pleas.
With relentless pursuit
of a climax she continued on, her movements increasing in time to the pressure
against her sensitive bud. Pressure she wasn’t putting there, but remained
nonetheless. She’d given up trying to figure out where the incredible
sensations came from, only that it was as intense as anything she’d ever felt.
Unable to stand upright
any longer, she leaned over the bathroom counter and braced her hands on the
cool, misty marble.
Then she spied the
wooden hairbrush near the sink, peering at her reflection through the wet fog.
Yes, she needed
something inside her pussy, something to pound away at the ache that wouldn’t
go away, something hard to take her over the edge before she dropped to the
floor in sexual agony.
She smiled at the
wicked woman in the mirror and reached for the brush, its smooth, thick handle
a cool relief as she grasped the bristled end in her palm and brought the brush
behind her.
Bending over at the
waist, she slipped the brush over her buttocks and further down, knowing as
soon as she’d found the mark she sought. The brush slid easily between the wet
folds of her pussy, and without another thought she slipped it inside.
Oh, it was heaven.
Heaven and hell and sweet, blissful torture. She pulled it out, just a little,
stroked her clit and lips, then slid it back in a little further this time.
“Yes, like that,” she
whimpered, not sure to whom she was speaking, but wishing that she could look
in the mirror and find Aidan’s handsome face smiling behind her, his hands
holding her hips steady as he rocked his hard shaft deep inside.
The brush was his cock
sliding inside her. Long and thick filling her until she could take no more. She
imagined Aidan’s grip intensifying on her hips as she pulled back the brush and
thrust again. Her body sucked the handle deeper inside, refusing to let it go.
“Fuck me, Aidan,” she
whispered. “Fuck me hard.”
The huge object plunged
deep inside, eliciting a scream of pleasure from her. She pushed back against
the imaginary Aidan, rewarded when she imagined hearing a male grunt of
pleasure.
“Yes, oh yes, harder,
“she cried. “ Make me come, Aidan.”
The hands on her
buttocks squeezed hard, ramming the long, thick member so deep inside she felt
it in her belly. She gave what she got, bucking back against him as the first
waves of her climax washed over her.
The mist began to fall
like a soft rain, soaking her skin, her hair, the entire room as jolt after
jolt of pleasure arced through her. Her pussy flooded with the juices of her
orgasm and the hard object inside strained. The Aidan she imagined in her
fantasies groaned loudly and shot a hot stream of come deep into her core.
She panted, nearly
breathless, and held on to the countertop until the world stopped spinning.
When she finally opened her eyes and peered in the mirror, she was completely
dry. Her skin, other than a fine veil of sweat, had no more been rained on than
the dry French Quarter outside. There was no storm, no thunder, no lightning,
no rain—inside or outside.
The hairbrush, soaked
with her juices, lay on the floor next to her feet.
She was completely
alone in the room, having had an incredibly real fantasy that had caught her up
in a maelstrom of earth shattering delight until she couldn’t tell fantasy from
reality.
With a sigh she turned
on the shower. While she waited for the water to heat up, she heard the sound
of distant thunder.
Maybe a storm was
coming after all.
Chapter Seven
Bound and determined to
change things between her and Aidan, Melissa charged into the hotel’s
conference room. She was tired of being alone, tired of masturbating herself to
orgasm, and was more than ready for some rip-roaring sex of the Aidan Storm
variety.
Yes, she’d screwed up
with Aidan. She should have taken the hot sex he offered instead of worrying
about where it would lead.
It wasn’t going to lead
anywhere. They both knew that, and it was
With relentless pursuit
of a climax she continued on, her movements increasing in time to the pressure
against her sensitive bud. Pressure she wasn’t putting there, but remained
nonetheless. She’d given up trying to figure out where the incredible
sensations came from, only that it was as intense as anything she’d ever felt.
Unable to stand upright
any longer, she leaned over the bathroom counter and braced her hands on the
cool, misty marble.
Then she spied the
wooden hairbrush near the sink, peering at her reflection through the wet fog.
Yes, she needed
something inside her pussy, something to pound away at the ache that wouldn’t
go away, something hard to take her over the edge before she dropped to the
floor in sexual agony.
She smiled at the
wicked woman in the mirror and reached for the brush, its smooth, thick handle
a cool relief as she grasped the bristled end in her palm and brought the brush
behind her.
Bending over at the
waist, she slipped the brush over her buttocks and further down, knowing as
soon as she’d found the mark she sought. The brush slid easily between the wet
folds of her pussy, and without another thought she slipped it inside.
Oh, it was heaven.
Heaven and hell and sweet, blissful torture. She pulled it out, just a little,
stroked her clit and lips, then slid it back in a little further this time.
“Yes, like that,” she
whimpered, not sure to whom she was speaking, but wishing that she could look
in the mirror and find Aidan’s handsome face smiling behind her, his hands
holding her hips steady as he rocked his hard shaft deep inside.
The brush was his cock
sliding inside her. Long and thick filling her until she could take no more. She
imagined Aidan’s grip intensifying on her hips as she pulled back the brush and
thrust again. Her body sucked the handle deeper inside, refusing to let it go.
“Fuck me, Aidan,” she
whispered. “Fuck me hard.”
The huge object plunged
deep inside, eliciting a scream of pleasure from her. She pushed back against
the imaginary Aidan, rewarded when she imagined hearing a male grunt of
pleasure.
“Yes, oh yes, harder,
“she cried. “ Make me come, Aidan.”
The hands on her
buttocks squeezed hard, ramming the long, thick member so deep inside she felt
it in her belly. She gave what she got, bucking back against him as the first
waves of her climax washed over her.
The mist began to fall
like a soft rain, soaking her skin, her hair, the entire room as jolt after
jolt of pleasure arced through her. Her pussy flooded with the juices of her
orgasm and the hard object inside strained. The Aidan she imagined in her
fantasies groaned loudly and shot a hot stream of come deep into her core.
She panted, nearly
breathless, and held on to the countertop until the world stopped spinning.
When she finally opened her eyes and peered in the mirror, she was completely
dry. Her skin, other than a fine veil of sweat, had no more been rained on than
the dry French Quarter outside. There was no storm, no thunder, no lightning,
no rain—inside or outside.
The hairbrush, soaked
with her juices, lay on the floor next to her feet.
She was completely
alone in the room, having had an incredibly real fantasy that had caught her up
in a maelstrom of earth shattering delight until she couldn’t tell fantasy from
reality.
With a sigh she turned
on the shower. While she waited for the water to heat up, she heard the sound
of distant thunder.
Maybe a storm was
coming after all.
Chapter Seven
Bound and determined to
change things between her and Aidan, Melissa charged into the hotel’s
conference room. She was tired of being alone, tired of masturbating herself to
orgasm, and was more than ready for some rip-roaring sex of the Aidan Storm
variety.
Yes, she’d screwed up
with Aidan. She should have taken the hot sex he offered instead of worrying
about where it would lead.
It wasn’t going to lead
anywhere. They both knew that, and it was
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