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I damn sure don’t have a fucking cabin in Vermont.
Although, at this point in my life I guess I could if I wanted.
And I would absolutely take Angel Cake there if she wereactuallymy woman.
And you can bet your ass I’d lay her flat on that table.
Drizzle syrup across her naked body.
Lick away a lot more than just the drops that fell into her belly button.
Images of the thick, sticky condiment creeping past the area toward the sweet spot between her thighs not only summons my cock to full attention but has it swelling so mercilessly I have no choice but to give it a hard squeeze in hopes of relieving a bit of the ache. To no real surprise, one squeeze leads to two and two leads to a stroke.
And another.
And another.
Yet before one more can be executed, creaking sounds from the door being opened send my palm back to my side.
Seeing Arley wedged in the doorway on its own is enough to cause my balls to throb but seeing her standing there, wearing nothing but the old gray squadron shirt I like to work out in has me ready to come without needing another fucking touch.
Unsure how long she’s been standing there or what she’s seen or what she’s seeing or what she doesn’t seem to mind seeing leads to me remaining completely still.
Silent.
Holding my breath in hopes that this isn’t about to get more uncomfortable than it probably already is.
Slowly, the woman of my dreams slips further into the room.
Begins to slink across the marble tile.
Let’s her red cat-eye glasses covered stare along with her jaw lower over what the fog is barely hiding.
Ignoring the heavy pounding in my chest is a lot easier than ignoring the thrums of pain running rapidly through my cock, but it’s done. And so is observing the way her chest is harshly heaving. And the way she’s struggling to breathe. And how her nipples are hardening under my scrutinous stare.
While I’m not entirely sure what’s going to happen next, her pulling on the handle, removing the only barrier between us isn’t what I would’ve guessed.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Not even if I lit every candle in the great state of Texas, begging for it to.
Warm water droplets do their best to welcome her half-dressed frame at the same time cool air does its best to convince me to go back into the shower. To stop leaning forward. To stop invading space that isn’t mine to invade. Rather than be guided by the clashing temperatures, I simply study Arley’s actions. I watch her watch me. I suck in the shaky breath she’s trying to steal before she ever has the chance and keep her gasping. Lightly whimpering. Angling my face close enough for my lips to just barely skim over hers is done to allow her one last chance to retreat, one last chance for her to stop us from crossing this boundary we haven’t crossed, that weneverhave to cross, yet when the opportunity isn’t immediately taken, I smash my mouth against hers to finally have a taste of what I’ve always wanted. The initial impact is rough and sloppy, and my primal instincts to have and claim her only intensify those actions. Our tongues twist and tangle and tangle and twist and no matter how fast or frantic mine moves it can’t have enough.
Taste enough.
I cruelly yank her against me using a fistful of my shirt at the same time I dive my tongue deeper.
Command she gives me everything I’m searching for.
Everything I don’t know I’m searching for.
Everything and anything I can possibly imagine ever finding during every swift sweep.
Savagely dragging her inside and slamming her against the nearest wall successfully breaks us apart but no apology is delivered. Instead, my grip tightens while my other hand harshly grasps the nape of her neck on a gruff declaration, “I’m not a gentle man unless you ask, baby.”
“Don’t worry.” Arley leans forward so that I can feel the heat of her words singe my lips. “I won’t ask.”
