Page 62 of The Dragon 2

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It wasn’t a gentle high. It was narcotic violence—a throbbing possession that hit my bloodstream before my lungs.

Before thought.

Before breath.

My cock jerked, thick and impatient beneath my slacks.

My throat closed… the hunger so sudden it made me dizzy.

My heart kicked, brutal and aching in its need to own her very soul.

I gripped the carved edge of the bedframe to keep from sinking into the plush carpet like a man drowning.

Her wetness wasn’t just perfume. It was the echo of her thighs one day opening for me, of her fingers spreading those wet pussy lips while moaning my name.

Black-amber.

Ripe plum.

Warm cotton soaked in sin.

I was ashamed to say this but thank God no one was around when I opened my mouth and put those panties between my lips.

I sucked on the white panties.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

I let the wetness seep onto my tongue.

The salt of her.

The sweetness.

The surrender.

Obsession had a taste and it was her pussy’s slickness.

Ecstasy.

Agony.

Consummation.

I groaned low and the ruined sound dragged through my teeth.

I unzipped my slacks, let my cock free. It was already hard, already leaking, already aching like it had waited lifetimes for this moment.

I took those panties out of my mouth and then slid the wet cotton across the swollen pierced head of my cock.

Let the fabric kiss the precum.

Let it bless the shaft.

Let it wrap around my cock like a vow.

I smelled her again while stroking myself slowly with the cloth.

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