Текст книги "Wicked Fall"

Автор книги: Sawyer Bennett

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

“Really?” I ask in amazement, and I can’t help the actual goofy, love-struck tone to my voice. He’s been thinking about me like that for all this time?

“Really,” he says and then his other hand comes up behind my head. He reaches under my hair and then grips it in a ponytail to hold it out of the way. “Now what are you waiting for?”

All of a sudden, I don’t have a single doubt in my head. Giving head has never been that great of an experience for me, and I know it all boils down to the fact that I just don’t think I really cared if I pleasured Will. Things were so off… so unsure, that I just didn’t have this insane and overwhelming attraction to him. And because he was never focused on pleasuring me, I really didn’t care if I did it to him. The times I did were because we both might have been a bit tipsy and he begged me to do it, but otherwise… I just didn’t like it with him.

But with Woolf… I want to do this. I mean really, really want to do this to him. I think of all the ways he’s had his mouth on me, selflessly giving and giving and giving to me. My mouth waters as my hands come out and work at his belt buckle. He lifts his hips enough to let me open the fly and tug the thick denim down a bit, all the while he palms the side of my head with one hand and holds my hair in a ponytail at the back of my head with the other.

His cock is thick and hard, standing straight up before me after I release it. Dark and dusky, one perfectly thick vein running straight up the middle but then it veers off at an angle, making me want to cock my head to the side and see where it goes.

Instead, I look up at Woolf and he’s watching me with expectant eyes. His jaw is locked tight and his chest is rising and falling rapidly. I open my mouth, bare my teeth slightly, and then scrape them lightly over the tip. A long, deep groan rumbles out of Woolf as his head falls back against the chair and his eyes squeeze shut.

Exhilaration and something that feels like victory swells within me that just that one, tiny touch reduced him to utter helplessness.

“You’re going to kill me, Callie,” he whispers as his fist tightens in my hair. He raises his head and looks down at me solemnly. “I’m not going to last long, sweet girl. I want this too fucking much and when you put that mouth on me, you’re getting ready to make all my dirty dreams come true.”

I blink at Woolf, processing his words. Here I am… on my knees with a big, thick cock right in front of my face, and he’s telling me I’m a dream for him. I’m getting ready to do something naughty and indecent in the middle of a work day, and yet… it causes something in my heart to shift. I’m truly understanding that perhaps Woolf hasn’t been as indifferent to me all these years as I’ve thought.

Maybe all of that was just bad timing before.

I smile at him as I grasp him firmly around the base of his erection, leaning up and over him. His fist tightens harder in my hair, stinging at the base of my scalp, and I open my mouth to bring him in.

When I descend upon him, he whispers my name with such worship that I’m not sure that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for this man.

Chapter 15

Woolf

You’d think a man that had gotten a five-star blow job from the woman of his dreams less than twenty-four hours ago would be walking around with a glorious smile on his face, but the truth of the matter is, I’m one grumpy son of a bitch right now.

And when I say five-star blow job, that really doesn’t do it justice. What Callie Hayes didn’t have in experience, she more than made up for it with exuberant effort. She wanted to devour me.

She did devour me.

She took every inch of me, enslaved me, made me beg her, and when she let me come, I swear for a moment I heard a choir of angels singing while I watched her throat move up and down as she swallowed every drop. Her eyes were shining with triumph and care, and I knew in that moment if I could get it up again right then and there, she’d do it to me all over again. That’s just how focused she was on pleasuring me.

Pleasuring me with no expectation of anything in return. I tried to put her on my desk so I could lick an orgasm out of her, but she pushed me away. She patted at her hair, buttoned her shirt back up, and sashayed out of my office, saying, “That was just for you, Woolf.”

The rest of the day, I couldn’t think straight. I just kept playing that perfect cock suck over and over again in my mind, and I walked around with a woody all damn day. When work was over, I merely grabbed her purse in one hand, her elbow in the other, and forced her into my truck. I took her to my house where as soon as we made it to the foyer, I fucked her right there because I seriously couldn’t wait a moment longer. Her laugh was husky and grateful, and she gripped my hair in her hands while I thrust viciously into her.

It was a perfect day. Started to be a perfect night.

