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But while I’m bummed that’s the case, I also can’t be too upset about the predicament I’ve found myself in now—eye-to-eye with the one-eyed monster that lives in Gym Daddy’s gym shorts. The monster that is no longer half-asleep and lounging comfortably between Gym Daddy’s muscular thighs but is now standing as tall and big around as a 40-ounce Monster can—go figure. And I am not even exaggerating.
If I thought I knew how big he would be when I saw him at what I figured was half-mast, I was very, very mistaken. I had grossly underestimated the elasticity of this particular appendage belonging to this particular man.
There’s that joke about a guy being a grower not a show-er. This man is a show-er and a grower.
And now I’m frozen yet again, as my elbows come down to the floor in front of my knees before I scoot them back, my ass now in the air, putting my soaked pussy as far away from his reach as I can figure out how to right now. My brain can only focus on what is in my line of sight, and the only thing within that constraint—because it is that big and fills up the entirety of my visual capabilities, is his cock. Which is now mere millimeters away from my face.
He doesn’t move either—either because he is shocked at this turn of events or because he doesn’t know what the little psycho between his legs is going to do this close to his manhood.
No sudden movements.
I don’t know why—maybe it’s still the adrenaline coursing through my veins, or maybe it’s something along the lines of how they say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die—but the most random thought pops into my head while I figure out what the hell to do next.
W.W.C.D?
What. Would. Clarice. Do?
For the longest time now, Vi’s and my photographer friend has been someone I’ve looked up to, even though I’m a few inches taller than her. I’m forever telling her she’s my girl crush, that she’s my spirit animal, the woman I wish I was inside. She always waves me off like she doesn’t think I’m being serious, but that woman is a total baddie. She is a switch with her husband, Brian, a nearly seven-foot-tall giant of a man who she has wrapped around her dainty little finger. She could look him in the eye and tell him “You will sit down when you pee,” and that man’s ass would immediately perch upon a porcelain pot.
So, in this moment, that is what comes to mind, and channeling my badass, I-am-all-that-is-woman friend, I lean that last inch forward, closing the space between me and this fantasy lover brought to life.
My eyes automatically close the moment my lips press against the scalding skin that feels like velvet-upholstered steel. And at that same moment, for the first time ever in real life, I hear an actual growl come out of a human male.
It doesn’t sound like a grumble.
It’s not the rumbling sound a man makes when he’s pissed off.
It doesn’t even sound like a guttural groan some men vocalize when they’re experiencing mind-numbing pleasure.
This is 100-percent the sound of a soul-deep growl that belongs to a beast with thick fur, deadly canines, and claws that could rip someone’s throat out.
And it too has the automatic effect of—shocker—making me even wetter.
Is there anything about this man that’s not arousing?
Everything about him is a goddamn aphrodisiac.
There’s not one trait that doesn’t add to how completely infatuating he is, how utterly desirable and… exciting he is.
All of him—his body, his intelligence, the way he speaks to me, his voice itself—is pure sex.
And at this point, I’m counting on him to keep his word about behaving, because if he doesn’t, I can tell you right now I would not try to stop him. Not even a “maybe we should slow down.” Nope. If he were to say “Climb up here and take a seat on my dick,” by God, that’s exactly what I would do, no question. Not because my body would do its thing and follow his command on its own. And not because it took one look at what he was packing and said “We’re gonna need a bigger boat”—well, in this case, more lubrication—and readied itself for him. No. It’s because I’d freaking want to!
I’m horny as hell!
I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on in my entire life, and I’m a fucking award-winning porn author!
I’m a member of a world-renowned kinky sex club, and yet I have never so badly wanted a man to tell me to mount him than I do right here in this one’s truck in an abandoned bank’s parking lot.
“If you weren’t ready for me to touch anything below the waist, all you had to do was tell me, little one,” he says, his voice traveling down over the plains and ridges of his chest and stomach to fill my ears.
