I could feel her hips moving, her moans were terribly distracting in the most pleasurable way possible. In an instant I didn’t want to taste her or have her lips around my hardness. I just needed to be inside her. I just wanted to be inside her.
There’s always a first time, the first time you see a woman smile, the first time you see her dressed up. There’s that first hug when you squeeze her just enough so she knows your intentions are not friendly. None of those compare to the first time you see her take off her clothes. I watch movies where I see men rip off panties and pop buttons on shirts, I could never do that because I appreciate the art form too much. Her stepping out of her heels, sliding out of her jeans or stepping out of a dress. The first time I saw her naked I memorized every inch. Her bellybutton, the scar on her lower thigh, the mole sitting right above her panty line.
Standing there, a smile on her face, legs slightly parted. This was our Rubicon, once she crossed the room and straddled my lap there…
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