When she saw his beautiful manhood, so big and strong, just like his arms, her mouth started to water. Her head felt light, like she might faint. Her sweaty palms still held up her skirt, and her legs were spread wide apart. With no underwear on, she was completely exposed, and they were utterly alone. Nobody knew she was there.
He pulled off his shirt so he was completely naked.
“Don't move a muscle,” he said, and he went to fetch the bowl of strawberries. He returned, and held one strawberry in front of her mouth. “Put this in your mouth, but don't chew, and don't swallow until I tell you to. Do you want it?”
“Yes, please, sir.”
He put the strawberry in his mouth and passed it to her with another kiss.
After the kiss, he knelt down at her feet on the carpeted floor. From below her, he swept his hands up and down her legs, first on the outside, and then on the inside. He stopped short of her crotch.
He said, “Why are you shaking? Are you cold?”
“Mm-mm,” she said, meaning no, around the strawberry in her mouth.
He laughed. “Just nervous, I suppose. And you should be.” He stroked her legs again.
Her mouth watered around the strawberry that was melting in her mouth, and her pu**y felt red-hot, like it was burning up with a fever.
Mr. Thorne leaned in and gently applied the tip of his tongue to the top of her crease, to the part that looked like a keyhole in an antique door.
She fought the urge to thrust her h*ps at him, to push his tongue deep into her slit, where she wanted it. Patience, she told herself.
He ran his hands up and down her legs, and then he ate her, hungrily, putting his whole mouth against her mound, tonguing and licking and sucking, all at once.
She cried out in surprise at how good it felt, and nearly swallowed the strawberry in her mouth, but didn't.
The heat built up in waves, pushing her up, up, up, into ecstasy, nearly pushing her into the spasm of orgasm, but he pulled back. He pulled back and he blew gently on her pu**y.
He voice hoarse and deep, he said, “You may swallow the strawberry now.”
She swallowed as his hands ran up and down the outer sides of her legs.
He said, “Do you want me to f**k you?”
She shook with nervousness, her elbows now slick against the wall with nervous sweat.
“Yes, please, sir,” she said.
He stood, and with one motion, he thrust his c**k into her eager, wet, awaiting opening.
She cried out in surprise and pleasure, commingling emotions.
He thrust again, and he was in further.
It felt so good inside her, so hot and urgent. She wanted to feel nothing but his manhood, sliding in and out of her slick opening. Her cl*t burned, so hot, the width of his c**k pulling at all her skin and making the loose skin of her hood taut, to rub deliciously against her clit.
This was what she wanted. It was exactly what she wanted.
He thrust again, and incredibly, he filled her up even more.
She felt her entire body shifting up, and realized her feet were no longer touching the ground.
He pinned her petite body, so much shorter than his own, against the wall, and thrust himself in and out of her. He moved his hands on the backs of her thighs, her ass, and now he lifted her up, supporting her weight with his c**k and his arms, her back against the wall, the back of her hair being pulled down by her movement, exposing her throat.
She wrapped her legs around him as he devoured the skin of her throat, pressing his lips and tongue against the sensitive flesh of her neck.
Still he thrust in and out of her, the movements easy, even though he was so large, because her juices were flowing for him, inviting him in, deeper.
His rod seemed to stiffen even more, until she could scarcely believe it was flesh inside her, and not some man-made instrument, and he moved faster, pounding away at her.
The taste of strawberry still lingered in her mouth, and she sought his mouth, to taste him as well.
As they kissed, their tongues finding each other, a little spark ignited deep within her. She prayed silently that he would not change rhythm, would not stop until she came. The warmth spread out in waves, almost unstoppable, almost as inevitable as the sun rising.
She'd let go of her skirt at some point—she couldn't remember when, and now her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, her hands in his thick, black hair.
He shifted back and pulled her away from the wall.
Her eyes flew open, and she was fearful of being dropped, or of them falling, but he was strong, and she was small, and he held her up easily while stroking in and out.
She glanced over to the bed, wondering if he was taking her there, and he walked with her on him, toward the bed, but then stopped.
He spoke, saying, “We don't need the bed.”
Her hands slipped around on his shoulders, now damp with his sweat.
The back of her calf, wrapped tight around his lower back, also slipped a little on his perspiration.
“I'm going to come,” he said, strongly bouncing her up and down on him.
She moaned, the heat rising again, increasing with each movement, each stroke in and out, her cl*t being massaged by the movement of his girth, and the interior side of her cl*t rubbing up and down on his gorgeous hard dick.
He made an urgent moan, his hands firmly on her bu**ocks, lifting her up easily and dropping her, hard, onto him. Again and again, filling her.
She thought about the hot wash of fluid that would be coming from him, bathing her insides, and her orgasm began, pleasurable waves, and then an explosion, blasting out from his cock, deep inside her. She moaned and threw her head back, all her muscles clenching and releasing at once as the pleasure rocketed through her.
His breathing stopped as everything bottled up, and then he gasped and released. He released into her, and she slid up and down on him easily, taking it all. Taking every last drop, every last shudder.
He bit gently into her shoulder, and then, when he was done, he walked them over to the bed. He leaned forward and set her on her back, then he gently withdrew, and crawled up onto the bed, alongside her.
They both glistened in the soft, romantic light of the room. Outside, the sun had gone down, and the city glittered.
He stroked her face. Her hair had changed. She was no longer a redhead, not even that petite. He looked at her, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.
She said to him, “I love you.”
He kissed her hungrily, lovingly, then pulled back and said, “I love you too, Lexie Ross.”
Meanwhile, at the cafe, the waiter arrived with two drinks, which he said were compliments of a gentleman at the bar.
I was in a daze from the scenario I'd been imagining.