Reassembling the night - Sex Stories

Reassembling the night

... to kiss her and their lips touched briefly before she spun and he found himself mesmerised at her arse wiggling away from him. She called back, "Thanks for breakfast. I'll see if Becks will reconsider her judgement. You're the nicest guy I never fucked." She reached for the handle and opened the door. "Wait!" Fuck it. In for a penny. Casually, she tossed him a look over her shoulder, pausing at the sight of him standing there ogling her with an obvious boner. Tore her eyes from his midriff as Ryan took a step towards her. Then another. "Wouldn't it be better to do the walk of shame properly?" As he approached, step by measured step, her eyes dropped once more to his cock, bobbing in front of him at almost full mast. "Mmmmm, would be a shame to waste that." She bit her lip. "Especially now you've gone to all the trouble of making it hard." Her mouth turned up at the corners. "And I don't have to meet Becks 'til half twelve." "Would she object if you were late?" He took another step. "Absolutely." "Would she ask why?" "Absolutely." One more step, then another, quicker than the last, want building exponentially inside him. "Then shouldn't we make sure you two have something big to talk about?" "Thought you'd never ask." Her hand fell from the door handle and she turned as his final two paces brought them within a foot of one another. He kept moving, pushing her back, slamming the front door shut with her body as his lips met hers, hands raking her damp hair. The kiss was ...

... forceful, passionate, leaving them gasping when they came up for air. Her eyes shone. He went in for another kiss laced with toothpaste and coffee. This time she ran her hands down his sides, circled his firm, naked rear, then trailed her nails up his torso, gripping the back of his head and crushing their lips together. Ryan slid his hands to her shoulders and pushed the coat he'd given her to the floor, still French kissing her madly, their wet tongues duelling. Pulling away, he caught her arm, dragged her two paces along the corridor, turned her ninety degrees and hustled her into the kitchen ahead of him. They didn’t stop moving until reaching the counter top where he bent her forward over the sink, the mixer tap an inch from her cleavage. His hands snaked up her long legs and over her excuse for a skirt, kneading the full flesh of her soft bum. It excited him. He'd tried a few chubby girls before and concluded they gave it up too easily, probably to make up for all the sex they thought they were missing compared with the supermodels. He preferred a challenge. A woman with whom he could spar, slightly out of reach so when he finally broke through her defences and got her in bed, the conquest meant something. But none of that mattered with Imogen. Hell, none of that mattered to Imogen. In that instant he congratulated himself on his intimate knowledge of his specialist subject. He'd been analysing her as soon as his brain had allowed. The way she moved, the things she said, the ...