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Naked Games

59 pages1 hour


“Havin’ fun now?” Cori broke my concentration and lightly groped at my waist. It tickled and then it felt warm and liquidy, like a rippling sensation when a pebble breaks water.
“Of course!” I grabbed him back, pulling him closer, feeling his pecs pressed against my collar bone. It was oddly hot, and his smell was overwhelming at this point. It was no longer soothing, but rabid and bit at my nose. I wanted him. I felt his jeans rub up against mine and it was all so tantalizingly close. I needed him.
I lifted my hands with haste towards his unusually large head and pulled him in for a kiss. It was hot and heavy, my heart started beating rapidly and my stomach began to twist and flutter.
“Butterflies...” I anxiously laughed. It was something new to me and yet something familiar I couldn’t shake. It was brilliant. Like bright pains that stretched across my eyelids and vibrated in my toes. It tingled at first and then it slowly melted into a puddle of sweetened honey that almost seemed to drip from his lips, it was a new drug and I craved it.
His hands bound beneath me and lifted me up to meet his blistering verdent eyes. My legs wrapped lecherously around his waist and we found ourselves against a wall, losing our tops as we went. His skin was suffocating, his radiating heat pressed against my chilled breast and I found myself spinning. The world around me felt like it had split and gravity couldn’t make up it’s mind. My head was pounding with the sound of my heart, heavy breathes consumed me as our mouths continued to viciously mash against one another like starving animals. The feeling of flesh against flesh was invigorating to say the least, and it was an inviting sensation.
We found ourselves toppling over on top of the velvet couch, feeling it’s familiar surface brush against my bare back as I fell. My heart dropped into my stomach the moment it happened, but quickly crawled right back up to where it belonged the minute he kissed my lips. It was violent and passionate, like built up aggression. I wasn’t sure what he had to be so aggressive for, but I wasn’t about to complain.
About the Author
A dreamer. That's what he is. Victor Riddle, a retired chef is a man who loves to spend his evenings in the little garden in his house condemning his hands to the paper while his brain get itself busy on the task of dreaming up stories about hot pretty boys that you wish were real.

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