After I pulled her up off the foyer floor, we both took a quick shower together and then we ate a quick meal of some sandwiches and chips in the massive, gourmet kitchen. I sipped on a beer, she on a white wine, and this is where the grumpiness started.

Callie took a sip of wine, dabbed at her lips with her napkin, and said, “Woolf… I want to go back to The Silo.”

My beer bottle was raised halfway to my mouth. I was standing on one side of the kitchen island and she was sitting on a stool on the other side. I just stared at her in disbelief, not quite believing that’s what she said. But she just held my gaze and I knew she was being serious.

“What?” I asked with my voice raised just an octave.

“The Silo,” she reaffirmed. “Ever since you took me there… and I saw that woman with two men, and then all the other people watching—”

“No,” I cut her off quickly. I provided no explanation for my refusal because I’m not really sure why I was denying her this.

She never blinked once, just insisted, “Yes.”

We then argued for an hour and a half straight. Her reasons were simple. She was intrigued by the wickedness of public sex. She’d been obsessing about the ménage. She wanted me to fuck her and have an audience. And this is the part that killed me. She said, “I want to be a part of your world.”

It killed me because she isn’t a part of that world. She can’t ever be. She’s Callie Hayes. Sweet Callie Hayes. I don’t want that to mar her, and I don’t want her tarnished by it. She may have all kinds of curiosities, but I know deep down in my heart that this shit is not for her. I know way down in my gut that she will be left with a bitter taste in her mouth after it’s all said and done.

My reasons for denying her were stronger. Simply put, I told her I could not have the governor’s daughter participating in an orgy where the citizens of Wyoming or some other state were watching her. I told her through clenched teeth, “Do you have any idea what would happen to your father and his campaign if that got out?”

It didn’t dissuade her. She had an answer for everything. “Put a mask on me. Put a bag over my head. Hell, put a wig on me and garish makeup. There are a hundred ways you could disguise me.”

And the pisser of it was, she’s right. I could disguise her. No one would think twice if I put a hood over her, because everyone would just think it was part of a kinky fantasy. On top of that, chances of her being outed were nil. In addition to the non-disclosure agreement that everyone signed, no cameras or phones are allowed in The Silo or cabins and very few locals are members, so there could never be any proof that she was there.

But I didn’t tell her any of that. I merely continued to try to talk her out of this insane idea. I even carried her off to my bed where I started playing her body like a fiddle. I kept her distracted. Kept her coming over and over again. I fucked her ruthlessly, hoping to bang the idea out of her head. I may have pushed her off course temporarily, but as we lay side by side in my bed, gasping for air after I blew hot and hard into her, she said, “Woolf… please. Don’t shut me away from this part of you. It makes me feel… not good enough for you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

That right there got me, and I capitulated on the spot.

Sort of.

I told her she couldn’t go to The Silo but that perhaps I could arrange something in a private cabin. She tried to argue but I held firm, and we finally had an agreement of sorts.

Except, I don’t like the fucking agreement. I don’t want Callie anywhere near the depravity of my club. While I can’t figure out why it’s good enough for me but not her, I have to put those worries aside and figure out what kind of fantasy I can give her that won’t destroy her sweet light.

That is what is making me grumpy.

That is why I’m seeking Bridger’s counsel.

I punch in the code to our joint office at The Wicked Horse and walk in. Bridger is seated behind the desk, peering at his laptop.

“What’s up?” he says without looking at me.

I sigh and sit down in my chair opposite of him. “Callie wants to get fucked in front of people.”

Bridger’s head snaps up, and he blinks his eyes in surprise. “She what?”

“Yeah, she’s got it in her head that she wants to ‘be a part of my world’,” I say using air quotes and heavy sarcasm. “Seems she was quite taken with a ménage she watched and then threw out the ‘I’m not good enough for you so that’s why you won’t take me’ card.”

Bridger chuckles and looks back to the computer. “So give it to her. Our world is kind of fun.”

“It’s not that easy,” I tell him in frustration. “I get she’s curious about it, but come on, Bridger… she’s not built for that stuff. You know it as much as I do.”

His gaze slides back over to me, and he tilts his head to the side. “What exactly do you think she’s built for?”

