He's hard at work, or trying to be. The glare of the computer screen reflecting upon his handsome face, I can see he is having some trouble with his work. His brow is creased, head resting on one hand. He's a writer, and a good one. His words captivate me, but I'm not here for words.
I'm standing, leaning at the doorway. My robe has fallen open, and I slip my hand inside, cupping my naked breast. The sharp intake of breath as I brush my palm across my erect nipple alerts him to my presence. He turns to me with a knowing smile.
"Little minx," he growls, "you know I'm working. What brings you into my office?"
Fidgeting slightly, he turns his chair to me. His eyes watch my hands closely as they glide over flesh that aches for his touch. As I watch him breathe deeply, I sense that he must smell my own private scent, my arousal. I am sure the expression on my face must reveal exactly what is on my mind.
As my hands continue to roam over my body, and his eyes lock with mine, my voice perhaps just a little mischievous as I say, "Oh, I wouldn't want to disturb a genius at work. Shall I go?"
But as I slowly push away from the doorframe, and begin pacing towards him, he must know that leaving him is the furthest thing from my mind.
"Perhaps you could do with a little inspiration?" I ask. The innocence in my voice contrasts with the brazen manner in which I push the silken robe from my shoulders until it is a puddle at my feet.
There I stand, not three feet from where he sits, naked, and silently willing my man to take control.
I observe, and feel, his eyes slowly roam over me, up and down, sense his capitulation, the lure of my body pulling his mind away from that troubling passage he was working on. Torturously, he remains seated for a moment or two longer than I'd like, his eyes closing slightly as he enjoys that feeling, the low throb building in his stomach and the blood rushing lower.
Finally, he rises to his feet. Walking to me, lured by the scent of my body oils and juices mixing with the spicy sweet fragrance I wear just for him. Walking around behind me, he knows that every moment he waits intensifies our want for each other even more.
When at last he places his large and heavy hands on my hips and brushes my wavy brown hair away from my neck with his nose, I sigh. I feel the occasional scraping of his teeth across the thin skin of my neck and shoulders as he kisses me. His hands rise from my hips over the soft plain of my stomach and cup a breast each in unison. I am pulled closer to him, so that I can feel the deep throbbing building in his pants.
"Mmm," he growls, "inspiration is just what I need precious girl. Just where do you think I'll find it?"
I lean back into him, pressing closer to the heat, hardness. My eyes closed, my other senses are heightened. Our increasingly shallow breathing, it seems so loud, almost drowning out the hum of the now abandoned computer. My fragrance mingles with his own masculine scent, tantalising my nose. But most of all I savour the tangible. The gentle pressure of those palms over my breasts, the teasing scrapes of his teeth at my neck, the chill of his belt buckle against my skin. I'm well on the way to sensory overload.
My hands close over his, forcing warm hands into even closer contact with my burgeoning nipples, causing an echo of pleasure to course through my body, straight to the heart of me. The wetness between my thighs gathering, my clit still tingling from my own erotic endeavours, the pleasure I gave myself before I dropped by his office, I am on fire.
As my fantasy lover, as always, he caused me to peak, but left me wanting more. I've come to collect on that. Pushing his hands down over my ribcage, I slowly bring them to rest at his side. Turning towards him, a smile on my face, I begin to unbutton his cotton shirt and bare his chest to my greedy fingers.
"You're the genius," I remind him with a wink, "I'm sure you'll figure it out". My hands begin an incursion, relishing the delicious texture of his body. Roughly pulling his shirt open and over two gorgeous shoulders, capturing his strong arms at his side, I place my mouth over his left nipple. Drawing the small bud into my mouth, to endure the teasing of my tongue, my right hand begins to toy with the other.
With my left hand free to wander, I raise my eyes towards his face, my mouth never breaking contact with his body, and let that free hand begin its descent towards the promising bulge nudging against my belly.
With our eyes locked and my mouth busy, I sense his passion, the control slipping from him, the intensity of his desire for me placing him at risk of imploding right there. My hair, formerly tidy, now tickles as my mouth explores him. The throbbing of him draws me, and his eyes slip from mine, observing the passage of my hand. His green eyes flare, displaying the intensity of his response as my left hand slowly slips around his thickening, pulsing cock.
I feel his hands, now free, slide against my spine, pulling me into him. His hands are slowly entwined in my hair, gently knotting fingers around my ringlets. His hands are on the back of my head, and my eyes flutter closed as he bends his face to me, kissing me hungrily. Our mouths open together as they always do, and our tongues explore each other.
The velvet roughness of my teasing tongue stimulates him, and I glory in the taste that is uniquely him. He suckles lightly on my bottom lip before running his moistened lips across its fullness. Again our tongues dance in our mouths, his hands roaming all over me with the sole aim of clutching me to him.
