Lunchtime Chronicles: Italian Ice by S. London & Siera London & Lunchtime Chronicles

Author:S. London & Siera London & Lunchtime Chronicles [London, S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Juno Waves Publishing
Published: 2021-11-23T22:00:00+00:00

Eight

Silvio

I’m prowling over Paisley like an animal ready to devour. The woman has turned me into an addict with one taste of her phenomenal pussy. Serious business—my woman’s got a magic erase button between her legs—I can’t recall one damn reason why I resisted making her mine. All my excuses, logical arguments for us being separated have vanished.

“You’re beautiful, Paisley.” I tell myself to be gentler. Don’t rip her dress off—this first time.

She glances up at me, eyes bright. “I want to feel you moving inside me.”

“Impatient,” I tease, pulling three condoms from my back pocket. My clothes are off in record time, my cock sheathed and pointed at its new home.

“Take off your clothes.” I help with the zipper and the bra hooks. Paisley relaxes into her nakedness, unashamed. Slender neck, graceful limbs, toned waist, killer legs. I’m a lucky man that she belongs to me. Paisley takes my hand and places it over one breast. I groan at the contact.

“Take me,” she whispers. “I’m yours, Silvi.”

The words. The touch. The urgency and visible need reflect in her intense gaze. They hit as hard as the first time she spoke them twenty years earlier. Stroking one hand up her thigh, I part her lower lips with my fingers. Lush pink and slick wetness greet me. Palming my cock, I position myself and push forward. I keep my thrusts, even and shallow at first, stoking her arousal with each advancing inch. As I fill her, Paisley thrashes her hand, hitting platters and empty plates. She wiggles her hips until I sink deeper.

“Aw, shit—that’s tight.” Paisley’s back arches off the table, but I’m there. One hand on her belly, the other braced on the hard surface for support. She’s pinned in place, mine for the taking.

“Oh-fuck, right there, baby,” she rasps, eyes closing. We hit a smooth rhythm. Our bodies slapping together is creating an erotic tune made just for us.

“Look at me,” I command. When she does, I reward her with a kiss.

“You like this?” I ask, working my cock deeper into her channel.

She lets her legs fall wider. “More.”

Like a storm, I unleash, gripping her apple bottom, lifting her hips. Paisley wraps her legs around my waist, her heels dig into my ass. I plow her sex harder. Normally, I’m in control, calculated. My life is about measured attack. Not with Paisley. There’s no such thing as enough. I’ll never get my fill of her. Buried inside Paisley, my beast rears its head, ready to mark her, claim her, own her. With her, I want it all-her heart, her body, her soul. She’s my one. The one woman to wear my brand-down her throat, in her pussy, up her ass. Every part of her will know me, starting with tonight.

“Take every inch,” I demand, pulling her down on my stony cock. Her breath catches. The sound spurs me on. Her round globes bounce a hypnotic dance, a portrait of feminine power to render a man, pagan worshipper to his goddess.

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