Trey pulled me to him, kissed me deep, and stroked his long, dark fingers over my smooth, wet pussy. Moaning into his mouth, I came, reveling the in the wild sensations his fingers brought me. The sound of his soft, breathy laughter filled my head, making me moan. When he pulled his lips from mine and started whispering into my ear, I lost it. Legs shaking, biting back a scream, I moaned my pleasure against his shoulder, the room spinning as I fought the instinctive cries of passion locked in my throat. My juices slicked his hand, his fingers rubbing against my slit, his wrist erotically rubbing my clit, the deadly combination of his voice and his touch driving me over the edge, even here in this most risky of places—standing in the living room of the house I shared with my husband.
My husband had talked forever of his east coast schooling and the friends he'd made on the football and basketball teams of which he was star. When we met on the west coast, where I was raised, it all sounded foreign and intriguing, and I would listen for hours to his stories about "the guys" and all they did. When my husband and Trey and a few other guys got together after the games, they pulled out all the stops, sharing beer, as well as women. Girlfriends were passed around, one to the next, and sometimes there were fights when one the relationship lines got a little blurry. Yet "the guys" always managed to work it out.
It was during a much-anticipated high school reunion that I finally got to meet "the guys." To my surprise, they were all complete gentlemen, and most had gone on to become quite successful, professional men—a far cry from what I had pictured when I heard the stories of parties and conquests. It was at this reunion that I met Trey—and lost my innocence.
One of the few in the group to take up professional sports, Trey had spent several successful years in the NFL—and had the body to prove it. An ACL tear had sidelined him a few years ago, so he had decided to invest his wealth into his second love—refurbishing classic street rods. He had built a hugely successful company, and his cars were on hot demand everywhere, from the young kids with too much money on their hands to the old businessmen who wanted to reacquire a fragment of their past. At the doubting look on my face, he laughed and said that it didn't bother him—he got to do what he loved, and was paid well for it!
Trey's passion for his work was obvious in every word, every gesture, every smile, as he described this car or that, talking about wiring harnesses, transmissions and any other number of things way over my head. It was mesmerizing, though, listening to his sexy voice, watching that smile crease his dark face, and in moments I was head over heels in lust with this man.