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He just wanted to fuck her. Was that so wrong?
For years they'd driven each other crazy, lust simmering always below the surface. He knew she felt the burn as badly as he did. The only way to douse the flames was to give in, get it out of their systems once and for all.
Who knew if they'd ever get this chance again? He was a free agent. So was she, now--and smarter than he'd thought for ditching Reg. Asshole. A huge house stood ready for their pleasure, no one home but them.
Full of fun, the dog followed him inside, romping around his legs as he kicked shut two doors behind them, strode from the vestibule to the foyer, and hurried up the wide sweep of a burgundy-carpeted front staircase.
"Monty, down," Tom ordered. "I'm not playing."
Nope. Not anymore. The adolescent games were over. Finally.
Too bad he had to attend the reunion luncheon. But it was only noon, and the high school was only a few minutes drive away ... Time enough from now till then for some good, solid, adult sex.
On the second floor, he entered the first open door he came to, one of the guestrooms, but it offered what he needed--the nearest bed. Without ceremony, he dropped Sally onto it, then quick-marched Monty, who'd trotted in on his heels, out again.
"Thanks, pal, but you've done your part. I can take it from here."
Yanking off his T-shirt on the way, he raced back to the bed. But Sally no longer lay on it. That fast she'd scrambled off and darted past him. Apparently, she'd decided the dog was the lesser of the current evils. He squeezed shut his eyes and waited for the bang of the door slamming after her.
A soft click sounded.
The lock? She wasn't running, just locking them in?
In wonder, he turned to stare. "You didn't have to do that. Monty hasn't figured out yet how to work doorknobs."
"Very funny. But you didn't lock the front door, and after the night I've had, I'm taking no chances."
Uh-huh. And just what kind of night had she had? He wasn't sure he wanted to know, doubted he could ask in any case. Speech deserted him as she moved to a vanity table, pulled out the padded bench seat nestled under it, and started removing her clothes--slowly--folding each item and laying it on the bench before moving on to the next.
Good God, she looked as horny as he felt. Unbelievable. For the first time in their lives they were on the same track. What had he done right?
Jacket ... blouse ... skirt ... Lord have mercy.
There she stood in high heels, stockings, and ivory lace garter belt, bra, and panties. The mirror of the vanity table let him ogle her back along with her front. His breathing went ragged. He didn't remember her as one who wore sexy undies. Of course, he hadn't seen her undies since they were four years old, so that might account for the difference. It took all his self-control to keep from drooling.
She paused a moment to rake fingers through her chin-length hair, then stepped out of her shoes, unhooked the garters, and stripped off her stockings. First the right, then the left. Mesmerized, he followed the descent of each one from thigh to knee to ankle to toe. Such long, shapely legs. Creamy smooth. Already he could feel them wrapped around his waist.
Hey, let me out of here!
No, not his conscience. That was his cock roaring for release.
Because he'd gone commando this morning, a harsh, metal zipper now chafed taut, sensitive flesh. Glistening with pearls of pre-cum, an engorged head poked up over the top of his low-slung jeans, like a periscope checking the view. He didn't blame it. The view was spectacular.
Posted December 17, 2011
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