Part 48
Patricia lay.
Her feet pointing to the headboard, her head hanging of the edge of the bed while her strawberry blonde hair hung of the cliff like daggers in rest.
Aware that he who lives never dies, I approached.
Freshly showered and barely dry, I began to engorge as the distance between us disappeared.
Patricia always took the lead, Patricia tried always to take the lead, violence never absent between us, ours was never warm it was always, corta vena.
Her left wrist pale but for the blue that surged through her caught my left eye, and my left hand instinctively imprisoned it.
This bitch in heat lived The Posh Life, yet she resented it. Floor to ceiling glass, this bedroom faced any who wanted to see, the warm midday Sun magnifying it.
Although she was waiting for the fight, I startled her. Quickly I grabbed her right wrist before she could land one on me.
As I squeezed her into submission her eyes opened to the point of bulging, all of me blocked the sun and then some.
I had this tiger by the tail, but I couldn't let her go.
Quickly I crouched over her as she tried helplessly to wiggle free from my grip, and began to lick the edges of her furious lips.
Her breathing was at full gallop, she wanted freedom and detainment all at the same time. Only then did I commit to kissing her.
Her large mouth was the Indian Ocean, and I wanted every jetty to feel my tongue.
Her breathing grew rhythmic, I could sense the rage abating. Slowly I began to release her arms and move my hands to her heaving breasts.
Sensing freedom she began to revolt, without much haste and in an affirmation of my dominance, I sucked on her tongue with intentions on removing it from her mouth.
She understood...
