I ignore the most annoying ones—from my office specifically—and read over some of the alerts.
Not surprisingly, most deal with Elsa and I, speculating over the nature of our relationship. So far, it looks like everything is going according to our plan—well, the suits’ plan. And I find myself amused at some of the headlines.
Some fall right into our hands, questioning if we ever did break up: “Were they ever on a break? A timeline of the infamous lingerie CEO’s relationship.”
While others are much more scandalous: “Who needs lingerie? The lingerie CEO’s sure don’t, watch as they explore what’s underneath the silk fabric.”
There are even a few clever ones: “Another publicity stunt? Or a couple’s disagreement? What do these photos tell you?”
And then, there’s the one I was expecting, from The Capitalist Chronicle and Lis Langely. She’s teasing an expose on our relationship, promising to release it tomorrow morning: “Lis Langely’s firsthand account of the on-again feuding Lingerie Lovers. They’re back! But, what does that mean for their respective lingerie lines?”
From the moment we saw her tonight, I knew the clock on this article would begin ticking. The paparazzi definitely gave that away.
I laugh loudly, it’s almost like we wrote the article ourselves. I mean, we basically gave her the story.
So much for good, investigative journalism.
Reading over these headlines, I feel an odd sensation go through me.
I’m not pissed at them, or at the treacherous paparazzi that hounded us and took these photos—even if we planned it—but there is something nagging at me.
After all, we wanted them to speculate, and to have them think that we’re ‘on’ again, or that we never were off in the first place.
So, maybe, it’s seei
ng us in print that pisses me off, or is fucking with my head.
Seeing the name ‘Lingerie Lovers’ back in the headlines, as Langely so eloquently names us, has me thinking about me and Elsa…again.
Though to be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about her.
Memories flash through my mind, recalling the times we had, when we were officially that infamous couple—not just for show.
And how she used that damn mouth for more than just to yell at me.
Feeling her right underneath my hand tonight, begging for my touch, and the pulse of energy surging between us, as our bodies fell into each other in the alley, on the bench, makes my cock twitch.
Frustration builds, and my muscles tense.
I can’t fucking think about anything other than Elsa and her tight body, moving against me. My cock bulges against my pants, aching for a release. I unzip them, and grab my cock, slowly stroking it, imagining her wet, hot cunt greedily clenching around it.
Visions of her rocking into me, her tits bouncing, as our bodies collide against each other, have my nerves raging.
I stroke and tell myself, that I’ll never deny myself of her again.
Moving my hand harder, faster, a drop of precum escapes the head, and I lather it into my skin, lubing the friction.
The wetness makes me think of her tongue, and the way she bites and licks her lip. Tasting and drinking my cum, taking my cock into her warm, inviting mouth.
Next time, I will fucking take what I want…
I imagine my cock hitting the back of her throat like it used to, and my balls begin to squeeze.
Tightening my grip, I play Elsa’s highlight reel on repeat—her tits, cunt, mouth, ass—and me pounding into her.
My body stills with my hips thrusting into my hand, and I come, aggressively harder than I have in while.
Fucking Elsa.