barely-there cutoffs. “I have to …” He never did finish that thought.
“You have to take good care of your wife,” Angelique cooed. Unbuttoning his denim vest, she slipped her fingers inside and slid her hands down his chest. It was hot and damp with sweat. Her knees nearly gave out at the scent of him—man and hair products. She pulled him back until her butt met his desk and then she spread her legs. Wide. She took his hand and forced his fingers down her front. The waist on these jeans rested above her navel. They sucked in her belly like a corset. No way she’d be taking them off. Anyway, these tight jeans got her hot and horny as a teenager. Ryan could work around them.
When his fingers met her exposed pussy lips, she gasped and then stopped his hand from moving any farther. “Grab it,” she said.
He grabbed her pussy and squeezed. She grabbed the table to support herself. His touch made her weak as a kitten, but she knew what she wanted. “No, baby, grab my crotch!”
“I am!” He looked so puzzled, and his uncertainty warmed Angelique’s heart.
“Sorry.” She shook her head, smiling at his mystified expression. “Grab the jeans—the crotch of the jeans.” Weaving his fingers between her bare skin and the denim seam, she formed his hand into a fist.
After so much instruction, Ryan finally seemed to realize what she was after. He straightened up like his muscles were possessed by the spirits of the throbbing teenagers downstairs. Grabbing an ass cheek in one strong hand, he pulled up on the crotch of her jeans until he’d lifted her bare feet off the floor.
“Yessssss!” Angelique hissed as the sopping wet seam of her cutoffs dug into her clit. He rested one of her thighs on one of his, and the feel of his denim on her naked skin made her melt. The garbled music from below pumped through her veins. When she closed her eyes she saw strobe lights.
Ryan had her totally in his power. As he pulled her forward, the denim seam felt fatter and wetter and her clit grew bigger and harder. She hadn’t felt so engorged since she was sixteen, walking around all day and all night in tight jeans like these, feeling how wet her pussy got every time she sat down in class …
All she’d ever wanted throughout four years of math classes, English classes, sciences classes, and all the rest, was for some guy with strong hands to grab her by the fly and get her off on her own jeans. Why could nobody damn well figure that out?And, hell, for that matter, why could she never tell anybody what she really wanted? But that’s what girls were like at that age—they strived to meet the man’s needs.
Now she was older. Now she was a woman—strong, powerful, and opinionated. Her husband didn’t mind indulging her cravings, but in all the years between then and now, she’d forgotten about this deeply held love of denim.
Angelique still had her hands back against Ryan’s desk as he rocked her back and forth, alleviating the pressure on her clit before laying the force on strong. Back toward the desk, and then forward toward Ryan’s bare chest, he compelled her to ride her jeans like a bull. He tossed her around at varied speeds, at varied pressures. One hand at a time, she reached up and grabbed hold of his neck. She clung to him, panting and whimpering as he rocked her body in time with the 1980s dance beat downstairs.
Ryan swung around until he was the one leaning back on his desk. And then the hand on her ass started to move. He slipped his thumb in between her flesh and the denim until he was holding her jeans at the back the same way he was holding them at the front. The seam now pressed against not only her throbbing clit, but against her asshole, too.
“God!” she whispered, clinging to him. Was she more awed or turned on? Hard to say, until he pulled her up high enough for their lips to meet. When he drew her tongue inside his mouth and kissed her, Angelique became his wild woman. Shifting her
“You have to take good care of your wife,” Angelique cooed. Unbuttoning his denim vest, she slipped her fingers inside and slid her hands down his chest. It was hot and damp with sweat. Her knees nearly gave out at the scent of him—man and hair products. She pulled him back until her butt met his desk and then she spread her legs. Wide. She took his hand and forced his fingers down her front. The waist on these jeans rested above her navel. They sucked in her belly like a corset. No way she’d be taking them off. Anyway, these tight jeans got her hot and horny as a teenager. Ryan could work around them.
When his fingers met her exposed pussy lips, she gasped and then stopped his hand from moving any farther. “Grab it,” she said.
He grabbed her pussy and squeezed. She grabbed the table to support herself. His touch made her weak as a kitten, but she knew what she wanted. “No, baby, grab my crotch!”
“I am!” He looked so puzzled, and his uncertainty warmed Angelique’s heart.
“Sorry.” She shook her head, smiling at his mystified expression. “Grab the jeans—the crotch of the jeans.” Weaving his fingers between her bare skin and the denim seam, she formed his hand into a fist.
After so much instruction, Ryan finally seemed to realize what she was after. He straightened up like his muscles were possessed by the spirits of the throbbing teenagers downstairs. Grabbing an ass cheek in one strong hand, he pulled up on the crotch of her jeans until he’d lifted her bare feet off the floor.
“Yessssss!” Angelique hissed as the sopping wet seam of her cutoffs dug into her clit. He rested one of her thighs on one of his, and the feel of his denim on her naked skin made her melt. The garbled music from below pumped through her veins. When she closed her eyes she saw strobe lights.
Ryan had her totally in his power. As he pulled her forward, the denim seam felt fatter and wetter and her clit grew bigger and harder. She hadn’t felt so engorged since she was sixteen, walking around all day and all night in tight jeans like these, feeling how wet her pussy got every time she sat down in class …
All she’d ever wanted throughout four years of math classes, English classes, sciences classes, and all the rest, was for some guy with strong hands to grab her by the fly and get her off on her own jeans. Why could nobody damn well figure that out?And, hell, for that matter, why could she never tell anybody what she really wanted? But that’s what girls were like at that age—they strived to meet the man’s needs.
Now she was older. Now she was a woman—strong, powerful, and opinionated. Her husband didn’t mind indulging her cravings, but in all the years between then and now, she’d forgotten about this deeply held love of denim.
Angelique still had her hands back against Ryan’s desk as he rocked her back and forth, alleviating the pressure on her clit before laying the force on strong. Back toward the desk, and then forward toward Ryan’s bare chest, he compelled her to ride her jeans like a bull. He tossed her around at varied speeds, at varied pressures. One hand at a time, she reached up and grabbed hold of his neck. She clung to him, panting and whimpering as he rocked her body in time with the 1980s dance beat downstairs.
Ryan swung around until he was the one leaning back on his desk. And then the hand on her ass started to move. He slipped his thumb in between her flesh and the denim until he was holding her jeans at the back the same way he was holding them at the front. The seam now pressed against not only her throbbing clit, but against her asshole, too.
“God!” she whispered, clinging to him. Was she more awed or turned on? Hard to say, until he pulled her up high enough for their lips to meet. When he drew her tongue inside his mouth and kissed her, Angelique became his wild woman. Shifting her
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