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rushed litany. She felt like a sex goddess.
He cupped her underarms and yanked her up so she dangled off the floor, and they
were face-to-face.  No. More. Now.
He set her on her feet, steadied her, and ripped her shirt off.
She blinked and her jaw sagged at the blurred speed with which he removed the
rest of both her clothing and his. She heard the metal rings of the bath curtains squeak,
the spray of the water hitting the tiles, and gasped when he hauled her high against his
chest and stepped into the stall.
Within seconds they were drenched.
He slanted his mouth over hers and nothing mattered more than the thrusting of
his tongue. She met him stroke for stroke, intent on devouring him whole. On
discovering his sweet points and making him as crazy for her as she was for him.
 Wrap your legs around me. Darlin , need to be in you, he commanded.
 Yes. She obeyed, greedy for his penetration, for that first impalement, for that
heady intoxicating invasion.
She looped her arms around his neck, bit his ear, and then suckled on the lobe. His
cock nudged at her core, once, twice, and then he drove home.
 Bandit. She climaxed on the last syllable of his nickname.
He whirled about so her back rested against the slick tiled shower walls and then
hammered into her. His dick rammed her without mercy. He cupped her bottom, tilted
her just so, and she exploded again. The sheer rapture had her seeing white stars.
She dug her nails into his arms and clung to him.
He rode her like the bandit he was, pounding into her convulsing pussy, his pubis
slapping against her clit, until one orgasm ran into another, and she was enveloped in
utter and complete ecstasy.
Too dazed to think, to do anything but link her hands behind his back and press her
lips to his sternum, she closed her eyes and wallowed in the feel and smell of him. The
shower spray felt the same as a gentle spring rain, and the warm water made her
sleepy. She rubbed her nose in the wet hair on his chest, relishing the subtle change in
his aroma. Before, he smelled of spice and pungency. Now, his scent had a soothing
quality like that of a fresh ocean breeze.
 You re pruning. He licked the crook of her neck, held the skin between his teeth,
and sawed gently.  This is your claim spot. I want you to belong to me so badly I can t
focking think of anything else anymore.
She bit her tongue to prevent the words  Tell me how to claim you from jumping out
of her mouth.
He raised his head, shuttered his eyes, and jerked out of her.  Fock, darlin . I don t
know if I can do that again. Pull out of you.
The anguish in his voice stabbed her heart.
He levered her down to the shower floor, twirled the knob, and lifted her onto the
bathroom rug. Tipped her chin up, inspected her features, and asked,  You all right?
A slow, languorous grin took ahold of her mouth.  You need to ask? What does my
scent tell you?
 Saucy wench. He hopped out of the shower, tweaked her nose, grabbed a bath
sheet, and preceded to towel dry her with brisk, efficient, strokes.  The way your pussy
milked my cock, I know you came like a tornado on steroids. It was fast and furious,
and the last thing I want to do is hurt you.
She snatched the towel, nudged between his legs, and tilted her head back to meet
his gaze.  For the record, I like you fast and furious. I also like you slow and gentle. The
one s Bandit, the other Sancté, and I m certain that I ll discover several more of you in
terms of focking.
His brows quirked, and out of the corner of her eyes, she glimpsed his penis jolt.
She hid a smile. It turned him on to hear her curse. Her pussy did a swift clench and
jerk at his strange pronunciation of the word her mom and aunts banned from her
vocabulary.
 Ah, I d forgotten your earlier request. I want Bandit. He nipped the bridge of her
shoulder.
She jumped when his shaft twitched on her belly, stared at his rampant erection,
then at him, and cocked her head in silent question.
 Happens. Not your problem. He shrugged, removed the bath sheet from her
hand, dried himself off, and rehung the towel.  Let s go check on our little girl.
She loved the way he always referred to Natusya as ours.  Yes. Let s. But first, what
language were you speaking earlier you know in the middle of our focking?
He frowned for a second, threw back his head, and laughed up a storm. When his [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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