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She turned her face up to him, and her eyes were bright, crinkled with the force of her smile. “That sounds amazing; I would love that.AndI can learn the all-important sample distribution. I might need to take notes the first time.”
“We’ll make you a cheat sheet, if necessary.”
Warmth spread through him as they neared her car, and as that bubble inflated, he wondered if it was possible to lift both of them in the air if he held her hands tightly enough. Perhaps it was the fact that he was leaving the following morning, or maybe it was the thrill of making plans to see each other again, plans for the following week and beyond. Perhaps it was just that he was going to miss his milking that week and that he’d been stiff since the night he’d sat across from her at the coffee shop. Perhaps it was a bit of all the above, but whatever the cause was, their kiss that evening had a bit more heat.
Kissing her was an exercise in restraint. His mouth was much wider than a human’s, and it would’ve been too easy to allow the kiss to turn sloppy.We’re saving sloppy for between her legs. He was careful in the way he maneuvered his lips against hers, solicitous of how much of her mouth he was engulfing, careful not to tip his horns too far. His hand fell to her hip to keep her steady, but it had the double benefit of holding her in place. She was flush against him, every curve of her body pressed to him, and the thick outline of his engorged cock pressed to her lower belly.
Her kiss that night was bolder, more daring, lashing her tongue against his and nipping at his lips. Her hands, her perfect little hands, buried themselves in the thicker hide at his neck, scraping against his chest, dragging down his abdomen until she reached his belt. Violet gasped as his mouth trailed down her throat, nibbling at the tender column of flesh, twisting like a captured mermaid in his arms . . . He grunted against her when she shifted just enough to grind her hips against the base of his erection.
The hand at her hip began to knead, massaging her skin, his fingers stretching till he was able to grip an entire handful of her ass. She shifted again, and Rourke groaned.Surely, she felt that.His cock was a steel bar by then, a fat cudgel he could use to bludgeon any unsuspecting goblin who chanced upon them just then, and he couldn’t believe that she didn’t feel how hard he was. When it happened a third time, her grip on his belt buckle giving her leverage to rub against him, he realized she was doing it on purpose.
“Violet,” he groaned, prying her fingers from the belt. He wanted nothing more than to allow her nimble fingers to work open his fly, drawing him out, and sucking him right there in the public parking lot. She could let him slide between her tits, licking his head as he pinched her nipples, holding her shoulders for leverage as he thrust upward, the heat of her body and the thrill of potentially being caught being too much to hold back, erupting right there in the parking lot.
And then what happens? You wind up footing the bill to have some goblins' car detailed after you come all over his driver's door and gum up the lock mechanism. Is that really what you want? A record for public ejaculation?It would be so easy to take her home, to give his fantasies a dose of reality, bringing her home to his house, his bed.Once you have her there, you don’t ever let her go. He shook the thought away. It was too soon, even if he wanted to do nothing more than bring her home and throw her dress directly into the trash.You leave in the morning; you don’t have time for this anyway.
Maybe in a month or two, they would be in a different place. He would be preparing to leave for a business trip, and she would be fretting over him, ensuring he had an extra pair of hoof gaiters and a neck pillow secured in his overnight bag, adding a silky camisole sprayed with her perfume to keep him company at the lonely hotel.
Making love to herthenwould be a way to unwind. They would be in the center of his bed, their bed maybe, by then. She would be used to his shape, his size no longer a challenge. Their fingers would be intertwined, gripping each other’s hands tightly as she rode him, her hips rolling as her cunt tightened around him, his hooves scraping against the indestructible sheets. When he came, he would grip her hips and hold her flush to him, letting his cock erupt into the mouth of her womb, filling her until her belly bulged. When they were both satisfied, she would lie on his chest and bury her fingers in the thick hide of his neck, and the sound of her heartbeat would lure him to sleep.
In the morning, he would be up before dawn, swallowing a scalding cup of coffee and getting dressed in the dark, and she would kiss him goodbye at the door, making him promise to call her as soon as his plane landed. The brownie he imagined finding packed into his briefcase was pure fantasy, along with the still-clean sheets, but he could dream.
They weren’t there yet. They were only at the cusp of a beginning, too soon to even think beyond the following week without it seeming hasty and premature. They weren’t there, but that was the place he desperately wanted to be, and rushing these early days wouldn’t help him ever get there.
“I had a wonderful time, sweetheart. I’ll miss seeing you this week, but I’ll call you soon as I’m back and we’ll make plans.”
She looked crestfallen as she gazed up at him from her car window after he kissed her a final time, pushing her into the vehicle. It would have been too easy to cave in to lust and short-term pleasure, too easy to let his cock do the thinking, but for once, he was content to let his head remain in control.
That was, until he got out of the shower later that night, rubbing a towel over his head, between his horns. He'd been distracted after arriving home, finding a courier box leaning against the front door, documents from the office that he would need to take with him for the week. He had been mentally running through his schedule, the contracts he needed signed, the meetings he needed to have, and all the blood had fully restored his brain in the process. He dragged the towel down his face, firmly rubbing the thicker hide at his neck as he palmed his phone.
