A woman like Tess deserves a mansion. No, a palace, a palace befitting a fucking queen. She deserves every luxury this life has to offer. This apartment is too small, too cramped, too basic for a woman as majestic and deserving as my Tess.
My Tess.
Already, I know that she’s mine, that she belongs to me, body, mind, and soul.
All of her.
Those ass cheeks, made to be grabbed and spanked and licked so they’re shiny as I slide between them, finding the sultry warmth of her sex, ramming her, taking her until I look down and see that she’s squirting thick and white cream all down my shaft.
“So make yourself at home,” she says, waving a hand at the couch, one arm of which is draped in a glittering golden bikini and the other covered with paperback novels. “Oh, drat. Sorry, let me clear this away. The bikini isn’t mine. It’s my roommate’s.”
“Did you just say drat?” I tease as she hurries around, clearing away the mess, causing her breasts to jiggle invitingly.
She bends over to shove the paperbacks into a wicker storage unit and I have to bite down hard to stop myself from sliding up behind her and claiming that ass.
“What? No.”
“No?” I laugh, dropping onto the couch and placing my hand over the back. “I must be hearing things then.”
She shoots me an endearing look, shyness at war with sassiness, and then nods with mock fierceness. The combination is a cuteness overload, combined with the sexiness that she exudes from her every pore, and the result is that my manhood gives a hard pang of desire.
She’s the perfect woman.
“Yep, I guess you must, right?” she giggles. “You should get your hearing checked.”
“It must be my age,” I banter.
“Oh, come on,” she says, rolling her eyes as she walks over to the kitchen. “Thirty-nine is hardly old, is it?”
“It normally is to women your age,” I say.
“Maybe most twenty-one year olds are immature, hmm?” she says over the kitchen partition. “Me, personally … Well, never mind.”
“No,” I snarl, standing up and stalking over to the kitchen partition. “What were you going to say?”
She swallows, causing her flushed neck to shift. That flush really is driving me mad, the desire to tear off her clothes and explore the rest of her body, to see if it’s spread to all of her. It makes me wonder what the color of her sex would be, red-raw with excitement, or more pink and eager?
Calm down, man.
But I can’t.
Not with her.
“Just that I actually think I’d prefer a man with a little experience, you know?” she whispers, her words barely audible, nervousness trying to strangle them. “Anyway, enough of that. Let me get you that drink.”
She pours us two glasses of water and we carry them to the couch. It’s a small piece of furniture, meaning that we end up side by side. Her thigh presses against my leg and scorching sun-hot fire surges through me, the base of my cock pulsing now, my shaft aching as my seed threatens to surge up it.
But I’ve wasted enough seed.
The rest belongs in her perfect heat.
She sips her water and sets it on the table, leaning across, causing her breasts to shift and tempt me. Gizmo has already retreated into what I assume is her bedroom, the door cracked slightly.
It’s just the two of us.
“I can’t believe Tanner Telford is sitting on my couch,” she murmurs, folding her arms across her middle and staring down at the coffee table.
“I’ve gotta say,” I mutter, “when you use my full name like that, it really makes me feel damn strange.”
“Sorry,” she whispers.
“Hey,” I growl, shifting closer on the couch. “What did I say about the S-word, eh?”
“Sorry—” She cuts off, glaring at me. “Okay, fine. But that’s way harder than you think, you know.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I say, moving closer. I can’t stop. “Maybe I should say sorry too.”
“For what?” she murmurs.
“For this,” I growl.
She lets out a whimper as I grab her shoulders and crash my lips against hers.
Her lips are soft and warm and perfect, just fucking perfect as she makes another muffled whimpering noise and leans against me. I push forward with more force, the animal inside howling now, unable to stop. I slide my hands up her thighs and grip her hips, dragging her into my lap.
Our lips never part, our urgency driven by something atavistic, deeper than surface want.
Need propels us as I grind my rock solid manhood against her crotch, feeling the heat and the greediness of her sex, her womb singing out in every subtle gesture her body makes.
I grab her hips harder and we both start to move, shifting to the song of our pants and moans, our bodies grinding against each other. I press closer, closer still—there can’t be too little space between us.