This woman was born to seduce me. To fuck me. To drag me to my fucking knees.
I slam back into her and she cries out. Damn this. I need it harder. I pull out and flip her over onto her knees and pull her legs as wide apart as they will go. I grab a handful of her hair with one hand, holding her hipbone with the other, and start to ride her hard. She gasps at my brutality.
In and out.
I need it harder.
I take my thumb and gently slide it into her back opening, and she moans, dropping her head to the bed to change the angle of her ass.
My eyes roll back in my head as the most intense orgasm I have ever felt from a woman rips me near in half. She screams into her pillow as my body takes on its own life and tears into her.
I couldn’t stop this even I tried. I throw myself across her back as my cock shoots straight into the centre of my beautiful purpose.
I pant, gasping for air, completely overcome with the feelings I have for the beautiful purpose that is both my savior and my sacrifice.
Emerson
I wake to the feeling of Alastar getting out of bed but decide to doze a little longer; my tired eyes won’t open. I smile in my contented state of semi-consciousness while I recall last night.
Magical doesn’t even come close to describing it.
Alastar made me feel like a queen at the ball and when we got home He’d fucked me like he’d hated my guts, again and again… and again. It was the best mind-blowing sex I have ever had in my life.
I sense him walking around and I open one eye to see what he is doing. He bends and picks up my dress to fold it neatly. He then brings it up to his face and inhales it deeply. I smile as I pretend to sleep. He’s smelling my clothes. He picks up my panties and bra and, once again, inhales them. He smiles and then folds them, placing them carefully on top of my dress on the chair. He picks up his clothes and folds them neatly, too, and then walks into the bathroom with them, no doubt to put them in the washing hamper. Why he would fold clothes to put into a dirty washing basket, though, I don’t know. I hear him in the bathroom and I smile into my pillow. Neat freak. He’s packing my hot rollers and makeup away. He walks back out into the bedroom and I feel him standing watching me for a moment.
I smile on the inside because he has no idea that I am awake. He walks around to his side of the bed and turns the lamp off. We must have fallen asleep with it on. And then he does something I don’t understand. He turns the lamp on and off four times as if testing it or something. I frown to myself. What is he doing?
He then walks into the bathroom and I hear the light switch turn on and off four times. I frown into my pillow. He then walks out and picks up my folded clothes and rearranges them on the chair before he refolds them.
What the hell is he doing?
He picks up my princess ring from the bedside table and stares at it for a moment deep in thought, and then he sits down on the bed next to me and picks up my hand to slide it onto my finger. I close my hand around his and he bends to kiss me.
“Good morning, my love,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
I smile. “Good morning, my Twinkle.”
He smiles cheekily. “Would you like some breakfast?” he asks in a husky fuck-me-now Irish accent.
I nod and pull the blankets back. “Come lie with me first.”
He shakes his head. “I’m too hungry. Come cuddle me downstairs. We can come back to bed later.” He grabs my hand and pulls me out of bed, wrapping me in his robe soon after. I begrudgingly follow him downstairs and take a seat at the kitchen counter.
He flicks on the coffee machine and leans over the counter to kiss me on the lips.
I smile, suddenly bashful at the thought of our sexual activities last night.
I don’t know if it was the champagne, the man, or the carefree attitude, but he pushed me further than I have ever gone before.
“What?” He smirks into my lips.
I run my hands though his stubble. “You blew my damn mind last night,” I whisper.
He kisses me again, all suction, all domination. “I’m going to blow it again today, too.” He slips his hand inside my gown and cups my breast. He bends and brings it to his mouth.
He stands with renewed purpose. “I need to feed my mouth before I feed my dick. I’ve got zero petrol left in the tank,” he mutters in disgust as he turns to the fridge and opens the door.
I laugh. I bet he hasn’t. My tank is way below zero. My elbow leans on the bench and my hand is under my chin. I watch him look through the fridge. As he goes through the shelves, he turns every single jar so that the label is all slightly facing the right. I frown as I watch him for an extended time. What is he doing?