It’s comfortable, easy, enjoyable. Not as enjoyable as screwing—but a close second. We’re lying on the bed on our sides, our heads resting on our hands, the board in the middle.
Oh—and in case you forgot, we’re naked.
Now, I know some women have issues with their bodies. Maybe you’ve got a little extra junk in the trunk? Get over it. Doesn’t matter. Naked kicks Modest’s ass every single time. Men are visual. We wouldn’t be f**king you if we didn’t want to look at you.
You can write that down if you like.
Kate has no problem being naked. She’s definitely comfortable in her own skin. And it’s sexy—damn sexy.
“Are you going to move or just burn a hole in the board looking at it?”
“Don’t rush me.”
I sigh. “Fine. Take all the time you need. There’s nowhere for you to go anyway. I’ve got you cornered.”
“I think you’re cheating.”
My eyes open wide. “That hurts, Kate. I’m wounded. I don’t cheat. I don’t need to.”
She raises a brow at me. “Do you have to be so cocky?”
“I certainly hope so. And talking dirty will get you nowhere. Stop stalling.”
She sighs and accepts defeat. I make my final move. “Checkmate. Want to play again?”
She rolls onto her stomach and bends her knees, so her feet almost touch her head. My c**k twitches at the sight.
“Let’s play something else.”
Twister? Hide the Salami? Kama Sutra charades?
“Do you have Guitar Hero?”
Do I have Guitar Hero? The jousting of our millennia? The coolest video game of all time? Of course I do.
“Maybe you should pick something else,” I say. “If I keep beating you like this, it could damage your fragile female ego.”
Kate glares at me. “Set it up.”
Her eagerness should have been a red flag. It was a slaughter. Absolutely brutal. She kicked my ass—from one end of the apartment to the other.
In my defense, Kate knows how to play a real guitar. That and…she made us put clothes on. How frigging mean is that? I kept trying to catch a glimpse of that succulent little ass peeking out from under my T-shirt. It distracted me.
I never had a chance.
So, by now you’re probably wondering what the hell I’m doing, right? I mean this is me. One ride per customer—no rewinds, no repeats. So why am I wasting away my Saturday afternoon playing Adam and Eve with Kate?
Here’s the deal: I’ve worked for months to get her where she is right now. I’ve spent night after endless night wanting, dreaming, fantasizing about it.
Let’s say you get stranded on a desert island and can’t eat for a week. And then the rescue ship finally shows up with a big plate of food. Would you take one taste and throw the rest away?
Of course not. You’d scarf down every bite. Devour every crumb. Lick the plate clean.
That’s what I’m doing. Hanging out with Kate until I’m…full. Don’t read any more into it than that.
Did I mention Kate has a tattoo? Oh yeah. A slut tag. A tramp stamp. Call it whatever you like. It’s inked just above the swell of her ass, on her lower back. It’s a small turquoise butterfly.
It’s tasty. I’m tracing it with my tongue right now.
“God, Drew…”
After the Guitar Hero disgrace, Kate decided she wanted a shower. And get this—she asked if I wanted to go first.
Silly, silly girl. Like showering single file was even a consideration.
I stand up and tease her from behind. She’s hotter than the f**king water that hits us on all sides. I move her hair to the side as I feast on that scrumptious neck. My voice is husky as I tell her, “Open your legs for me, Kate.”
She does.
“More.”
She does again.
I bend my knees and slide my c**k home. Jesus. It’s been two hours since I was deep inside her like this. Too f**king long—a lifetime.
We moan together. Her br**sts are slick from the soap as I slide my fingers to her ni**les and play with them in the way I know makes her purr. She drops her head back against my shoulder, and scratches her nails up my thighs. I hiss at the sensation and pick up the pace just a little.
Then she leans forward, bending at her waist and bracing her hands against the tiles. I cover them with my own, threading our fingers together. I pump in and out unhurriedly. I kiss her back, her shoulder, her ear. “You feel so f**king good, Kate.”
Her head rolls on her neck, and she moans, “God, you feel so…hard…so big.”
That phrase? Hearing that phrase is the dream of every man who has ever lived. I don’t care if you’re a freaking monk; you want to hear it.
Yeah, I’ve heard it before. But coming from Kate—in that sweet voice—it’s like I’m hearing it for the first and only time.
And then she’s begging. “Harder, Drew…please.”
I do as she asks with a groan. I leave one hand on the wall and bring the other to her clit, so each time I push forward, she bucks up against my fingers. She moans at the contact.
Then she’s demanding, “Harder, Drew. Fuck me harder.”
When her command reaches my ears, I snap, like the roof caving in on a raging house fire. I push into her until she’s pinned against the wall, her cheek resting on the cold tile. I thrust rough and fast. Kate’s gratified screams echo off the walls, and we come in perfect synch.
