Couch Kiss

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His hands are stroking her, his racing thoughts fracturing beneath her fingers, and abruptly he's desperate.

He needs to get rid of the voice in his head. He needs her and the pleasure she gives him.

His hands tighten on her hips and he walks her back to the couch.

Then he pushes her down onto it, raking up the thin silk of her dress.

She welcomes him as she always does, her legs wrapping around his hips, the damp heat between her thighs pressing against his fly.

"God, this is so good." she whispers in his ear, her hands gently stroking. "Let's keep it slow.There’s no need to rush."

But he doesn’t want slow. He doesn’t want gentle.  He wants hard burning desire.

She spreads legs as he  tears her dress apart.

Her body is beautiful, her pale skin is so soft. She's perfect, so perfect. He reaches down to undo his fly, but she sits up, her hands covering his. Her eyes are full of heat and something else, something he can't read.

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