perfect: creamy skin, spectacular tits, and taut, pink nipples.
Bending over her, I licked a line down her neck to her breasts, pressing my thumb into a fading mark I’d apparently sucked into her skin on Saturday. “I bet you looked at this every day,” I said, admiring my handiwork, pressing just a bit harder.
“Too much talking,” she said, pushing open my shirt. “Too many clothes.”
I grazed my teeth across her nipple, sucking, blowing across the hardened peak. “Touch me,” I said, pressing her palm over my cock.
She squeezed and my head fell against her shoulder.
Her hands shook as she unfastened my trousers, hurriedly shoving them down around my hips. She leaned back on the table, her body stretched, the shadows dipping into the hollow of her collarbone, the curve of her breasts.
“Max,” she whispered, eyes hooded as she looked up at me.
“Yeah?” I was distracted by her neck, her breasts, her hand curling around my cock.
“Do you have a camera?”
How did she do that? How did someone so contained, so naturally refined, let loose that completely? I reached into my jacket—still hanging open from my shoulders—and pulled out my phone, holding it up to her. “This’ll do?”
“Will you take pictures of us?”
I blinked, and then blinked hard again. Was she kidding? “Fuck. Absolutely.”
“No faces.”
“Of course not.”
A beat of silence passed as we both considered what I could do with this gadget in my palm. She wanted pictures of what we were doing. I reeled from the knowledge that she got off on this as much as I did. I could see it in the way her pulse beat wildly in her throat, at the fever in her eyes.
“Nobody else sees them,” she said.
I smiled. “I don’t relish the idea of sharing any part of you. Of course no one else sees them.”
She leaned back and I brought the phone up, aiming at her. The first shot was of her shoulder. The second of her hand on her breast, her nipple caught between her fingers. A soft moan left her lips as I smoothed my hand up her thigh to slip between her legs.
Voices echoed in the hall, pulling us out of our dark corner and back into the reality of where we were, and how we both eventually needed to return downstairs. I rolled a condom down my length and reached up to press my thumb to her mouth, slipping it inside.
She answered wordlessly, wrapping her legs around my hips and trying to pull me closer. I watched myself slide into her just as the door to the ballroom creaked open.
As it had before, the brightness from the hall spilled into the room, filtering through the screen and painting her torso with its ribbon of light. Her breath caught but I didn’t stop, instead lifting her chin and motioning for her to stay quiet as I pushed into her again. Heat spread from my cock up my spine at the feel of her around me.
She closed her eyes tight and I gripped her hip to steady myself, thrusting into her harder, pulling her farther down the table toward me. The light from the city was just enough for me to capture a sensual, dark photo of my hand on her skin. Footsteps crossed the room toward the window, and her legs tightened around me as if to keep me from pulling back and away.
I watched her nipples harden, her lips part in excitement. Don’t worry, I thought with a smile. I’m not stopping.
My movements were shallow and I gripped her breast, pinching her nipple. “They’re right there,” I whispered, bending to kiss her neck and relishing the wild rhythm of her pulse under my lips. “They could see us if they wanted.”
Her breath caught and I pinched again, rougher this time. “I’m not pulling back. I just want to push farther and farther and farther in.”
“Harder,” she begged in a whisper.
“My hand, or how I’m fucking you?”
“Both.”
I swore against the skin of her neck. “You’re fucking dirty, you know that?”
Her mouth opened in a silent gasp as I rocked into her, wishing I could get even deeper
Alan Cook
Unknown Author
Cheryl Holt
Angela Andrew;Swan Sue;Farley Bentley
Reshonda Tate Billingsley
Pamela Samuels Young
Peter Kocan
Allan Topol
Isaac Crowe
Sherwood Smith