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It was the fuck of the century! His dark brown skin all over my
tender and moist, glistening from a distance, waiting to touch
his. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, when he comes
around, you just think sex. His cologne hits you like a pork
chop on a string, his walk steady and hypnotic in his
movement, the way his suit lays on his body with a hint of lean
masculinity teasing each glance. His voice, deep and smooth,
speaking commanding, respectful sentences, even his pen and
paper become hot, just because he’s touched ‘em.
I’m in bed with him; we’re naked, on white sheets in a dark
room with the spotlight on us. We stare eye to eye, anticipation
for the moment to come. His eyes on my nipples made them
bigger and hotter. His eyes on my hips made them swivel from
side to side. His eyes on my legs made them open wide and
ready, like the doors of an elevator ready for entry. My back
arches a bit as he crawls between my legs and grabs my throat
with hands big, big enough to swallow my neck and gently
restrain me. He kisses my lips; the sticky sweetness holds us
together. Our tongues linked like lovers do, slowly twirling and
touching, hesitating, tongues tasting. Lips, succulent lips. His
skin on my skin releasing the freak within.