Boardroom Bride

It had to be her.

Only her.

And now, I have her.

It’s going to be an endurance test to keep from showing her how much I’ve missed that tight cunt and body of hers under me.

Or really, how much I’ve missed her.

But I can’t let my desire take over—it could fuck this whole thing up.

Staring at me greedily, she unties her robe. It falls open and gives me a perfect view of the blush lace lingerie.

Jesus.

“Have you ever done a body shot before?” She leans back on her hands and scoots her ass to the edge of the bed, her legs open and inviting.

Her body is on full display and, like an audience at a fashion show, I’m gawking, awe-struck.

“Once or twice.” I wet my lips, imagining licking the sweet agave off her body.

She stands up and grabs the tequila and salt.

Standing in front of me, she widens her stance, and looks down at me like the fucking alpha she is.

“Take your shirt off and lay back.”

I look up at her, my eyes in view of her see-thru panties, and I immediately comply.

This is going to be agonizingly hard to get through.

But I’m giddy as a fucking dog whose owner’s dangling a treat above him.

And it’s one damn delicious treat.

I peel my shirt over my head and lay back on the couch.

“That’s better.” She smiles sensually and pushes my legs apart with hers.

Placing a hand on my hip to steady herself, she bends over and pours the tequila in my navel.

She licks a path up my chest, shaking salt on its wetness, and then places a lime in my mouth.

My skin is on fucking fire, and my cock strains against my pants. It’s almost becoming painful. I look down at her and watch her body sway rhythmically above mine.

She straddles me and slowly takes off her robe, never losing eye contact.

Biting her lip, she undoes my belt and pants.

“Don’t spill my tequila.” She winks and tugs them off.

A tiny bit of liquid spills down my stomach, and she looks at me, disappointment and humor filling her expression.

“Oh no, you spilled.” She grins wickedly.

She crawls back on me and straddles me again.

She grinds down on me, and the friction builds between the lace and cotton, lighting it on fire.