Oh—and in case you forgot, we’re naked.
Now, I know some women have issues with their bodies. Maybe you’ve got a little extra junk in the trunk? Get over it. Doesn’t matter. Naked kicks Modest’s ass every single time. Men are visual. We wouldn’t be f**king you if we didn’t want to look at you.
You can write that down if you like.
Kate has no problem being naked. She’s definitely comfortable in her own skin. And it’s sexy—damn sexy.
“Are you going to move or just burn a hole in the board looking at it?”
“Don’t rush me.”
I sigh. “Fine. Take all the time you need. There’s nowhere for you to go anyway. I’ve got you cornered.”
“I think you’re cheating.”
My eyes open wide. “That hurts, Kate. I’m wounded. I don’t cheat. I don’t need to.”
She raises a brow at me. “Do you have to be so cocky?”
“I certainly hope so. And talking dirty will get you nowhere. Stop stalling.”
She sighs and accepts defeat. I make my final move. “Checkmate. Want to play again?”
She rolls onto her stomach and bends her knees, so her feet almost touch her head. My c**k twitches at the sight.
“Let’s play something else.”
Twister? Hide the Salami? Kama Sutra charades?
“Do you have Guitar Hero?”
Do I have Guitar Hero? The jousting of our millennia? The coolest video game of all time? Of course I do.
“Maybe you should pick something else,” I say. “If I keep beating you like this, it could damage your fragile female ego.”
Kate glares at me. “Set it up.”
Her eagerness should have been a red flag. It was a slaughter. Absolutely brutal. She kicked my ass—from one end of the apartment to the other.
In my defense, Kate knows how to play a real guitar. That and…she made us put clothes on. How frigging mean is that? I kept trying to catch a glimpse of that succulent little ass peeking out from under my T-shirt. It distracted me.
I never had a chance.
So, by now you’re probably wondering what the hell I’m doing, right? I mean this is me. One ride per customer—no rewinds, no repeats. So why am I wasting away my Saturday afternoon playing Adam and Eve with Kate?
Here’s the deal: I’ve worked for months to get her where she is right now. I’ve spent night after endless night wanting, dreaming, fantasizing about it.
Let’s say you get stranded on a desert island and can’t eat for a week. And then the rescue ship finally shows up with a big plate of food. Would you take one taste and throw the rest away?
Of course not. You’d scarf down every bite. Devour every crumb. Lick the plate clean.
That’s what I’m doing. Hanging out with Kate until I’m…full. Don’t read any more into it than that.
Did I mention Kate has a tattoo? Oh yeah. A slut tag. A tramp stamp. Call it whatever you like. It’s inked just above the swell of her ass, on her lower back. It’s a small turquoise butterfly.
It’s tasty. I’m tracing it with my tongue right now.
“God, Drew…”
After the Guitar Hero disgrace, Kate decided she wanted a shower. And get this—she asked if I wanted to go first.
Silly, silly girl. Like showering single file was even a consideration.
I stand up and tease her from behind. She’s hotter than the f**king water that hits us on all sides. I move her hair to the side as I feast on that scrumptious neck. My voice is husky as I tell her, “Open your legs for me, Kate.”
She does.
“More.”
She does again.
I bend my knees and slide my c**k home. Jesus. It’s been two hours since I was deep inside her like this. Too f**king long—a lifetime.
We moan together. Her br**sts are slick from the soap as I slide my fingers to her ni**les and play with them in the way I know makes her purr. She drops her head back against my shoulder, and scratches her nails up my thighs. I hiss at the sensation and pick up the pace just a little.
Then she leans forward, bending at her waist and bracing her hands against the tiles. I cover them with my own, threading our fingers together. I pump in and out unhurriedly. I kiss her back, her shoulder, her ear. “You feel so f**king good, Kate.”
Her head rolls on her neck, and she moans, “God, you feel so…hard…so big.”
That phrase? Hearing that phrase is the dream of every man who has ever lived. I don’t care if you’re a freaking monk; you want to hear it.
Yeah, I’ve heard it before. But coming from Kate—in that sweet voice—it’s like I’m hearing it for the first and only time.
And then she’s begging. “Harder, Drew…please.”
I do as she asks with a groan. I leave one hand on the wall and bring the other to her clit, so each time I push forward, she bucks up against my fingers. She moans at the contact.
Then she’s demanding, “Harder, Drew. Fuck me harder.”
When her command reaches my ears, I snap, like the roof caving in on a raging house fire. I push into her until she’s pinned against the wall, her cheek resting on the cold tile. I thrust rough and fast. Kate’s gratified screams echo off the walls, and we come in perfect synch.