I shrug my shoulders and drum my fingers on the desk. “She’s too innocent for that shit. Callie is made for sweet and slow afternoon fucks in the privacy of a bedroom. I know she thinks it would be a rush, but trust me… she wouldn’t be able to share such intimacy with strangers, and you know there’s a lot of sharing in those situations.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Bridger says as he leans back in his chair. “You set the rules.”

I’m quiet for a moment, because I know that’s true as well. My brain whirs, trying to really pinpoint what it is about this situation that has me so wigged out. I could take Callie to one of the group sex rooms at The Silo, slap a bag over her face, and fuck her in front of everyone. I could make it just about me and her and the anonymity would protect her. Hopefully minimize the amount of shame that I know she’ll inevitably feel afterward, because even though she acts like she’s supportive of these choices that people make with their sex lives, I do know Callie Hayes better than she knows herself, and it’s not a lifestyle she could ever truly be a part of. Her soul couldn’t handle the moral strain it would inflict.

“You know there’s no legitimate reason you have for denying her.” Bridger points out something I already fucking know well. “So I would have to surmise your hesitation stems from something else.”

Bridger levels me with one of his wise looks, his eyes swirling with knowledge and sage advice. “Say you get her in the room, and you’re fucking her. And it’s amazing, and Callie’s really into it. And halfway through, the couple next to you who are fucking asks for a switch. What would you do?”

My stomach flips over, tightens, and then curls in upon itself. I realize in a nanosecond that I truly don’t want anyone else. I’m not sure if I will always feel this way, but I can honestly say right now that Callie satisfies me on all accounts. The thought of fucking another woman is almost…

Abhorrent?

And why is that, for fuck’s sake? I love women. All kinds. They all seem to offer up something different. I suppose, if I had to take a guess, perhaps I think Callie doesn’t have the confidence in herself to share me. To know that even if I were to take advantage of just such an offer, she wouldn’t have enough trust within me to separate out an act that is purely physical from an act, such as we do together, that involves feelings.

But what about what she wants? What if Callie wants to experiment like that? I can’t say the notion is all that unpleasant to me, because I’ve seen firsthand how couples—and I’m talking about serious, monogamous, in-love couples—will fuck other people within the safe boundaries of The Silo. It doesn’t seem to diminish their feelings for each other, and if anything, I suppose it’s a testament to the strong bonds they have.

And the thought of Callie getting pleasured by other men. Okay, back up a second… that’s actually a little unpleasant now that I can envision it. Nameless, faceless men making her gasp and writhe in pleasure. Fucking her. Making her come. What if she likes it better than with me? What if she wants more from someone else? What if she falls in love with someone else?

What if I’ve turned into a motherfucking pussy thinking all these thoughts? Christ, I think I have a vagina bigger than my cock.

All ludicrous thoughts and they shouldn’t make a damn bit of an impression on me, yet I end up saying to Bridger, “Can’t do it.”

Bridger nods at me in understanding. He’s seeing for the first time that Woolf Jennings has just gotten all proprietary with a woman, and he doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest, even while I’m mortified I just said that.

“Your heart’s tied up big time, man,” he says sagely.

“It would appear so,” I mutter.

“So what are you going to tell her?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Any ideas?”

Bridger taps his finger on his chin for a moment. “Give her something. A safe fantasy. Do it in one of the private cabins. Give her something that makes her feel wicked and sinful, and yet doesn’t cross any boundaries that you have.”

“Like what?” I ask, because while I can do a variety of naughty things to her, I sort of got the feeling that Callie was interested in The Silo because of the exhibitionism. The wickedness of sharing her sexuality with anonymous strangers, while having the safety and comfort of me there. I know she was sure as shit turned on by the thought of two men pleasuring one woman. I bet she would have perished watching Catherine with a group of five.

“Do a ménage,” Bridger throws out. “With me.”

It’s funny how just a minute ago the thought of Callie with another man was about as distasteful as eating a bucketful of cow shit, but for some reason, I don’t have that visceral reaction when I think of Bridger playing with us. That is solely due to the fact that I trust Bridger with my life, and I’d trust Callie’s to him as well. I also know for a sound fact that Bridger would never even think to try to move in on Callie. It’s a trust due to the bond we have, but more than that… Bridger is not a man who will ever get involved with a woman. While he loves fucking them and making them feel good, he will never, ever give more than his body to one.

And I mean never.

