Page 83 of Café Diablo

“There it is again,” he quips, pounding harder, his thighs slapping against my ass.

“Are you asking me to stop saying it?” I ask, my knees at my ears and my body clenching with intensity. “Because honestly, I think it makes you fuck me even harder!”

“You want me to fuck you harder?”

“Yes!” I gasp. “Your girlfriend wants you to fuck her into tomorrow!”

Edwin’s hands slide over my tits and I’m seeing red and gold and stars, and all the colors of transcendence.

“With pleasure,” he growls, focusing all his attention on shooting me toward orgasm, pumping inside me so beautifully my back is dragging against the mattress with his incredible lunges.

My head rolls back, and suddenly I’m right at the edge of the loft. My hair flings over the side and my head dangles, blood rushing to my skull as I gasp wickedly. I open my eyes and my entire house is upside down.

Edwin has released his inhibitions, like the night in the truck—he’s unbridled lust and heat, pounding deep, making my legs clench and tremble. God, it’s a delicious ecstasy! But there’s also the very real possibility that he could fuck me right over the side of the loft and knock me off!

I reach out and grab the railing to brace myself. “Don’t stop!” I cry out, practically dangling over the side, but wanting him to let go, encouraging him. Edwin pumps into me faster and hotter and more intensely, each pound pushing me further and further out past the edge of the precipice. A zip of fear and excitement ignites me with a whole new level of heat as I cling desperately to the railing.

What is it about danger and this man that makes me ravenous?

“You’d better hold on tight,” Edwin snarls. “Withmywork ethic, you’re going to learn the true value of an all-nighter.”

“You promise?” I pant.

“Oh yes, your boyfriend is very,verythorough.”

“Boyfriend!” I gasp. The word makes my pussy spasm, and suddenly I’m coming on my boyfriend’s cock—coming hard and dangling from the edge of my loft. “Oh, fuck, Ned! Oh—!”

He yanks me back, my knees still hooked over his shoulders—and he’s unleashed—his cock somehow pounding into me with its iron-hot thickness. I’m flying so high I don’t fully understand what position I’m in—only that it’s pure bliss. Pure incandescence. Pure love and lust and passion all wrapped up in wickedness.

My pussy ripples and shatters, blinding heat cleaving through my body.

“Ned!” I cry out his name in a sob of wicked pleasure. His hands clutch and his cock pumps, and he follows me, crying out just as savagely, spilling into me as we both drown in a pool of spiraling lust.

I surrender completely.

He surrenders completely.

Our bodies become a slapping, fucking, tangling ball of unleashed wickedness, his release thick and coarse inside my tight channel, making me turn both goddess and animal. We are lust incarnate and Edwin completely embraces his own rakish power.

It’s incredible.

When he’s spent, he pulls out of me, but the thick suction and drag of his cock has me whimpering and completely ready to submit to him again.

“Jesus, Ned,” I breathe out, his name endowed with reverence, and awe, and supplication. “If the boyfriend girlfriend words make you this hot in the sack, I may have to demote us to casual acquaintances—cause holy wow!—I’m not going to survive it if you really meant that all-nighter comment.”

He lies down on top of me, his wet body wringing out my breath. His muscles are hard, but his weight is a prayer. He kisses me sloppily, my whole being going dizzy from lack of oxygen.

“You know what?” he asks, his hot breath sticky on my chin and neck.

I moan at how visceral everything about him is right now—his muscles against my tits, his hips pressing me into the mattress, his salty mouth wanton and perfect. “If you’re about to say flip me over and fuck me from behind,” I say madly, “the answer is give me five minutes, and then, yes, absolutely yes.”

He growls and takes my mouth again, his tongue a sovereign power I can’t ignore. I’m still so wet and slick and delirious that if his cock were hard, we’d definitely be starting a second round. But when he pulls away from the tangy slick of my body, that’s not what he suggests.

“Why haven’t you put your work in a gallery?” he asks instead, rolling to my side and pulling me with him so we’re nose to nose, with our thighs and legs tangled. “You should really have an art show.”

“How is it humanly possible that you’re thinking about art right now?” I moan. His hands run up and down my spine as if he’s happy to prove he’s more than capable of multi-tasking.

“Sorry, there’s this painter,” he says in my ear. “Georgia something, and she’s got me all twisted up. I look at her work and I can’t help but think about sex, and then I have sex and I can’t help but think about her work.”

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