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Authors: Sunniva Dee
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what douchebag isn’t worried about his wife at this hour?
To me, it seems that Nadia isn’t simply annoyed with her life and her husband. She appears plain unhappy about it. And that’s how dares are born for me. Now I want to glean contentment from this girl.
I hum softly, a melody I’ve been working on, and she doesn’t push away from me when I nuzzle her temple. It’s kind of addictive.
I have no intentions of taking advantage of the situation, so my hardening cock isn’t what I concentrate on. I don’t usually pause to think about a girl’s scent either, but Nadia’s? It’s this mouthwatering mix of skin and flowers.
She turns into me, a small hand going up to cup my face, and because my mouth is already on her, our lips connect without my doing. Hers are salty from tears and tasting mildly of black tea. When she opens, letting her tongue find mine, a new sugary flavor draws an awed grunt from me.
“Shit. Nadia?”
She emits the quietest little whimper, and it’s so hot my brain implodes with caveman needs. I want to throw her on her back and tear her clothes off starting at the center of her body. I want to peel her open like a birthday present, inhale the sight of her. Nuzzle. Suck—
My imagination is already going amok. What kind of nipples does she have? Are they light pink, bright red, or dark brown? Are they of the blooming, swollen sort or the small, delicate type? Somewhere in between?
I need to watch them stiffen.
Whoa, I’m ready to debauch a married woman. What kind of depraved person am I? Fuck. Whatever. I’ll just kiss her and dream. Then I’ll have my way with myself once she’s out of my house. I’ll definitely be picturing in detail everything I’d do to her.
For a moment, I press her close. Her thigh has migrated over mine, giving more access, the friction of my cock against denim already maddening.
I’m just making her think about something besides her sad life.
Her breath stutters, assuring me that she likes this. She moves slowly over me, her body shifting so she’s partly on top. Nadia’s hands travel into my hair, grasping, tugging a little while we kiss.
She makes me harder.
She makes it harder to stop.
I don’t want to stop.
“Ah you’re so hot,” I pant. It’s a complaint, and she knows. I grab her hips. Roll her over me, back and forth, back and forth. With each roll, I’m more demanding, and her breathing grows heavier and heavier. God, that is a beautiful sound. I catch her sighs with my mouth. We sort of gasp against each other, and like the teenager I’ve become, I’m so horny I’m about to erupt in my pants.
This is platonic , I remind myself, and I’d laugh if I weren’t so horny. Sure, it’s platonic, and yet so, so, so not. Before I can summon my good intentions, they rush out of sight.
My hand trails down the fleshy part of her where spine meets ass, and wedges into her crevice. Nadia whines softly and bucks up, craving my touch. I think my heart actually pauses.
The situation turns me on so hard I see red—a soft, velvety, moist red I’d love to sink my teeth into.
How can she be like this with me?
I can’t figure her out. From my experience, the extremes in this country are so very extreme. In general, Sweden is sexually more lax, but there are minorities in the US, to which some of my groupies pertain, who are mind-bogglingly liberated. Other minorities, like the cult Nadia has broken out of, seem so repressed I can’t understand how they conduct physical relationships at all.
In neither camp is there consent to cheat.
What makes a woman as reserved as Nadia, one who has only good things to say about her husband, rub against a man she doesn’t know? Her body’s on fire for me, and there’s no mistaking that she wants more than grinding.
I squeeze my eyes shut, searching for my morale. Fight to care if a guy I’ve never met finds out that I’ve slept with his wife. With the palm of my hand, I lock over her breast,
To me, it seems that Nadia isn’t simply annoyed with her life and her husband. She appears plain unhappy about it. And that’s how dares are born for me. Now I want to glean contentment from this girl.
I hum softly, a melody I’ve been working on, and she doesn’t push away from me when I nuzzle her temple. It’s kind of addictive.
I have no intentions of taking advantage of the situation, so my hardening cock isn’t what I concentrate on. I don’t usually pause to think about a girl’s scent either, but Nadia’s? It’s this mouthwatering mix of skin and flowers.
She turns into me, a small hand going up to cup my face, and because my mouth is already on her, our lips connect without my doing. Hers are salty from tears and tasting mildly of black tea. When she opens, letting her tongue find mine, a new sugary flavor draws an awed grunt from me.
“Shit. Nadia?”
She emits the quietest little whimper, and it’s so hot my brain implodes with caveman needs. I want to throw her on her back and tear her clothes off starting at the center of her body. I want to peel her open like a birthday present, inhale the sight of her. Nuzzle. Suck—
My imagination is already going amok. What kind of nipples does she have? Are they light pink, bright red, or dark brown? Are they of the blooming, swollen sort or the small, delicate type? Somewhere in between?
I need to watch them stiffen.
Whoa, I’m ready to debauch a married woman. What kind of depraved person am I? Fuck. Whatever. I’ll just kiss her and dream. Then I’ll have my way with myself once she’s out of my house. I’ll definitely be picturing in detail everything I’d do to her.
For a moment, I press her close. Her thigh has migrated over mine, giving more access, the friction of my cock against denim already maddening.
I’m just making her think about something besides her sad life.
Her breath stutters, assuring me that she likes this. She moves slowly over me, her body shifting so she’s partly on top. Nadia’s hands travel into my hair, grasping, tugging a little while we kiss.
She makes me harder.
She makes it harder to stop.
I don’t want to stop.
“Ah you’re so hot,” I pant. It’s a complaint, and she knows. I grab her hips. Roll her over me, back and forth, back and forth. With each roll, I’m more demanding, and her breathing grows heavier and heavier. God, that is a beautiful sound. I catch her sighs with my mouth. We sort of gasp against each other, and like the teenager I’ve become, I’m so horny I’m about to erupt in my pants.
This is platonic , I remind myself, and I’d laugh if I weren’t so horny. Sure, it’s platonic, and yet so, so, so not. Before I can summon my good intentions, they rush out of sight.
My hand trails down the fleshy part of her where spine meets ass, and wedges into her crevice. Nadia whines softly and bucks up, craving my touch. I think my heart actually pauses.
The situation turns me on so hard I see red—a soft, velvety, moist red I’d love to sink my teeth into.
How can she be like this with me?
I can’t figure her out. From my experience, the extremes in this country are so very extreme. In general, Sweden is sexually more lax, but there are minorities in the US, to which some of my groupies pertain, who are mind-bogglingly liberated. Other minorities, like the cult Nadia has broken out of, seem so repressed I can’t understand how they conduct physical relationships at all.
In neither camp is there consent to cheat.
What makes a woman as reserved as Nadia, one who has only good things to say about her husband, rub against a man she doesn’t know? Her body’s on fire for me, and there’s no mistaking that she wants more than grinding.
I squeeze my eyes shut, searching for my morale. Fight to care if a guy I’ve never met finds out that I’ve slept with his wife. With the palm of my hand, I lock over her breast,
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