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“You’re so fucking beautiful. I can’t think of anything more beautiful than the woman I love, about ready to come at my hands.”
My free hand travels to her clit, and my finger begins to circle it.
“Oh, fuck me, I’m about to come.” And as she had predicted, I remove my finger from her clit and the vibrator from her pussy.
“Oh, shit, that was cruel.”
I push up her body, like I’m climbing a tree, eager to get to the top.
“Don’t worry. We’re not done.” I untie her from the bed.
Threading her fingers with mine, I tug her toward the chaise, draping her over the back of it. “Ready for my cock, Rosso? I’m about to push you tonight and remind you who you belong to.”
The condom I promised to wear until she felt comfortable going bare again is in my hand. I roll it on, and I’m ready to be inside her.
As she had described, I push her back over the chaise lounge and guide my cock inside of her sweet cunt. Once I’m in position, I pull at her hips, and I push inside of her. Her hand grips the edge of the chair as we find our own rhythm, and I fuck her fast, but tender. I kiss her back each time I enter her.
“I love you so much, baby. You’re my life. You’re my everything.” It’s the truth.
She’s close, and I am too, but I pull out of her. I lay her body lengthwise on the chaise, and instead of her vibrator, I drop to my knees and begin both tongue and finger fucking. I taste her, and inside of her, and with my fingers, I stimulate her clit, as she starts to clench around me.
I pop off the floor like an eager jackrabbit, and bring her back to the other side of the chaise, pushing her over it. I slide my dick inside, and I clutch onto her hips again, and we matcheach other instantly. “I love every fucking part of you, Cassandra McDonald.”
There’s no stopping us as I come, leaning over her as her body quakes around my cock.
“You’re fucking perfect, Rosso.”
“I’m only perfect because you’re in my life, Dominic Torano.”
The snow has finally melted enough,and plows, along with other necessities, begin to bring Chicago back to the bustling city it typically is. After three days, I wake on Monday, and Sandra is out of bed. Otis, of course, is taking up her space, snoring like an old man who smoked his whole life.
“Sandra, baby? Where are you?” It’ll be a day or two before we’re able to get to any of our active sites with most of the ground frozen.
The door opens, and she pops her head in. “Sorry, babe, but I have a busy day.”
Her hair is styled, and the wavy curls are gone. It’s straightened. She not only looks good enough to eat, but she also looks different in this way. She typically wears jeans and sweaters to work, but today she has on a tight pencil dress in a navy color that looks perfect against the red of her hair. Her makeup is natural except for her eyes; they’re a little smoky looking, and all I want is to bend her over like last night and fuck her again and again.
“You can’t look that good and go work with other men.”
“I work with a bunch of glorified toddlers with trust funds. Believe me, the last thing they notice is me in a dress.”
I push up against the headboard. “What do you have going on today that you’re dressed like that, looking like a fucking runway model?”
She chuffs at me like Otis does. “We’re rolling out our next game this week. It’s gonna be long hours, time with the press, and again, a lot of fucking babysitting, because I work for a bunch of children who can’t mind their mouths.”
Her company has made headlines here of late, as the majority owner has introduced his boyfriend to the world. The press is dragging both their names through the mud.
“I don’t understand, it’s the fucking 2020s and they act like a same-sex couple is such a scandal. Of course, they did that same shit with my brother. And now they’ve been together, all three of them, for so long it must be boring, and they’re looking for their next big thing.”
She’s quiet as she rummages around a jewelry box on her dresser pulling out earrings. She turns around with two options. This woman loves her big earrings, and she shows me an oval pair in gold and round hoops in silver.
“Gold,” I answer, and she puts the silver pair away.
“I don’t know what the press's hang-up is. Maybe it’s because it’s so new, happening so quickly.”
She hangs on the last word a little longer, and I know what this means for Sandra. She has more to say but is being guarded.
“What is it?” I ask.
