reassure her much.
“You’re crazy.” She backed from him, one hand raised to keep back his inevitable advance, and yet she laughed when he did.
“Am I?” Jackson crossed the kitchen, pausing at the sink only long enough to uncap the tube and squeeze a very small amount of white ointment onto his fingertips.
“Oh my God,” she said again, as he rubbed it to saturate the latex. She tried to duck past him, but he caught her by the nipple of one breast, which not only stopped her escape, but brought her arching up onto her toes with a squeak. In one step, he had her backed up against the wall again.
She slapped her hands down to block his access to her pussy, beautifully bare and smooth.
His smirk grew. “Put your hands on your head.”
Her breathing quickened. She looked down at his hand, where he kept rolling the ointment around and around the tips of his fore and middle fingers. She looked up at him uncertainly. He never took his eyes off of hers and he didn’t repeat himself. He simply waited until, only a twitch at first, she raised her hands and laced her fingers behind her neck.
His grip on her nipple softened. He rolled it, stroking with his thumb, the same lazy motion he kept making with his ointment-wet fingers. Her mouth opened, her chin lifting just a bit when he moved in closer. The medicinal scent of the Ben-Gay was in his nose. He could feel her shakily exhale, her breath the softest whisper against his lips right before they touched hers. He drank her sigh straight from her mouth, releasing her nipple to mold her perfect breast in his palm. Her squeak came only a half second later when he slipped his ointment-slick hand between her tensing thighs and cupped her pussy.
He slathered the majority of the ointment on her soft outer labia, but he didn’t waste it all there. He moved in and he knew the instant she began to feel the heat because her squeals heightened in pitch and began to come with every breath. He spared her nothing, touched every line and fold of her quivering sex and sank his fingers all the way up inside her before withdrawing to roll her clitoris in the tainted juices of her own burning body. Her mewling cries were an aphrodisiac he couldn’t get enough of, and they were only growing as the heat of the ointment built and built without mercy.
“Oh no!” She threw her head back against the wall, eyes closed, panting expressively, but her hips kept riding his fingers. She winced but never once tried to escape his touch, not even when her cries escalated into full grunting moans. These were fuck-me sounds, growing louder as her face contorted in expressive discomfort. Her whole pussy would be on fire now. He fucked her with his hand, slapping his gloved fingers in and out of her hard and fast.
“Oh!” Her hands clamped onto him, her sharp little fingernails digging into his shoulders like claws.
The worst of the heat, he knew, would not last long. He made the most of the hell while it lasted, rubbing, squeezing, slapping and fucking her, stretching her open with two fingers, and then three, and then finally all four just to hear the full-throated animal groans falling from her with every panting breath.
God, those cries. She was a woman so lost in her own pleasure that she didn’t care what she sounded like or how loud she was. For one small window in time, she didn’t care about the scars on her body. Nothing in the world mattered to her but him and the bonfire of burning he was fucking her body with.
She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, ever held, ever pinned up against the wall, and the driving urge to bury his hard and throbbing cock as deep as he could reach inside of her became a need too great to think beyond.
Flipping her around, Jackson slammed her belly-up against the wall and covered her back in an instant. He kissed her, hungrily filling all his senses with the smell and taste of her—her shoulder, her neck, her hair. He sucked her earlobe into his
“You’re crazy.” She backed from him, one hand raised to keep back his inevitable advance, and yet she laughed when he did.
“Am I?” Jackson crossed the kitchen, pausing at the sink only long enough to uncap the tube and squeeze a very small amount of white ointment onto his fingertips.
“Oh my God,” she said again, as he rubbed it to saturate the latex. She tried to duck past him, but he caught her by the nipple of one breast, which not only stopped her escape, but brought her arching up onto her toes with a squeak. In one step, he had her backed up against the wall again.
She slapped her hands down to block his access to her pussy, beautifully bare and smooth.
His smirk grew. “Put your hands on your head.”
Her breathing quickened. She looked down at his hand, where he kept rolling the ointment around and around the tips of his fore and middle fingers. She looked up at him uncertainly. He never took his eyes off of hers and he didn’t repeat himself. He simply waited until, only a twitch at first, she raised her hands and laced her fingers behind her neck.
His grip on her nipple softened. He rolled it, stroking with his thumb, the same lazy motion he kept making with his ointment-wet fingers. Her mouth opened, her chin lifting just a bit when he moved in closer. The medicinal scent of the Ben-Gay was in his nose. He could feel her shakily exhale, her breath the softest whisper against his lips right before they touched hers. He drank her sigh straight from her mouth, releasing her nipple to mold her perfect breast in his palm. Her squeak came only a half second later when he slipped his ointment-slick hand between her tensing thighs and cupped her pussy.
He slathered the majority of the ointment on her soft outer labia, but he didn’t waste it all there. He moved in and he knew the instant she began to feel the heat because her squeals heightened in pitch and began to come with every breath. He spared her nothing, touched every line and fold of her quivering sex and sank his fingers all the way up inside her before withdrawing to roll her clitoris in the tainted juices of her own burning body. Her mewling cries were an aphrodisiac he couldn’t get enough of, and they were only growing as the heat of the ointment built and built without mercy.
“Oh no!” She threw her head back against the wall, eyes closed, panting expressively, but her hips kept riding his fingers. She winced but never once tried to escape his touch, not even when her cries escalated into full grunting moans. These were fuck-me sounds, growing louder as her face contorted in expressive discomfort. Her whole pussy would be on fire now. He fucked her with his hand, slapping his gloved fingers in and out of her hard and fast.
“Oh!” Her hands clamped onto him, her sharp little fingernails digging into his shoulders like claws.
The worst of the heat, he knew, would not last long. He made the most of the hell while it lasted, rubbing, squeezing, slapping and fucking her, stretching her open with two fingers, and then three, and then finally all four just to hear the full-throated animal groans falling from her with every panting breath.
God, those cries. She was a woman so lost in her own pleasure that she didn’t care what she sounded like or how loud she was. For one small window in time, she didn’t care about the scars on her body. Nothing in the world mattered to her but him and the bonfire of burning he was fucking her body with.
She was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, ever held, ever pinned up against the wall, and the driving urge to bury his hard and throbbing cock as deep as he could reach inside of her became a need too great to think beyond.
Flipping her around, Jackson slammed her belly-up against the wall and covered her back in an instant. He kissed her, hungrily filling all his senses with the smell and taste of her—her shoulder, her neck, her hair. He sucked her earlobe into his
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