a shaking sea of desire, my core rattled, breath gasping, his thrusts urgent and dominant, his breath ragged, his hands finding my face and bringing my mouth to his.
“You are mine,” he guts out, pumping into me, the length and level of his arousal brutal. “Mine,” he swears, as he releases my mouth and turns me around, pushing me forward as he yanks my legs back, one hand hard on my back, the other gripping my ass. He doesn’t slow the movement, giving me full, hard thrusts, my breasts bouncing from the top of my dress, the mirror above the sink giving me a full view of my slutdom.
Paul, in worn jeans, a white t-shirt, light hair mussed, mouth open, intensity over his face. His reflection pulls at my hair, tilting my head back, and I find his eyes on mine in the mirror.
“You like what you see?” His words are terse, thick. He is conflicted, but – from the level of his erection – fully aroused at the same time, his speed increasing, his breath loud in the small space. “You like being fucked while he’s in the next room?”
I don’t answer, my climax too close, every muscle in my body tightening in anticipation of the act, throbbing and contracting around him, his eyes closing briefly at the sensation.
“God, Madd. You are so fucking good...” He pulls out abruptly, leaving me gasping, my chest aching as I turn to him, feeling his hands before I fully move; they shove me back, wrapping around my waist and lifting me, setting me on the low counter of the sink and pulling me to the edge. He jacks himself, looking at my pussy, at the swollen pink lips of sex, then glances up to meet my eyes. He steps forward, pressing himself at my base, pushing my chin up when he sees me glance down. “Look at me. Look at me and tell me what he did to you. Tell me what he did and make me come all fucking up inside of you.”
I close my eyes at his first thrust, the angle different, better in its brush of my g-spot. “He sat me on his lap, in this same dress. Those panties? The ones you ripped to shreds? I wasn’t wearing those when I first saw him. Because I knew he’d take me as soon as he could.” He pulls out of me, my eyes catching sight and gluing to the image of my wet lips sliding around his cock. His hands tighten on my ass and he pushes deeper, dragging his cock in and out of me in long, deep strokes. My voice catches at the look in his eyes, the intensity of his arousal. All playfulness is gone. This man before me – he is Stewart but with different features, their similarities never more present then right now, and I gasp when he fully buries himself inside.
