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"Tell me your name," I gasped.
"Does it matter?"
His voice was intoxicating. It was all I could to do to respond ... yet it was important to me to at least know his name. To have something besides just the purely physical plane on which I could feel some connection with him. "Yes. It matters to me."
One of his hands stroked down over my belly, nudged between my legs, silently ordering me to spread them. When he cupped my mound, I wanted to sob.
He turned me and tugged me hard against him so my back was molded to his chest. Then he resumed his position of one hand fondling my bare breast, the other pressing, releasing, pressing my cunt. I let my head fall back against his shoulder. The bulge of his cock strained against my rear-end, and his lips found my ear, my neck. The wet tip of his tongue fucked the sensitive skin near my jugular, and it was a damned erotic sensation.
You want me, Rachel.
"Yes," I cried.
"Because I feel you. In my head. In my body. I ... I feel like I know you, but I don't know why."
Do you like the way I touch you?
"Gods, yes." I settled each of my hands over the top of his, urging him on. "I've wanted this."