Page 94 of Most Likely to Score
And when I watch him use it for himself.
I still have my fantasies.
But now, they’re my reality.
Like tonight, when I told him I wanted to come home from a long day at the office to find him in bed, a sheet riding low on his hips, a hand wrapped around his hard length, stroking absently. I drop my purse in his living room, kick off my shoes, say hello to Cletus, and head to the bedroom.
The light is low. Only the rays of the moon streakthrough the window. I stand in the doorway, and a shiver runs through me as I savor the view.
His eyes are closed, his muscles ripple, and his right hand grips his erection. I bite my lip as I watch him, like the voyeur he lets me be. Everything about this turns me on wildly, especially the sounds—his groans, his grunts, his heavy breathing. The pants as he strokes faster. The moan as he grips tighter.
Most of all, how he always says my name.
That always breaks me.
Tonight, when he utters it in a raspy, needy voice as his hand shuttles up and down, I strip off my skirt and yank off my top.
My panties are gone in seconds, and I climb on him.
I know why this turns me on so much.
It’s because he’s getting off to me, even when he’s by himself. I think that will always turn me on because it makes me feel so wonderfully wanted.
Right now, I want to show him how much.
He lets go of his dick, grabs my hips, and brings me down on him. I draw a sharp gasp as he fills me completely.
He’s completely bare.
I’m on birth control, and he’s safe, and I love the feel of us like this. Together. No barriers. He moves me up and down, and with every stroke, I moan. I breathe out hard. I shudder.
I’m not sure how sex that’s been this good can become even better, but as he runs a hand up my back and into my hair, I’m given the answer.
It comes as he brings my face near to his. “Need you closer to me.”
This man has the biggest appetite. He wants more of me, as much as he can have. And I love giving myself to him. He makes me feel beautiful, sexy, and alluring.
As he draws me closer, telling me to ride him harder, faster, rougher because it’s so fucking good, it’s all so fucking good with me, I know he’s all I’ll ever need.
A little later, as we lie in bed, sated and sweaty, he positions us so I’m in the crook of his arm. “You know you can sleep on me anytime, right?”
“I do know that, since I sleep on you every night.”
“Sleep on me, sleep with me. I love it all,” he says, then he shifts to his side and drops a kiss on my nose. “I love you. Have I told you that today?”
“Maybe ten times?”
“Let’s make it eleven.” He kisses a trail up my neck to my ear, and I tremble again, then I shudder as he says, “I’m so in love with you.”
Cletus jumps on the bed, wagging his tail and plopping down between us.
“He’s also in love with you,” Jones says as I rub the dog’s little head.
“I love him, too. And the other guy as well,” I say when a soft paw swipes my shoulder. I crane my neck to see Smoky sitting on my pillow, purring.
Cletus and Smoky are good buddies now, ever since we adopted the orange kitten as soon as he was ready for hisfur-everhome.
The four of us fall asleep.
