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“I’ll be right back,” she says, and vanishes into her room. A few minutes later she emerges wearing black booty shorts and a thin tank top with no bra. I can tell because her nipples are hard and poking the fabric, giving me a lovely view.

“You look nice,” I say.

“Funny,” Sassy sits next to me on the couch and reaches for the whiskey. “Mmm,” she groans as she takes a sip. I must be a complete pervert because I’m almost immediately hard thinking about her making that sound while she’s beneath me.

I’m hard thinking about her groaning, thinking about her writhing.

Oh, I could make her fucking writhe.

Sassy has been my only sexual fantasy for months, maybe even years. She’s the one I think about when I’ve had too much to drink and I’m jerking off alone, at home, in my room. I don’t need the porn or the erotica. I don’t need the dirty movies or books. I just need a vision of her. That’s all it takes.

When I stroke my cock, I’m picturing her little hands wrapped around my dick. I’m thinking of her biting my neck while she jerks me off, while she rubs my cock like it’s the only thing that matters. I think of her stroking me like it’s the most important job in the world, like she won’t be able to rest until she makes me come.

But my fantasy has more to it than that.

I think about what comes next, what comes after me blowing my load in her hands. I think about her lifting her messy fingers to her mouth and then licking them until they’re clean. Then, in my imagination, in my dreams, Sassy straddles my lap and she kisses me.

She kisses me until everything else fades to grey.

She kisses me until the world goes dark.

She kisses me until there’s nothing left in the universe but me and her and the moment we’re sharing.

She kisses me until that’s it.

Then I take her to the bedroom, and I spread her out on the bed like a fucking feast. I lay her on the comforter and I kneel between her legs.

In my dreams, I take my time with Sassy because she’s a succulent dish to be savored. She’s not something you can rush through. She’s not something you can hurry.

A lot of people make the mistake of thinking sex has to be rushed or hurried. It doesn’t. It shouldn’t be. Sex is something that should be enjoyed slowly and sweetly. No, there’s nothing wrong with going hard and fast and good, but sometimes it’s the slow moments that matter the most.

Sometimes it’s the slow moments that make the best memories.

I want to kiss Sassy.

I want to kiss her mouth before I move down her neck and bite her gently. I want to run my hands up and down her sides as I kiss her. I want to give her goose bumps. I want to make her squirm, make her fidget. I want to make her fucking mine.

Then I’ll kiss her skin, slowly making it come alive, until I reach her breasts. Then she’s all mine. I’ve been thinking about Sassy’s breasts for years. I haven’t forgotten the time we went skinny dipping as teenagers or my first glimpse of her perfect little nipples. I haven’t forgotten the way I hid in the water and she thought I was scared or shy, but I was just worried she’d see my reaction to her. I was worried she’d know how much I liked what I saw. I was worried she’d think I was a pervert.

Still, although I got a lovely view of her tits, I never got to taste them.

In my dreams, I always taste them.

She’s like ripe strawberries and sweet icing on top of a perfect cupcake. When I’m thinking about Sassy, I always lick her nipples. I always circle them with my tongue. I always suck on them until she’s squirming, thrusting up at me. I always bite and nip at her breasts until she’s begging me to finger her, begging me to slide my hand between her legs and just make her fucking come.

Just make her come undone.

Just make her explode.

And now I’m here, sitting on her couch, sipping whiskey like there’s nothing wrong. I’m sitting here, pretending that this is a perfectly normal conversation, pretending that I’m quite all right just being friends with the girl of my dreams, pretending that I’m all right being buddies with the most perfect woman in the world.

No.

No more of that.

No more friend zone.

No more.


Tags: Claire Adams Club Kitten Dancers Erotic