Page 163 of You've Got Hate Mail
“Hey, stranger,” she says with a smile.
I don’t think. Don’t pause. Don’t hesitate.
I pull her against me and kiss her soundly.
Thoroughly.
Gripping her ass, thrusting my tongue into her mouth, and happily drowning in the intoxicating strawberry shortcake scent she carries with her everywhere.
She threads her fingers through my hair, and then we’re stumbling back into her apartment.
I don’t know if we shut the door.
I don’t know if the chicken’s joined us.
All I know is that I’m stripping her shirt and bra and pants, and she’s tearing off my polo and undoing my jeans, and then we’re tumbling onto her bed.
“Fuck, I’ve wanted this all week,” I groan into her neck.
“Missed you,” she replies, her hands roaming my body like she wants to touch me everywhere all at once, setting my skin on fire and making me hard and desperate and ready.
I don’t kick off my shoes. Don’t even take my jeans off all the way.
Just pin her to the bed, suckling at each of her beautiful nipples in turn while she clamps her legs around my waist and pants and moans and chants an endless series ofyes, there, oh my god, yes.
I tease an orgasm out of her with my fingers, getting the reward of her glassy-eyed satisfaction, and then she’s grabbing a condom from a box in the nightstand and pushing me onto my back.
“No time to waste,” she says while my eyes roll back into my head at her hands on my aching cock.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
She beams at me.
Who needs sunlight when Cricket exists in my life?
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she says, and then she’s settling over my hard-on, taking me deep inside her, making me completely lose my breath.
She’s hot and slick and tight around me, utterly perfect.
“Gorgeous,” I repeat.
Her eyelids hang heavy, breasts too, while she rides me. “Even—better—imagined,” she pants.
I palm those beautiful breasts. “Fantasies come to life.”
“Wish—didn’t have—hurry.”
“More—later.”
A short laugh bursts out of her, her inner walls squeezing my cock harder and making my balls tense.
“Cricket—”
“Love—say—name.”
“I can’t?—”
“Right there, oh god,there,” she pants.
