So. Long(93)

“So, it’s all instincts?” Poor guy. He really believes this crap.

He nods once, as though that should put this discussion to bed. “Purely instinctual.”

“Well, I believe you’re the exception, not the rule. Besides, what happens when you’re too old for sex? When all the little blue pills quit working and you find yourself all alone?”

His eyebrows knit. He chews the corner of his bottom lip.

Finally, his perplexed look melts, replaced with a mischievous grin. “If that day ever comes, I’ll hang out with my friends. We’ll play poker and talk about when we used to have sex, and I’ll wish I could still get it up.”

Jackson rubs my knee with his knuckle. “But I can still get it up. As a matter of fact, it’s not far from up now. Just a look from you would set it off.”

“Yeah, I bet it would. Seems like you have a hair trigger when it comes to your pistol.”

“Nothing wrong with being ready to go in an instant. Don’t worry, I have plenty of stamina. Not everything happens as quickly as I get hard. Hell, last night I took three cold showers and still had to jack-off to get some sleep.”

A mental image of his hand wrapped around his huge, engorged cock, and him drawing his hand up and down the length, invades my mind. That vein that runs down the side throbs when he’s aroused; it was thumping my fingers under the table at the restaurant.

He smoothes his hand up my thigh until his long fingers nudge the top of my mound.

I take hold of his hand. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can. You just open up and let me in.” He turns his hand in mine, rubbing the back of my knuckles with his thumb.

“I shouldn’t do anything of the sort.”

Damn. The thing is that I sure as hell want to.

He beseeches me with his eyes. His fingers dig a bit deeper between my thighs. “Tell you what; you don’t have to do a thing. Simply lie back and relax. If Dave asks what you did when you got home, tell him you put on your fuzzy jammies and relaxed on the couch. No lies. No deceit.”

My pulse beats in my pussy, begging for another taste of what we started but didn’t finish at the restaurant.

Well, it’s not like Dave and I have decided to be exclusive already. At this point, it isn’t really any of his business what I do.

I let out a little sigh. Now I’m justifying. Great.

Jackson leans over and slides the tip of his tongue over my bottom lip. “Love the one you’re with, Peaches. Or, just let the one you’re with love you.”

My breath escapes out of parted lips. He takes full advantage and deepens the kiss, his fingers stroking my pussy lips in rhythm with his tongue. I put my hands flat on his chest. His pecs flex like they did earlier. Wonder if he can make his dick do that?

Heat warms my belly and sends liquid to my entrance.

Jack slows his kisses as he moves down. When he slides his hands beneath my shirt, he pushes it, and I raise up long enough for him to yank it over my head.

His eyes go to my naked breasts.

Oh Lord, he thinks they’re too big. Or not perky enough. Or both. I move my hands up to cover them.

He takes my wrists. “No. Don’t.”

I relax my arms a bit.

He licks his lips and quirks an eyebrow. “Butterfly.”

I look down. The tattoo. I lift one shoulder. “Yeah. I like them.”

He leans in and places a kiss on the wings. “I like this one.”

Jackson palms one of my Double-Ds and massages as he licks and kisses the other. The sensation pulls on my womb every time he sucks in my nipple, tickling it with the tip of his tongue. Then he switches sides and lavishes the same sweet attention on the other.

I pull at his shirt.

He stands and divests himself of his clothes. His pecs and abs are almost enough to send me into a mini-o. His tats climb from his pecs over his shoulder and spiral around his arms, down past his elbows. His powerful thighs flex, the muscles defined and the dusting of dark hair over them begging for me to slide my hand up them. But it’s his cock, long and thick, about to drip a bead of pre-cum right in front of me, that sends a shiver across my skin and a flood of wetness to my cunt.

Damn. He’s hotter than the desert sun in August.

I sit up and take hold of his dick with both hands. He sighs and closes his eyes, letting his head fall backward. His fists clench and unclench. It’s only inches away. And that drop of glistening moisture calls to me. I lean to him, breathing over his cock’s head. It flexes in my hands.

Merry Christmas, Ronnie. Lord. I’ve gotta give it a lick.





Ronnie sits at the edge of the couch. Her gorgeous, full breasts, the color of a mocha latte with dark, extra-large chocolate kisses at their tips, are right there, waiting for more loving.