She felt the Devil, long before he asked her to dance. Vivid dreams left her writhing, waking and finding herself on her stomach, breasts rubbing against the sheet, fingers already straying between her thighs. He took her in these night-time visions, claiming her, from her burning lips to her fiery cunt, growling against her flesh she would always be his, her desire the flames that licked his feet in supplication. She always awoke as he penetrated her – with his cock, his eyes, his dominance – and it left her dripping with molten need.
The silk trails up the side of my neck and I offer myself up to its motion. Over my throat, and up against the side of my face, fluttering over my forehead until I hear my own moans at its touch. The aroma of his shower gel fills me as his hand brushes my face, and my eyes close as his skin brushes my lips. They chase the touch, not recognising that the silk has covered my eyelids until it pulls tight round the back of my head.
I don’t want to make an idiot of myself, but my chest is lurching. I don’t know if I can cope with it; not knowing, not seeing. His chest presses up against my shoulder blades; his cock is hardening inside his jeans, pressing against the top of my backside. The thought of it makes my heart bang. The movement of his cock is so mesmerising to me that it takes a moment to notice he has my arms up above my head.
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