There are two kinds of men, those that love sex and those that like it. I for one am always taken aback when a man truly does not love sex. I guess that is my stereotypical point of view being shocked and awed; and not in anyway that I like.
Luckily for me the only shocking The Photographer does is in the sexual variety and it always makes me say, “Ahh.”
It had been over a month since I saw him last. Between his travel and my working there had been zero time for our affairs; needless to say we were both aching to get our hands on one another.
The door had buzzed twice while I slid the champagne colored Agent Provocateur thigh high stocking up and over my knee. I stepped into my new Acne black leather pumps and buzzed The Photographer upstairs. I had spent the morning by the pool and planned on spending the afternoon having him explore every inch of my body.
Pushing me against the exposed brick wall of my apartment The Photographer tried to kiss me. I turned my cheek, tilting my head back and parting my lips with a slight grin. He was dying to kiss me and feel the wet of my tongue pushed up against his; I wanted to make him work for it.
His hands held onto the smallest part of my waist in a firm grip, his hips pushed into mine. The Photographer kissed my neck while pulling me even closer towards him. My legs shook with pleasure as he began to work me with his finger tips. Pushing me down onto the bed, he removed his jeans.
He was hard and eager to take all of me... I knew what The Photographer wanted and this time I was going to give it to him.
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