February 6, I posted this to my Pretty Dirty blog this morning.
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She didn't want fire. As the bartender fixed her drink, she watched a man settle himself down on the bar stool next to her, in her peripheral vision. Wyatt put the book back in the bookcase and sat down on her red leather sofa, sliding down lazily into its comfort. Amy parted her lips as their mouths met and danced softly against each other. I didn't mind too much - here I was having an absolutely beautiful woman getting me off on a regular basis. She couldn't help but wonder if it was her. He was getting angrier every second, whilst Amy was getting more and more excited. About 20 minutes later I got a meeting notice from her assistant. Today she was wearing a light gray v-neck sweater that just gave a glimpse of her breasts, a mid-length black skirt, bare legs and open toe sling back heels.
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She looked up at him with pleading eyes, hoping that she looked as innocent as he thought she was. She wasn't trying to cum herself, more just trying to enjoy the moment. His skin wasn't tanned, it was a pale color.
The frustration of not being able to bury his cock deep inside Amy only made him grind harder and faster, making Amy moan louder as moments passed. No ice. Arthur was everything she waited for since she was a little girl.
Amy threw her head back over his shoulder and winced as he bit her neck hard enough for it to leave a mark. Even when the bartender put her drink in front of her on her coaster Amy didn't break eye contact.
It was making her feel more sick than anything else. They were right, but she was wrong.