Post originally published on July 17, 2015
I began to turn toward him, to stop the uneasy feelings his proximity spurred, when he stopped me: his tenor left no room for compromise. “Don’t turn around.” Involuntarily, I shuddered at his command. “Put your hands on the window. Let me see those pretty little fingers.” I’d never heard a man speak with such unquestioning authority. Obediently, I splayed my fingers on the cool glass before me, thankful I’d left my purse on the sofa. Caging me within his arms, his hands came to rest beside mine. The contrast in size was startling as his deep voice exhaled breathily onto my neck. His lips brushed my neck. Instead of fighting, I tilted my head back against his chest to give him better access. Sighing, he moaned. “Damn, girl, you’re sexier up close than I ever imagined. Do you know how hot that answer was?” His fingers that had just painfully twisted my hard nub caressed my same breast. Suddenly, his touch was warm and electric. “You may be frightened, but it’s not of me, it’s of what you’re feeling. Your nipples are telling me you’re feeling the same thing I am. They’re saying that you like this.” With both hands on my breasts, he’d lowered the top of my dress fully exposing me to the window. Thankfully, we were stories above the city. “Do you know how else I know you’re aroused?” Forming words had become increasingly difficult. Therefore, I shook my head. “I smell it, and darling, you smell fantastic. I bet you taste fantastic.” “Because, after I share my beautiful fiancée with the world, I’m going to bring you back here and bury my face in that perfect pussy. The next time you come, it won’t float in a tub. No, darling, it will cover my tongue, my lips, and my chin. I’ll be dripping with your sweet juices.” Oh, my God! “And you will not be sighing contently, as you just did. No, you will be calling out—screaming out—my name. Because as of today, that’s your job, to come, to show me how amazingly sexy you are. Because this little orgasm was nothing like what will overtake you when we get home.” I was shocked and appalled at his candor, and, at the same time, I was freak’n turned on and hot as hell.
Aleatha Romig is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Indiana. She grew up in Mishawaka, graduated from Indiana University, and is currently living south of Indianapolis. Together with her high-school sweetheart and husband of twenty-eight years, they’ve raised three children. Before she became a full-time author, she worked days as a dental hygienist and spent her nights writing. Now, when she’s not imagining mind-blowing twists and turns, she likes to spend her time with her family and friends. Her pastimes include reading and creating heroes/anti-heroes who haunt your dreams!