What if...
What if she just showed up in the middle of the night?
What if it was pouring rain when he opened the door, and she stood there drenched and cold?
What if he hesitated only a second before he grabbed her coat and pulled her in from the storm?
What if in the same movement he pulled her lips to his and kissed her hard, not letting her catch her breath?
What if she responded by pushing herself into him, wetting his skin and boxers with her soaked clothes, leaving trails of water as they thrash and stumble through the house, unwilling to break apart long enough to walk?
What if they got to the dining room and he stopped long enough to look at her - right at her? What would he see there? What would the darkness hide?
What if their breathing was heavy? What if the only warm part of her was where his fingers touched and deep between her legs? What if the goosebumps covering her skin were from the rain but also from desire, from wanting his touch?
What if she brought her hands to his chest, eyes with him, and pushed him back, back to the living room? What if she stopped only when his legs reached the couch? What if she smiled, her eyes flashed, and she whispered one word?
"Sit."
What if the moment he hit the cushions she hit her knees, directly between his legs with her hands on his waistband, pulling down?
What if he lifted his hips just enough to let the boxers slide down his legs until she could pull them all the way off and toss them aside?
What if her eyes were greeted with a rock hard cock standing tall in front of her?
What if she licked her lips?
What if she licked his slit, let her tongue linger on the tip, teasing out more and more precum as his erection grew even stronger?
And what if, what if she took him in her mouth? Lips reaching all the way down, her hands caressing his balls while her tongue caressed his rod? What if her mouth filled with spit and instead of swallowing it, she let it dribble out the corners of her mouth? What if he started to throb because she was giving the best head he'd ever had?
What if he couldn't resist grabbing her hair and pulling her head in closer, pushing himself deeper into her throat, feeling his head against the back of her throat? What if he couldn't stop watching her head bob faster and faster, her wet mouth traveling up and down his cock so tight, so warm, so fucking incredible?
What if she squeezed his sack just enough that he thought he'd cum right there? What if what he was seeing with what he was feeling was blowing his Goddamned mind?
What if he needed to fuck her?
What if she needed to be fucked?
What if she looked up at him and smirked with his rod buried between her lips?
What if he reached down and grabbed her, pulling her up in her soaking wet clothes?
What if she broke free from his grasp? And stepped back, out of reach?
What if she slowly, deliberately, grabbed the hem of her shirt and peeled it off over her head?
What if her hard nipples were poking through the fabric of her bra - and not just because she was cold and wet? Because she was wet, yes, but not just from the rain.
What if she went next to her button, zipper, and slipped out of her pants, kicking them to the side? Standing before him in the dim light, in nothing but a black lace bra and matching panties.
What if she reached behind her and unclasped her bra, letting the straps hold the loose clothing on her shoulders, barely covering those tits he loved to see, to touch?
What if she twitched her shoulders enough to let those straps drop? Slowly. So fucking slow those straps fall down her arms, unveiling what's hidden beneath.
He reaches out. He can't help it. He has to touch them.
What if the moment his hands cup her breasts, her head falls back and she sighs with pleasure? Because the sensation overwhelms her? Such a simple motion, but - god - it turned her on to feel his hands touching them, squeezing them, teasing her already hard nipples. Jesus. She could cum from just this.
What if he starts to stand from the couch and it's enough to break her spell? What if she remembers the striptease and says that one word again. Firmer now.
"Sit."
What if he falls back into place and watches as she slips her fingers into the hem of the lace and starts to step out of those black panties?
What if the sight of her standing naked in front of him makes his cock throb because he wants to touch her, to feel her skin, to be inside her?
What if his gaze makes it back to her eyes and he sees it - the uncertainty, the nervousness at standing before him so exposed and vulnerable, but so, so horny?
What if he shakes his head and whispers, "God. You're just as beautiful as I remember."
What if the instant those words reach her ears, she's on him, legs spread wide across his lap, sliding his throbbing pole into her cunt?