“We’ll do it in a bondage cabin,” Bridger says as if he’s planning the details to a party. “That way we can give her a taste of that if you think she can take it. You can blindfold her if you want, or if she gets off on having people watch her like you say, then invite some of our trusted circle. Hood her if you want to protect her identity. There are all kinds of things you can do to give her the dirty fantasy she wants and still protect her at the same time. But keep it small… the more people that see her, the more danger of it getting out that the governor’s daughter has some kink in her giddy-up.”

I chuckle at Bridger’s description of Callie. She has less kink in her than a straight arrow. She just thinks she wants it, but she truly doesn’t. I know Callie. She wants to try it, get a taste, and then it will be done. It will satisfy her need to show me she can walk in my world, and it will prevent me from killing a man for looking at her in that way.

Bridger exempted, of course, and honestly… the thought of Bridger with her… the things I know he’s oh so good at doing to a woman to make her scream sweetly… makes me hard right now just thinking about it.

“Alright,” I tell him as I push up off the couch, adjusting my hard-on to the left just a bit to avoid the bite of my zipper. “Let’s do it day after next. Invite a few people you trust.”

“You got it, Hoss,” Bridger says with a nod and then turns to his laptop to pull up the membership roster. He knows these people better than I do, and I know he’ll choose wisely. Still, I’m definitely hooding Callie so no one knows who she is. I can’t even begin to imagine the shit storm that would occur if word got out she was in a place like this.

Chapter 16

Callie

The soft, leather hood that Woolf put over my head not five minutes ago is constricting, but not in a claustrophobic way. It’s almost as if it was custom made for my face, fitting snugly and with carefully constructed holes for my eyes and mouth. Even the portion over my nose seems to fit the straight angle well, and the holes for the nostrils allow for easy breathing. The last hole was a surprise and that was in the back near the top of my head. Woolf carefully gathered up my long hair in a ponytail and pulled it through the hole, where he then softly combed his fingers through it in a move meant to calm my frantically beating heart.

Woolf didn’t tell me much about what to expect tonight, and I think that was calculated on his part to stimulate my nerves. The only thing he would reveal was that it wasn’t going to take place at The Silo but at one of the private cabins. For a moment, I felt keen disappointment that I wouldn’t be getting the full experience I had been fantasizing about since my first trip into Woolf’s kinky world, but then he smirked at me, chucked me under the chin, and said, “Don’t worry, Callie. This will be like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.”

I’ll never tell Woolf but before he picked me up at my father’s house, I had taken two shots of bourbon to help steady my nerves. While on the one hand, I was very excited about what I was getting ready to experience with Woolf, I was also nervous—strike that, terrified—about having people watch us. I wanted it, but it made my stomach tighten with anxiety. I felt on edge, and I was afraid that at the first touch from Woolf that I would burst into a million fragments so miniscule that I would never be put back together again.

When we got to the cabin, no one was there. Woolf said he wanted to arrive earlier than the others to get me ready. Getting me ready included stripping me naked, giving me a quick but mind-blowing orgasm with his fingers that made my legs feel like jelly, and a white silk robe to put on before the hood.

We’re in a large bathroom… the woman’s bathroom to be exact, and as I look in the mirror, I think to my hooded self, Hello New Callie Hayes. If only Will could see you now.

I snicker over the thought and Woolf comes up to stand behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders. He towers over me so he’s easily able to hold my gaze in the mirror.

“Are you okay?” he asks me softly. It’s a sweet gesture, but I can see it deep in his eyes. He wants me to say “no” so he can whisk me out of here. While the last two days Woolf and I have been ravenous for each other and not holding back, he’s managed to end each encounter with a plea for me to change my mind about going through with this.

“I’m fine,” I tell him. “A little nervous about what to expect.”

I didn’t think he’d give me details, but I more than expected and was happy to receive a squeeze to my shoulders and an encouraging smile. “If you want to stop at any time, that’s all you have to say and I’ll get you right out of there, okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, bringing my hands up to lay over the top of his. When our eyes meet and lock in the mirror, I say, “Thank you for doing this for me.”

He just nods and says, “Stay here a moment while I make sure everything is ready.”

An attack of rabid butterflies start zinging around in my stomach, but I give him my most confident smile. In just a few minutes, I’m getting ready to change my narrow little world forever.

