Page 91 of Scorching Sienna

A title I could relate to.

Mine stands wrapped in a plain black knee-length cotton night dress, her damp hair hanging down her back and wetting the fabric so that it sticks to her skin. Like a pretty present just for me.

She showered here. Thoughts of her lathering her body, rubbing her tits, and that sweet cunt in my space where I had wanked on numerous occasions to just such a visual makes my cock hard.

She turns slowly, and it is only then that I see she has a book in her hands, now tightly held against her chest. Her eyes hop from the contents on my desk to the wall on the other side, dragging around before meeting mine and flaring with surprise.

When my eyes dip down to the book, which I recognize from the little green and red post-its sticking out of the edging alone, her cheeks blaze with embarrassment.

She clutches it tighter, looking away when my gaze once again meets hers.

I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms, waiting for her. She must do this.

Her thoughts rattle around in her over-analytical mind until, finally, her green eyes meet mine again.

“I have a request, Daddy Damon.” Fuck. Her courage flames her cheeks the sweetest red I have ever seen, and I raise my eyebrows in acknowledgment while another part of me readies itself.

This woman was exactly the perfect fucking woman for me.

“I want to try some of these with you.” Spoken so innocently that one would never guess what she was asking unless you saw the title.

Her eyes dip to the book and then back up again, the white of her knuckles as her grasp tightens, telling me how nervous she is.

I push away from the doorframe and slowly stalk towards her, my eyes never leaving hers. Trapped little light with nowhere to go.

“Red or green?” I keep my voice low, husky, stroking the lust I can already smell coming from her. Wet. Ready. Just for me.

“Both?” Her answer is a question, and when I raise an eyebrow, she licks her lips before confidently restating it.

“Both.”

I stalk around her, my suit jacket grazing the skin on her arm, sending goosebumps across her smooth flesh.

When I am behind her, I dip my head close to her ear, her large intake of breath raising her breasts up while the erect peaks graze the material possessively. The fibers rub against the little nerves, sensitizing them so that when I lean forward over her shoulder and blow, she gives me number one on my list of favorite things—her moan.

“Show me,” I whisper, my lip grazing her earlobe and drawing a shiver from her.

She releases the book from the cage against her chest and flips it open to a green post-it.

I let my hand graze her ass cheek as she flips to another page, a red one.

She nearly drops the book when I squeeze, lifting the cheek and massaging it in a circular motion.

“Continue,” I instruct as she flips through the pages. When both my hands grasp her ass cheeks and the tips of my fingers edge closer to her center, she drops her head back.

“Damon.” My name whispered from her relaxed lips so sensually strokes my ego.

“Continue,” I demand, as my hands edge around her thighs, squeezing and caressing as I bunch the material up.

She is panting, and by the time I move the material out of the way, she is moaning so loudly, and the pages are no longer turning. No matter. I have already memorized every page she marked, noting itscolor allocation.

When she spreads her legs, and my hand meets with the bare flesh of her sopping pussy, I smile.

“You’re a naughty girl, Sienna. Where are your panties, mmm?” My finger glides through her folds, making her words come out stuttered.

“U-under your pillow.” My grin gets wider.

“Wet like this cunt of yours?” She nods in response, and I slip two digits in, her body shuddering with the intrusion.

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