Naughty Thoughts
"Are you having those naughty thoughts again, you bad girl? I can always tell, because your eyes start to cross."
Terrence accompanies his accusation with a swirl of his hips, a move that nearly blows the top of my head off. It also nearly dislodges said naughty thoughts he's accusing me of. But not quite. They're so naughty that I can't seem to shake them, despite another virtuoso hip-swirl that makes me groan and claw his back.
"Back with us again, are we?" he gasps, laughing as he shags. He really is the most fabulous, fabulous fuck.
"Yes! Yes!" It's half gasp, half cry, all genuine. I don't have to do a Meg Ryan when I'm with Terrence. He's just gorgeous and he knows how to do the business. And if that wasn't enough, he looks like a movie star too. And not one of those mindless action hunks, mind you, all pecs and teeth and tan. No, he's like the more thoughtful kind of star, one with lots of grey cells, and a major league sense of humor to go with his exceptional body.
And he's on top of me now, going like a jackhammer.
Or he was.
For a moment, he raises himself up on his elbows and looks down on me. His handsome face is sweaty and a little flushed, but that only makes him sexier than ever. And even hotter for the look in his eyes. They're narrowed, sort of cute but sly, and shiver-inducingly knowing. He gives a little shake of his head as if he's read my mind. I hope he has, and I hope he likes what's in there.
He gives me a soft little kiss, on the corner of my mouth. "Maybe I should go down on you again for a while. That'll stop you wool-gathering while I'm giving you my fanciest moves, you naughty bitch." He licks his lips and that makes him look incredibly naughty.
You could spank me.
I open my mouth. I almost say it. But I don't. Not yet. That's a delicious treat I'm saving to surprise him. Doesn't stop me thinking about it though.
"I like your moves. I love them!"
He tilts his head, and a comma of thick brown hair dangles in his eyes. "I should bloody well think so, woman." He smoothes my hair out of my eyes too, and wipes the sweat from my brow. "You'd better brace yourself, because there's more of the same incoming."
"Do your worst!" I growl, and he swirls again. "Or preferably, your best!"
I have to close my eyes now, because they're crossing from the pleasure of him this time, and either way, I must look like an idiot. Hitching around beneath him, I find an even better angle, if that's possible, and with another small kiss, then a bigger one, he starts to swing in and out again, with all the smooth power of a human reciprocating engine. Supporting himself on one arm, he strokes my body at the same time, his fingers as clever as his hips and cock are potent.
I start to rise higher, straining against him, arching, reaching, savoring.
And the naughty thoughts return to sweeten climb.
In my mind, in a heartbeat, we're in a dark, dangerous room somewhere together. Is it a dungeon? Why, yes, it is... Here are the dingy, encrusted walls, the flickering torches in their sconces, the chains. And here's Terrence, but not quite the man who's currently fucking me. Well, he's the same, and just as sumptuous, but a darker version, more dangerous and exotic.
In bed, I grab at him, excitement building, my fluttering sex roused aroused anew by my kinky, yummy notions. "Baby," he growls, sensing every subtle and not so subtle response.
In my imaginary subterranean prison, he prowls around me, a slightly smiling figure all done up like the dream of a master. He's stripped to the waist, clad only in form-fitting leather jeans and knee high boots - apart from a platinum-studded collar round his neck. His thick brown hair is slicked back with water or gel or pomade, and his bare chest gleams in the torchlight as if he's oiled.
"Well, well, slave," he purrs in the mirror world.
Me, I'm strung up, my wrists in cuffs that dangle on chains from the smoky ceiling. I'm all done up like the dream
"Are you having those naughty thoughts again, you bad girl? I can always tell, because your eyes start to cross."
Terrence accompanies his accusation with a swirl of his hips, a move that nearly blows the top of my head off. It also nearly dislodges said naughty thoughts he's accusing me of. But not quite. They're so naughty that I can't seem to shake them, despite another virtuoso hip-swirl that makes me groan and claw his back.
"Back with us again, are we?" he gasps, laughing as he shags. He really is the most fabulous, fabulous fuck.
"Yes! Yes!" It's half gasp, half cry, all genuine. I don't have to do a Meg Ryan when I'm with Terrence. He's just gorgeous and he knows how to do the business. And if that wasn't enough, he looks like a movie star too. And not one of those mindless action hunks, mind you, all pecs and teeth and tan. No, he's like the more thoughtful kind of star, one with lots of grey cells, and a major league sense of humor to go with his exceptional body.
And he's on top of me now, going like a jackhammer.
Or he was.
For a moment, he raises himself up on his elbows and looks down on me. His handsome face is sweaty and a little flushed, but that only makes him sexier than ever. And even hotter for the look in his eyes. They're narrowed, sort of cute but sly, and shiver-inducingly knowing. He gives a little shake of his head as if he's read my mind. I hope he has, and I hope he likes what's in there.
He gives me a soft little kiss, on the corner of my mouth. "Maybe I should go down on you again for a while. That'll stop you wool-gathering while I'm giving you my fanciest moves, you naughty bitch." He licks his lips and that makes him look incredibly naughty.
You could spank me.
I open my mouth. I almost say it. But I don't. Not yet. That's a delicious treat I'm saving to surprise him. Doesn't stop me thinking about it though.
"I like your moves. I love them!"
He tilts his head, and a comma of thick brown hair dangles in his eyes. "I should bloody well think so, woman." He smoothes my hair out of my eyes too, and wipes the sweat from my brow. "You'd better brace yourself, because there's more of the same incoming."
"Do your worst!" I growl, and he swirls again. "Or preferably, your best!"
I have to close my eyes now, because they're crossing from the pleasure of him this time, and either way, I must look like an idiot. Hitching around beneath him, I find an even better angle, if that's possible, and with another small kiss, then a bigger one, he starts to swing in and out again, with all the smooth power of a human reciprocating engine. Supporting himself on one arm, he strokes my body at the same time, his fingers as clever as his hips and cock are potent.
I start to rise higher, straining against him, arching, reaching, savoring.
And the naughty thoughts return to sweeten climb.
In my mind, in a heartbeat, we're in a dark, dangerous room somewhere together. Is it a dungeon? Why, yes, it is... Here are the dingy, encrusted walls, the flickering torches in their sconces, the chains. And here's Terrence, but not quite the man who's currently fucking me. Well, he's the same, and just as sumptuous, but a darker version, more dangerous and exotic.
In bed, I grab at him, excitement building, my fluttering sex roused aroused anew by my kinky, yummy notions. "Baby," he growls, sensing every subtle and not so subtle response.
In my imaginary subterranean prison, he prowls around me, a slightly smiling figure all done up like the dream of a master. He's stripped to the waist, clad only in form-fitting leather jeans and knee high boots - apart from a platinum-studded collar round his neck. His thick brown hair is slicked back with water or gel or pomade, and his bare chest gleams in the torchlight as if he's oiled.
"Well, well, slave," he purrs in the mirror world.
Me, I'm strung up, my wrists in cuffs that dangle on chains from the smoky ceiling. I'm all done up like the dream
Similar Books
