Damaged goods - Sex Stories

Damaged goods

... your face, Mr. Noble." 'What look exactly?" "Undressing me with your eyeballs." "You must have me mistaken for someone who's attracted to your type." Before sitting down, she leaned across the table to his plate and stole one of his few remaining fries. Resting on her elbows, she suggestively bit the end and made sure he saw her cast her gaze to the bulge in his trousers before slithering back to her seat. "Clearly not your type." Ryan shuffled in his seat. "What can I say. I'm only human." The truth was he did want her. She ticked all his boxes. Confident. Smart. Sexy. Impulsive. Flirtatious. Naughty enough to throw her underwear out of a moving car, which he suspected was an indicator of her inventiveness between the sheets, or indeed any other places. Against a door. In the woods. In an alleyway. In his car. He pictured her clambering across the gear lever and straddling him, hiking her dress, reaching between them to free his solid prick, aligning herself and sinking onto it with a sigh, her voluptuous bottom deforming against the steering wheel as they ground together. How he wanted to yank her dress off her shoulders, free her buxom tits and bite down on them as the car rocked. To feel her hot breath and ecstatic sighs in his ear, synchronised with their rhythm. To hear her lose control and feel her come around his girth. The stains on the upholstery would be well worth it. Ryan knew he had to make that happen. She was already on the way and the alcohol would make ...

... it easier. He just had to seal the deal. Ed Sheeran helped by being the next act on the jukebox. As Melody swayed to Don't , Ryan used the track to turn the conversation to her musical tastes. "I assume you're not a 'make shapes' kinda girl? Big box, little box?" "Not really. I like my music a little more… musical. Something with a groove. Something you can feel ." "More bump 'n grind than hands in the ay-er." "Definitely." "You twerk?" She laughed, hair tumbling over her shoulders. "Hardly. I leave that to Miley." "God help us, please don't. She wouldn't know sexy if it turned up at her door in just a thong and a promise. Did you see her performance?" Melody nodded in time to the chorus. "It was like… you know people who do pole dancing but concentrate on perfecting the technique instead of feeling the beat and flowing with it?" "Criminal." "Absolutely. Pole dancing is all about selling the package, the sex, the heat. Miley's the equivalent of opening the package and finding the contents aren't what you ordered." "Lambrini instead of Pinot Grigio." "Exactly." "You a connoisseur of the pole then?" "Didn't I mention I'm also a part-time gentleman's club owner?" She fluttered her eyelashes again over the rim of her pint glass, and took a long pull. "Easy tiger. It's a school night." "Don't care," she pouted. "Not due in work 'til lunch time." "And at this rate you'll still smell of booze then." "They'll cope." Ryan sipped his drink as Corey came over to clear the plates. They ...