He was the other man. The one she knew was completely wrong for her. There was no future in them together, of that she was certain.
He was obsessed with sex, arrogant - but the time her resolve had dissipated, he’d made her cum harder than she’d ever known before.
For all his bluster, as he peeled off her clothes, there was a quiet intensity about the way he spread his attention to making all of her shiver and melt simultaneously.
Spontaneous contrasts of nails and touch. He made her want him with a primal need. His tongue only vexed that further. His cock was demanding . Her hair was pulled. Her entire being buckled against the way he moved inside her.
He was the wrong man. Entirely the wrong man.
But memories and mischief are devious bedfellows. She knows she shouldn’t call him, but she can’t help herself. Her hands wander almost of their own accord, until the lip biting realisation that her fingers have smoothed between her thighs and she’s teasing softly. Imagining all the ways he’d foxed her.
Wondering if he’ll pick up .. !
(via naughty-angel4you)