Woolf leads me down the short hall to the main room. I had taken a good moment to study it when we first arrived, and it was empty. Dark burgundy walls, polished mahogany wood floors with fluffy cream-colored rugs, and a variety of furniture scattered about. There is a large, four-poster bed covered in cream-colored silk sheets but no pillows and several gothic, high-backed chairs done with padded, camel-color leather that edge the perimeter of the room. Finally, I see a large, wooden chest and most interestingly, a massive cross mounted to the floor in the shape of an “X”. I don’t know what it is but the padded leather cuffs hanging from an iron ring from each corner tells me all I need to know.

I wonder if I’ll be mounted to that “X” before the night is over? The thought has me on the verge of crying… maybe from fear, or maybe excitement, I’m not sure.

As Woolf steps out into the main room, I suck in a deep breath as I see several people standing around.

I realize at once that I thought an actual audience might be a possibility, what with the hood and all, but seeing them actually there is still a shock to my senses nonetheless.

Adrenaline spikes through me as I look at the men and women, about seven as I count them. They’re all dressed casually, sipping on cocktails as they stand around and talk. The minute we enter, they all turn to look at me with carnal interest. One man even reaches down and rubs the bulge in his pants. Woolf nods to them one by one, and I’m so caught up in trying to figure out who these people are and how Woolf chose them to be there, I’m startled when two hands come to my waist and grip me strongly.

A glance over my shoulder and I see Bridger standing there. My eyes go wide with surprise. He just stares at me with those whiskey-brown eyes, neither friendly nor aloof but definitely calculating. Perhaps trying to figure out the best way to do things to me. It causes a shiver to run up my spine as I realize that Woolf has invited another man to this party… Bridger, to be exact.

Woolf lets go of my hand as Bridger turns me to face him. I can’t help it when my eyes go on a journey without my approval, taking in the large man before me. He has a few inches in height over Woolf and while I always knew he was a large man, the fact that he stands there now with his shirt off has me momentarily stunned. I’m not sure what regimen he follows but however the man works out, it has left him with sleek but brawny muscles seemingly carved out of bronzed marble. My eyes travel quickly down to his right hip, where a pair of black track pants hangs low. I see a flock of tattooed blackbirds taking flight up and over his rib cage, getting progressively larger in size as they reach his pectoral muscle and then turning their flight path inward toward the center of his chest. Then right there, over where his heart would be nestled deep underneath his sternum, one of the black birds seems to have exploded in a puff of black feathers that burst outward, and then start floating in a trickle down the front of his stomach.

It’s a stunning piece of artwork, and I know inherently that there is a deep message within that tattoo. I even open my mouth to ask him about it, but I’m stunned when Bridger’s hands go to the knot of silk holding the belt together at my waist. I tense up, but then Woolf is stepping up behind me. He doesn’t touch me but leans in and murmurs near my ear, “Just relax. You’re getting that threesome you wanted.”

My entire body stiffens, my legs lock hard, and a bolt of fear goes through me. I pull away from Bridger and turn to Woolf with panicked eyes. His hands come to my waist, and he tilts his head in question.

My voice is hoarse and whisper soft. “I’m not ready for… um…”

I can’t say the words. I’m too mortified.

“Relax, baby,” Woolf coos as his hands squeeze me.

Bridger now is the one behind me, and he presses in close. He does, in fact, touch me with the front of his body, and it feels both sinful and wrong that another man is being so intimate with me. He gives the ponytail hanging from the back of my hood a playful tug before placing his lips near my ear. Bridger bares his teeth and bites my lobe briefly before saying, “You most certainly are not ready to take both of us that way, but there are other ways we can all three play together.”

I hadn’t realized I was holding frozen breath in my lungs until Bridger said that, and while his voice always sounds so rough and dangerous, I actually trust this man because I know Woolf trusts him.

In fact, I raise my eyes up to Woolf’s and give him a smile that’s filled with a small measure of confidence. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

What happens next is a maelstrom of sensations, fears, thrills, and pleasures overwhelming my entire being. Woolf pushes me back into Bridger’s arms, and then lazily walks away from me and up to the bar to pour himself a drink. With his back to us, as if he has not a care in the world that I’m in a pair of arms that are not his, he sips at two fingers of bourbon just as Bridger’s hands once again work at the knot to my belted robe.