There was a message from her. A text thanking him for dinner, thanking him for the entire evening.I'll miss you this week.He could nearly feel his heart crowding against his lungs, a visible outline through his pectoral. He was going to miss her too, and the notion of evenhavingsomeone to miss was exhilarating.
Then he continued scrolling. The rest of her message was a photo. It wasn't especially salacious — the slip she wore covered all her most tantalizing anatomy, but it hinted at what lay beneath, and the hint was enough to strike a match to his blood.
She was sitting on her bed, legs folded beneath her, her delicious thighs on display and the rounded curve of her backside barely covered. The satin cups of the slip were trimmed in lace, and they hugged the globes of her breasts, the satin thin enough to give the impression of her nipple beneath. The spaghetti straps were loose, and Rourke could imagine pushing one down, letting it fall off her shoulder. The top of the nightgown might pull with it, giving him a few inches more of her creamy breast to ogle, to kiss, to suck to swollen peaks.
He could imagine her sitting on the bed this way when he returned from his trip, biting her lip innocently, her big dark doe eyes blinking slowly. She wouldn't wear anything underneath the flimsy little nightgown, and there would be nothing to prevent him from sliding her to the center of the bed and pulling her legs open.
The towel caught on his jutting erection; all thoughts of work abruptly forgotten. She had donethison purpose as well.She wants to get you all heated up thinking about her just before you go out of town.
The first time he jerked off, he was laying back against his pillows, holding the phone up in front of him. In the photo she had sent, she was looking directly at the camera. It was easy to pretend she was able to see him, able to see the way he took himself in hand, his desire for her a stiff rod, rising between his legs. His hooves planted flat on the coverlet, he thrust upward, bucking up into her, a rodeo bull trying to throw its rider. She would keep her seat with ease, though, the tight press of his fat cock in the snug confines of her hot little cunt keeping her secure. He came against the towel as he looked her in the eye, a messy explosion that made his thighs sticky, and he grumbled over the wasted shower.
The second time he took himself in hand he was back under the spray, letting the water rain down on his back as he braced himself against the wall, hips moving, balls swinging, thinking of taking her from behind. Her voice would be muffled by the sheets, her cheek pressed to the mattress, and the slap of his balls would be like a rhythmic thundercrack. He would moan as he came, a full serving of Ejacumint slurry, the sound carrying out the open window to Khash and Lurielle, ruining their dinner.
He’d been so dizzy after coming the second time, Rourke stumbled to bed directly from the shower, barely drying off before collapsing in his sheets. His eyes were nearly closed when he realized what he’d done, lurching back to the en suite to drop a Deliquesce pod down the drain, hoping his cum had not already hardened in the pipes as he ran the water, adding a second pod just to be safe.If this is what she's sending you now, what will she be sending you in a month? Two months?
The third and final time he needed to masturbate that night; hours had gone by. He twisted in the sheets, tossing and turning, unable to ignore the weight against his belly. Rourke queued up a clip that had served him well previously, not even needing to watch it. The sound was what he wanted, as he thrust into the tight ring of his fingers — the high, breathy moans of human as she was fucked by a bull, the wet squelching of his cock driving into her, the pitch and volume of her cries climbing the closer and closer she got to her climax. The bull in the video pulled out of the woman as he erupted, and the sound of his semen spattering on the floor was like a bucket of water being thrown. Rourke kept his eyes trained on Violet's dark eyes as he slipped over the edge a final time, cramping his stomach as his muscles contracted. He had never wanted to get through a business trip faster.
Maybe there will be a milking joint on the road, he thought ruefully, climbing back into bed at last, once the soiled towels were thrown in the hamper. One last look at her eyes, beguiling and full of promise.Otherwise, it was going to be a very,verylong weekend.
Chapter 11
She wasn't wearing anything under her dress.
The restaurant was one she’d chosen, in the city once more, but she’d promised him an outstanding dessert cart. The interior was fighting a war between gilded age opulence and a boudoir photo shoot, with ice blue velvet curtains, pleated poufs, and long banquettes. Based on the aesthetic alone, Rourke was shocked that his ex had not dragged him here before. He was pleased this was a memory to make with Violet that would not be tainted by his past.
She had been inching ever closer on the banquette until his arm had dropped around her, and he realized with a chucklethathad been her aim all along.Needy little kitten. His fingers had begun circling carelessly where they rested against her, a soft caress as she picked from her plate. She had seemed distracted up until that point, distracted and out of sorts, but once his arm had dropped around her, she'd nosed against him, humming contentedly.
His fingertips glided from her hip to the top of her thigh, making the circuit several times before he realized that nothing impeded his path. There was no drag of material, no bump beneath the skirt of her dress indicating a waistband or G string or any sort of under thing at all. She wasn’t wearing any panties and had gone out of her way to shift closer to him, under his arm, forcing his hand, rather than taking the next step herself. Rourke couldn’t help but grin at her cheekiness.
