Mark My Word

You know he's good when it leaves a mark.

I could tell from the first time we’d fucked that he loved sex; though it appeared he’d never been with a woman who was open to exploring it. All that was about to change. 

The Brit and I had been between the sheets for hours, yet somehow I was craving more. We lay naked, our breath heavy and slow. I reached across his chest and dragged my nails over his skin. He was taken with me in every way, but most especially how I pushed him to explore sex. The Brit would spank me, and I could see his excitement rise. He’d grab my neck and squeeze tightly; he later confessed he’d never that done before, and how much he liked it.

I was half way out the door when I felt his hands on my waist. The Brit lifted me onto his kitchen table, pulled my lace La Perla thong to the side and devoured me, again. He ripped off the lace using his teeth and slid himself inside me, taking me harder than ever before. It felt amazing and even though I was going to be so late for drinks, I wanted him to keep going.

Pulling me off the table, he bent me over the grey leather couch. Ass in the air, he continued to work me until I let go.

I woke up the next morning with giant blue and purple marks across my lower back… If we were going to keep fucking in the kitchen, he was going to have to invest in a new table.

Tip of The Week: Take Things as They Come

When a man calls your phone at 1:30AM, after more than a year sans communication, you know he is only interested in one thing. And seeing as we'd never had sex, I found myself taken aback when he began whispering dirty sentiments through the phone.

The following morning, in what was starting to feel like clockwork, the phone flashed his name across the screen. The Brit was not giving up easy. The words rolled off his tongue sending shivers throughout my body, making me ache to be touched, kissed and pulled apart.

"Rather than tell me what you want to do to me, why don't I hop into a taxi and you can just do it?" As fun as it was to hear about how hot I made him, I didn't want to talk; I wanted action.

The door to his Tribeca penthouse loft swung open; his lips immediately pressed against mine. His hands skimmed the sides of my waist and hips. Grabbing tightly, he threw me up against the wall and kissed my neck and shoulders.

The Brit grabbed my ass and lifted me up so my legs wrapped around his waist, then carried me to bed. After what felt like 12 hours of anticipation, he made me come once; then again, and again once more.

Not exactly what I had anticipated doing all Saturday afternoon; but hey, sometimes you just have to run with it.