His body is pouring off a sensuous sort of heat behind me. I can feel the hard muscles of his abdomen and the huge ridge of his erection against my lower back. My gaze darts around the room at the anonymous people watching as Bridger works the robe open and pulls it from my shoulders. I shiver from the cool air and the slide of silk as it falls away. I tremble over the way both men and women are watching me hungrily. But most of all, I start to shudder because Woolf turns around and watches with the eyes of a hawk as Bridger’s large hands come up to palm my breasts, causing me to moan in pleasure. Everything is happening so fast, I don’t even have time to be embarrassed by the fact that I’m putting on a show for these people.

I feel guilty as hell that it feels so good and I’m terrified to show any reaction, because this is all-new territory for me. While I was gung-ho just fifteen minutes ago to dip my feet into the ménage pool, now I’m feeling all kinds of awful that I’m letting another man—that is someone other than Woolf Jennings—touch me.

I’m not sure if he senses it or he just wants in on the action, but Woolf sucks down the rest of his drink and then stalks toward Bridger and me. His eyes do a cursory glance down my body but remain pinned on Bridger’s hands as they massage my breasts.

He steps in close to me.

Tilts his face down.

Looks me in the eye.

“You okay?” he asks so softly, I doubt even Bridger heard it. But what he doesn’t say, and what I see in his eyes, is that it’s okay if another man’s hands feel good on me. Woolf is telling me that in his world… sharing is allowed. I’m not sure how that makes me feel, but because New Callie is determined to go through with this, I put it out of my head.

I give him a tentative nod.

“Good,” he whispers. Then he shocks the shit out of me when his hand comes up and covers Bridger’s hand that is cupping my left breast. He dips his fingers in between Bridger’s palm and my skin and then pushes Bridger’s hand downward, so that Woolf’s knuckles scrape over my nipple. He pushes Bridger’s hand down slowly.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Right in between my legs.

With just a twist of his wrist, Woolf takes Bridger’s hand and has him cupping me, and I most definitely cannot stop the whimper of surprised pleasure that bubbles up out of me. Almost as if it was planned, both Bridger and Woolf press in closer to me, sandwich me in between their big bodies, and the rest of the room is momentarily shut out.

Together, both men start moving their fingers against me. I suck in a deep breath, close my eyes, and just savor the sensations. A finger… no two… press into me, and I slowly open my eyes as I look down.

My knees go loose as I see Bridger’s finger and Woolf’s finger both sliding into me in tandem. It’s the most sinful thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and my knees buckle. I’m held up only by Bridger’s strong arm around my chest where he still palms my other breast. This is far more wickedly decadent than when I watched that woman take two men at The Silo. It’s so simple… beautiful… richly depraved, that I know I’m on the path to having the quickest orgasm of my life.

My eyes start to flutter closed but not before I catch a glimpse of the crowd starting to press in on me. The knowledge that they are eager to get a closer look sends a bolt of sizzling pleasure through me while Bridger and Woolf lazily fuck me with just their index fingers. Every bit of potential shame and inherent modesty sort of fade away as I concentrate solely on what these two men are doing to me.

Lips on mine.

Woolf.

I sigh in pleasure from this sweet intimacy helping to balance out the filthiness of giving my body to two different men. It stabilizes me. Grounds me.

I think I’m up for anything.

Suddenly, Woolf’s lips are gone, then his body. My eyes fly open, and I see him step back so he can take off his clothes. I only get a brief glimpse of him peeling his shirt over his head before Bridger has me turned around toward him and is pushing me gently down to my knees. My heart skips a beat… maybe two when he pushes his thumbs into the waistband of his track pants and glides them down his hips. They go all the way down to the floor and he’s stepping his bare feet out of them, but I’m only vaguely aware of this as I stare in fascination at his thick erection sticking up proudly before my face.

One of Bridger’s hands lift, and unlike Woolf who I know would probably gently palm my face, he wraps my ponytail tightly in his grip. His other hand takes his shaft in hand, and he pulls my head forward. I’m able to take a quick peek upward at him, and his eyes are dark and filled with lust as he looks down at me.

I involuntarily lick my lips and his own pull back into a feral smile of appreciation.