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“She’s me,” the woman replied.
He peered down at me with a severe expression.
He looked back to his love.
“So she is,” he agreed.
She cupped his face in her hands. “You came back to me.”
“I always will.” He looked down at me. “I always will.” Then to her, his expression shifting to something infinitely loving, he said one last time, “I always will.”
She smiled at him.
Then she turned to me.
“Welcome home.”
I opened my eyes, feeling like I had the night before, content and sated.
The Dorothy thing I got.
But, whatever.
The second part, who knew?
It was a dream, but it wasn’t a bad dream or a weird dream.
It was kinda sweet.
So I snuggled back into Ian, who was now again spooning me, and I returned to sleep.
It was less me bouncing and a whole lot more of Ian fucking himself with my pussy as he pulled me up and down on his dick, and I stared down at him lying on his expensive, pristine, white sheets, looking hot and delicious.
With that vision a feast for my eyes, feeling him impale me, those were all I needed.
My head fell back as my climax threatened.
“No, you don’t,” he growled, pulling me off him.
I cried out in protest as he positioned me on my hands and knees, facing his sitting room. He got behind me and powered back in.
I instantly genuflected, but he twisted a hand in my hair and tugged, grunting, “Up, Daphne.”
I got back up to my hands, feeling my breasts swaying, my body rocking to the violence of his thrusts.
“Ian,” I warned.
“Don’t come.”
“Ian!” I exclaimed.
He spanked my ass and demanded, “Don’t fucking come, Daphne.”
The sting of that spank, his cock.
I couldn’t hack it.
“Oh God,” I moaned.
