She's a bite-sized hot pepper of a woman, with laughter in her eyes and a set of legs that I love to watch move, especially when she wears stilettos. It's a challenge to keep up with her and God knows I love a challenge, particularly when the reward for victory is oh so sweet! I don't know her full past, but I can imagine that more than one man has wrecked himself on the rocky shores of her attitude. She's a bitch sometimes, my little spitfire.
Just the other night I was sitting and watching her read, book in hand, curled up on the loveseat. It was evening and rain was tapping lightly on the rooftop, just enough to make her drowsy. The medical text she was reading contributed a bit, but she'd prepared for that with a strong cup of coffee. I'll never understand how she's able to drink it and still go to bed. I hate coffee anyway.
***two nights ago***
Sitting there with the light tan-colored throw covering her, I watch her head nod. I've been patiently waiting all evening for her to get her necessary reading done. I made a mental bargain with myself that I would NOT interfere until she says she is done or she stops really reading. As her cute chin lands on her chest, I know the time I've been waiting for is upon me.
Quietly I stood up from our bed, stretching my arms and chest lightly to make sure I'm warmed up. My light shirt and boxers are always enough to keep me warm despite the cool night air, but with evil thoughts in mind they're quickly removed and cast aside. The cold air has the expected effect on my erection, but as I stealthily creep closer to her seat I get harder and longer.
My head cocked a moment, I consider my prey. Her dark brown hair frames her peaceful face, long and lustrous as it drapes over a cheekbone and cascades onto her chest, the end showing a slight curl. One foot, covered in a cute striped sock, projects from beneath the throw rug like a soldier braving the night watch on a winter evening. As I look, she shifts slightly and her foot retreats towards the covering wool.
Perhaps sensing my presence, her shift in position turns into a yawn and her eyes start to open. During that moment of sleepy vulnerability, I strike like a viper. My hands reach down and pin her arms against her sides. A startled shriek is muffled by my lips as I catch her up, wrapping her against my chest and twining her within the woolen wrap as I lift her bodily from the couch.
Her lips move against mine and she tries making a sound of protest, like a cat caught unawares, but I ignore her noises just as I ignore the heavy textbook bouncing off my foot as it falls to the hardwood floor. As I continue lifting her, I break the liplock and turn the upwards motion into a heave that places her stomach against my shoulder, not quite the fireman's carry that I'd planned but better than I'd hoped for since she is now beginning to struggle.
