its pomade-covered-length lay in limp clumps. He didn't seem to notice, nibbling on the bend in her neck. She was wrong; he did notice. “What the hell do you have on your hair?"
His tone was insulting, and even in this moment, poised above his shaft, ready to change her destiny, Naomi had to have the last word. “Does it really matter right now?” He snorted, derisively, she felt, and her already sunburned cheeks burned hotter. She crouched helplessly, aware of his flesh intimately touching hers, her body's heated response telegraphing her desire.
She shivered when whiskers along his jaw brushed the tender flesh on her neck. She was focusing on that when he moved the hand on her stomach lower, petting her nether curls before sliding his fingers between her legs, brushing that bit of flesh that was so sensitive.
They needed to talk; she had his attention, now she needed to remember what they were talking about. Oh, yes, her hair.
"My hair is curly, wild, unless I pomade it.” He looked up from the nipple he was biting and frowned at her.
"No more,” he grunted and then went back to scraping his teeth across the end so erotically that she melted and squirmed on the flesh invading her core. She panted, clinging to his shoulders, trying to gather her thoughts at the same time she stopped her descent onto his shaft. Instinctively, she tried to close her legs against him.
"No, ma'am,” he said sternly, lips and teeth removed from her breast, where he had been giving her so much to think about. “You'll not keep me out of this sweet honey. This belongs to me tonight. Open for me, Naomi."
She obeyed, closing her eyes as she let her legs fall apart, stiffly enduring as his fingers touched and pressed intimately, learning the shape and size of her parts. His manroot throbbed against her flesh, and she wondered how she would ever be able to take it inside of her when just the tip burned and stretched her opening.
He probed gently, pressing her downward so that his shaft pushed inside of her entrance. He was breathing heavily and rasped into her ear, “Shoot, teacher, you're not even broken to ride."
She struggled to reply, “I would prefer not being compared to a horse, if you don't mind.” But the words that she'd meant to be caustic came out as a weak whimper.
She felt his chest vibrate against her and knew without looking that she'd made him laugh. He kept his hand pressed against her belly, holding her still when he pushed his finger harder against the nubbin he stroked. Her almost relaxed muscles clenched around his flesh as he inched deeper inside of her.
Trying to expel the foreign intruder, her body strained away from his touch. “You're too big,” she protested. But it didn't matter; he was inside of her, and she still straddled his thighs, his rigid pole connecting the two bodies.
Abruptly he reached for the soap. His voice was harsh when he handed her the bar. “My back needs to be scrubbed. Reach across my shoulders and get at it."
His rough order offended her, and she meant to use that as an excuse to climb out. Instead, he drew her toward him until his turgid member slid higher inside of her. “Stop that,” she ordered him and twisted, trying to disconnect their bodies and scramble out of the tub of water.
Gravity and the slippery trough conspired to aid him in breaching her flesh. She slipped and fell down on his shaft, impaling herself fully. His groan of pleasure accompanied her shocked gasp.
She cried out and clutched his shoulders, leaning against his strength for solace from the pain he'd given her. Her face pressed against his chest, hiding from his gaze.
He rubbed the white suds across her shoulders and down her back, easing her closer, fitting himself deeper.
"Why is this purported to be such a grand thing?” she asked petulantly before she could stifle her words. She'd made him laugh again, and his chest moved under her cheek. He kept stroking her back, patting her like she was a
His tone was insulting, and even in this moment, poised above his shaft, ready to change her destiny, Naomi had to have the last word. “Does it really matter right now?” He snorted, derisively, she felt, and her already sunburned cheeks burned hotter. She crouched helplessly, aware of his flesh intimately touching hers, her body's heated response telegraphing her desire.
She shivered when whiskers along his jaw brushed the tender flesh on her neck. She was focusing on that when he moved the hand on her stomach lower, petting her nether curls before sliding his fingers between her legs, brushing that bit of flesh that was so sensitive.
They needed to talk; she had his attention, now she needed to remember what they were talking about. Oh, yes, her hair.
"My hair is curly, wild, unless I pomade it.” He looked up from the nipple he was biting and frowned at her.
"No more,” he grunted and then went back to scraping his teeth across the end so erotically that she melted and squirmed on the flesh invading her core. She panted, clinging to his shoulders, trying to gather her thoughts at the same time she stopped her descent onto his shaft. Instinctively, she tried to close her legs against him.
"No, ma'am,” he said sternly, lips and teeth removed from her breast, where he had been giving her so much to think about. “You'll not keep me out of this sweet honey. This belongs to me tonight. Open for me, Naomi."
She obeyed, closing her eyes as she let her legs fall apart, stiffly enduring as his fingers touched and pressed intimately, learning the shape and size of her parts. His manroot throbbed against her flesh, and she wondered how she would ever be able to take it inside of her when just the tip burned and stretched her opening.
He probed gently, pressing her downward so that his shaft pushed inside of her entrance. He was breathing heavily and rasped into her ear, “Shoot, teacher, you're not even broken to ride."
She struggled to reply, “I would prefer not being compared to a horse, if you don't mind.” But the words that she'd meant to be caustic came out as a weak whimper.
She felt his chest vibrate against her and knew without looking that she'd made him laugh. He kept his hand pressed against her belly, holding her still when he pushed his finger harder against the nubbin he stroked. Her almost relaxed muscles clenched around his flesh as he inched deeper inside of her.
Trying to expel the foreign intruder, her body strained away from his touch. “You're too big,” she protested. But it didn't matter; he was inside of her, and she still straddled his thighs, his rigid pole connecting the two bodies.
Abruptly he reached for the soap. His voice was harsh when he handed her the bar. “My back needs to be scrubbed. Reach across my shoulders and get at it."
His rough order offended her, and she meant to use that as an excuse to climb out. Instead, he drew her toward him until his turgid member slid higher inside of her. “Stop that,” she ordered him and twisted, trying to disconnect their bodies and scramble out of the tub of water.
Gravity and the slippery trough conspired to aid him in breaching her flesh. She slipped and fell down on his shaft, impaling herself fully. His groan of pleasure accompanied her shocked gasp.
She cried out and clutched his shoulders, leaning against his strength for solace from the pain he'd given her. Her face pressed against his chest, hiding from his gaze.
He rubbed the white suds across her shoulders and down her back, easing her closer, fitting himself deeper.
"Why is this purported to be such a grand thing?” she asked petulantly before she could stifle her words. She'd made him laugh again, and his chest moved under her cheek. He kept stroking her back, patting her like she was a
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