In the mood for Rollo to pin me down by the back of my neck rail me like the wild animal he is. Thank you.
“Again?” you ask wryly, pretending that your body isn’t warming instantly at the rough way he’s pressing you against the table. “Already?”
“How could I possibly resist when you wear dresses that tight?” he replies, voice low and growling with his need. “It reminds me too much what’s underneath.” His palm bridges your spine, pressing you into the table’s surface. His other hand starts rucking your skirt up.
You were right in the middle of preparing the evening meal. You make a half-hearted attempt to lift yourself up, out from amid the bowls and messy spoons, but his hand is rigid at the back of your neck and Rollo only pushes you back down harder.
“Just a quick interruption,” he promises. His other hand leaves your body and comes back wet, fingers skillfully plunging between your folds to make sure your body is ready for him.
But it’s always ready for him, isn’t it?
He groans as his cock slides into you, this position creating enough delicious resistance to crowd out your thoughts of anything else but his invasion. He ruts into you with all the enthusiasm and need his hands had promised. Within three strokes he’s already bellowing in your ear.
Dinner will have to wait.