planted small kisses the
entire length of her torso, concentrating on each petal of her
cherry blossom. He sucked only briefly on each of her nipples
before lapping his way up to her neck and mouth. She wrapped her
arms around his neck as he kissed her slowly and thoughtfully, his
tongue exploring the recesses of her mouth. Rising up, he undressed
entirely and stood before her, exposed. He was a sight to behold in
all his dark ruggedness and austerity. His hair was a fantastic
mess with his long bangs hanging over his eyes, hooding his
expression as he crawled between her legs.
Just then soft notes of Overjoyed by
Bastille floated into the bedroom. Tugging on her robe, he freed
her of it and hovered over her, his hands caressing the sleek lines
of her waist. She pushed the hair off his forehead to see his eyes
and smiled up at him. When he nervously returned her smile, she was
staggered by the sheer honesty of the fear glittering in his eyes.
This man had been hurt. It was clear to see, but his outward calm
did little to disguise the hunger in his eyes and Elsa tried to
deny the hopeful feeling that was swirling in the pit of her
stomach. As he guided his shaft to her entrance, she reminded
herself that everything he was doing was all part of his game and
that she was probably another player in a long list of
participants.
She closed her eyes and gave herself to him
as his pulsing manliness eased in and out of her unhurriedly, his
soft panting and primal grunts making the fire in her belly burn
out of control.
“Open your eyes, My Sweet Peach. I want you
to see me; really see me. I want you to see the man who owns
you,” she heard from above in a voice that was hushed, deep, lusty
and ethereal.
Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes
and focused on the beautiful man above her; the man whom she had
signed her freedom away to all too willingly. She looked as deeply
as she could into his soul, past the cruel game maker and creator
of rules, trying to see the real man behind his vindictive eyes –
the man who was begging to be seen for who he really was. She could
almost see him, hiding just out of sight and behind the fringe of
his long, black lashes. She closed her eyes once more, overcome
with raw passion. Why couldn’t he be this man? The one now kissing
each of her eyelids like his lips were meant to be there?
Yes, he owned her, alright. Right here, in
this moment… he truly owned her.
***
Seated in his car outside of Eight’s
apartment, Victor lit a cigarette and took a long, slow, deep drag
off of it. He felt satisfied and his hunger satiated, even if only
momentarily. The white smoke billowed out of his mouth and swirled
around the interior of his vehicle, but he didn’t dare open his
window. Her fragrance was permeating every piece of his clothing
and the sweet scent of her pussy was all around him mingling with
the smoke, and he didn’t want any of it to go to waste.
On his phone he accessed iTunes to purchase
the Bastille Bad Blood album. It had played in full while he
was with her and the alternating mellow and thumping notes had only
enhanced their erotic experience. Wanting to relive the moment, he
synced the Bluetooth to his stereo, allowing the music to filter
through his speakers. He turned up the volume and glanced up at her
darkened window to see her nude silhouette behind the curtain,
watching him from above. None of the other Chapters had known about
his stalking and surveillance. Even if they did, none of them
would’ve dared to blatantly call him out on it. Maybe he was
getting lax in his old age and losing his discreet touch. Or
possibly he just didn’t give a fuck if she knew he was watching
her. He laughed. No. He liked that she knew.
Taking another drag, he leaned his head back
and closed his eyes. He hadn’t intended to go inside, but when he
heard her humming in the shower and envisioned her svelte wet body,
he was unable to resist the temptation.
She had fallen off his radar
entire length of her torso, concentrating on each petal of her
cherry blossom. He sucked only briefly on each of her nipples
before lapping his way up to her neck and mouth. She wrapped her
arms around his neck as he kissed her slowly and thoughtfully, his
tongue exploring the recesses of her mouth. Rising up, he undressed
entirely and stood before her, exposed. He was a sight to behold in
all his dark ruggedness and austerity. His hair was a fantastic
mess with his long bangs hanging over his eyes, hooding his
expression as he crawled between her legs.
Just then soft notes of Overjoyed by
Bastille floated into the bedroom. Tugging on her robe, he freed
her of it and hovered over her, his hands caressing the sleek lines
of her waist. She pushed the hair off his forehead to see his eyes
and smiled up at him. When he nervously returned her smile, she was
staggered by the sheer honesty of the fear glittering in his eyes.
This man had been hurt. It was clear to see, but his outward calm
did little to disguise the hunger in his eyes and Elsa tried to
deny the hopeful feeling that was swirling in the pit of her
stomach. As he guided his shaft to her entrance, she reminded
herself that everything he was doing was all part of his game and
that she was probably another player in a long list of
participants.
She closed her eyes and gave herself to him
as his pulsing manliness eased in and out of her unhurriedly, his
soft panting and primal grunts making the fire in her belly burn
out of control.
“Open your eyes, My Sweet Peach. I want you
to see me; really see me. I want you to see the man who owns
you,” she heard from above in a voice that was hushed, deep, lusty
and ethereal.
Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes
and focused on the beautiful man above her; the man whom she had
signed her freedom away to all too willingly. She looked as deeply
as she could into his soul, past the cruel game maker and creator
of rules, trying to see the real man behind his vindictive eyes –
the man who was begging to be seen for who he really was. She could
almost see him, hiding just out of sight and behind the fringe of
his long, black lashes. She closed her eyes once more, overcome
with raw passion. Why couldn’t he be this man? The one now kissing
each of her eyelids like his lips were meant to be there?
Yes, he owned her, alright. Right here, in
this moment… he truly owned her.
***
Seated in his car outside of Eight’s
apartment, Victor lit a cigarette and took a long, slow, deep drag
off of it. He felt satisfied and his hunger satiated, even if only
momentarily. The white smoke billowed out of his mouth and swirled
around the interior of his vehicle, but he didn’t dare open his
window. Her fragrance was permeating every piece of his clothing
and the sweet scent of her pussy was all around him mingling with
the smoke, and he didn’t want any of it to go to waste.
On his phone he accessed iTunes to purchase
the Bastille Bad Blood album. It had played in full while he
was with her and the alternating mellow and thumping notes had only
enhanced their erotic experience. Wanting to relive the moment, he
synced the Bluetooth to his stereo, allowing the music to filter
through his speakers. He turned up the volume and glanced up at her
darkened window to see her nude silhouette behind the curtain,
watching him from above. None of the other Chapters had known about
his stalking and surveillance. Even if they did, none of them
would’ve dared to blatantly call him out on it. Maybe he was
getting lax in his old age and losing his discreet touch. Or
possibly he just didn’t give a fuck if she knew he was watching
her. He laughed. No. He liked that she knew.
Taking another drag, he leaned his head back
and closed his eyes. He hadn’t intended to go inside, but when he
heard her humming in the shower and envisioned her svelte wet body,
he was unable to resist the temptation.
She had fallen off his radar
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