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“Let’s get your hands clean,” I say as she stands there like she wants more.
Which is exactly the plan.
I stand behind her, my hands reaching around her waist to the warm water running from the spigot before her. I begin to wash away the stickiness left from the apple pie and as I do, I bury my nose in her hair, still damp from her shower, smelling clean and fresh, just like she does.
I continue to hold her hands under the warm spray. When my lips find her neck, she releases a long exhale, her head dropping forward. Her fingers grab mine in reflex. With my front pressed against her back, there’s no question she’s fully aware of my hard cock, and the way it is announcing my desire for her.
“You’re fucking beautiful, you know that, right?” I whisper.
Her head lolls to one side. “Th… thank you, Grisha.”
She says my name slowly, drawing out the syllables, and I think about how a long stroke of my cock in her pussy might feel.
Continuing to press her against the sink, I grab a towel and dry both our hands, then proceed to slowly unbutton her blouse. Once open, I take her bare breasts in my hands, stroking and kneading, while rocking my hard dick against her. My hands wander to the waistband of her pants, which I have open in seconds.
All while her breath comes harder and the guys in the next room yell at the TV.
I reach inside her panties, between her bare pussy lips, and find, to my delight, she’s not just wet but soaked. As I run my fingers through her cleft, she shudders and sighs, pressing her ass back against me.
“I’m going to fuck you now, darling,” I murmur in her ear.
Before I can do anything else, she hooks her fingers in the waistband of her pants and with a shove, drops them to the floor. With her dressed in nothing but her unbuttoned blouse, now falling off her shoulders, I bend her forward with one hand while pulling my cock out of my trousers with the other.
Reaching around to play with her clit, I position myself at her opening and gently pulse. “How are you feeling, baby?” I whisper.
Without a word, she reaches back and puts a hand on my now-bare hip. She digs her fingers into my flesh and pulls me closer until I begin to enter her, and my god, it’s heaven. Pure heaven. I’m barely inside and her pussy is creamy and soft, just like the silk blouse now puddling on the floor at our feet.
“Goddamn, you feel nice,” I say, and with a savage grunt, push all the way inside her until my balls are slapping her ass and she’s moaning in satisfaction.
I knew she had an itch to be scratched. It was written all over her face. This serious, steadfast girl has gone way too long with no outlet for her true nature.
I slide in and out, the tension in my balls nearly unbearable, and her moans tell me she’s getting close. I take my fingers off her clit and shove them into the hair gathered at her neck. I push her head down, nearly into the sink, raising her ass so I can fuck her faster and harder.
And I do.
She clenches around my dick and begins to shudder, her hands on the kitchen counter for balance. Her moans are sweet and make me think of the sugar and cinnamon I licked off her fingers and all I know is that I want this to last forever. I barely know this woman but I want more of her, so much more. Maybe too much.
In my last lucid thought before exploding, I tell myself not to be such an idiot over a woman I just met, and then my cum travels like the water through a goddamn firehose. Right before I start to spurt, I pull out of Lily and come down the crack of her pretty ass.
Goddamn, I’m in trouble.
* * *
CHAPTEREIGHT
LILY
The apple pie’s done.
Thank goodness for kitchen timers. If this one hadn’t buzzed, I might still be draped over the kitchen sink with Grisha’s cum running down my butt crack, the pie turning into a flammable brick of char.
I don’t know what the hell has come over me. Maybe a brush with death does this to a person, where you throw caution to the wind. It makes absolutely no sense, but I can’t resist these guys.
And they’re my captors.
But, at least for the time being, I’m not going to think too hard about it. What good has worrying ever done me anyway, aside from turning me into a boss-pleasing, perfectionist workaholic?
Grisha unexpectedly helps me cleans me up with a dishtowel and lends a hand in pulling my clothes back on. He, however, still has his pants around his ankles and he doesn’t seem bothered by it, at all. Guess that’s a guy thing.
