Page 31 of Man Vs. Woman
Serena
Only when I get home,do I realize that my knees are trembling.
My mind’s burning with memories from the night—from Colt’s perfect wicked smile, to the way his tailored suit seemed to delineate his carefully sculpted muscles—and my body seems to be reacting in kind.
Dropping my purse right in the kitchen, I quickly kick my heels off as I make my way toward the bedroom. There, I throw my cell phone on top of the bed stand and myself on top of the mattress, a smile taking over my lips as I stare at the white ceiling.
Sweet mercy, Colt McCoy issomethingelse.
I knew from the moment I saw him in the gym spewing cum over a bunch of hapless senior citizens that he had the most perfect cock in the world. But, when it comes to matters like these, there are more things at play than mere length, size, and girth...right? Never mind the perfect abs, his large shoulders, or his chiseled jaw.
No, Colt McCoy is more than just his body.
It’s the way he speaks, as if every word that leaves his mouth is electric. It’s the way he moves, as if he knew his exact place in the grand scheme of things. It’s the way he looks at me...as if he saw something in me that no one saw before.
And all that, somehow, sets my body’s chemistry on fire.
Before I even know what the hell I’m doing, I push my dress down my body, and then unclasp my bra and let it fall to the side of the bed. Chomping on my lower lip, I arch my back and lift my ass off the mattress—then, with my heart beating fast, I hook my thumbs on my drenched black thong and push it down my legs. With a flick of one foot, I send it flying across the bedroom.
Yeah, I can’t believe I’m doing this either. But there’s no running away from it, is there? I’m going to touch myself while thinking of Colt. And, Jesus Christ, just to think of it is enough to make me even wetter.
Closing my eyes, I let my right hand wander down my stomach, and I let out a loud sigh as I feel my fingertips brushing against my clit. Holding my breath for a short moment, I let electric sparks climb all the way up my spine, firework exploding inside my skull as my fingers keep on doing their magic.
Behind my closed eyes, I see a myriad of images—and, unsurprisingly, all of them involve Colt’s body having its way with mine. I start by imagining how it’d feel to tear the clothes of his body, how it’d feel to kiss every single inch of his skin...and then I imagine how’d it be to feel his whole desire throbbing against my fingers, thick and hard.
Swear to God, Colt McCoy is everything a woman could ever want. At least when it comes to looks. And charm, of course. Simply put, he’s the perfect package wrapped up in the most expensive lace. The only thing I don’t know is if he’s as good as he looks...but something tells me that yes, he’s just as good as he looks. No, hell; he’s probably way better than that.
I wish I could have a taste.
And who knows? Judging by the way our little dinner date ended, I guess it’s not a farfetched thing to say that I’m going to have a taste of Mr. McCoy sooner or later. Preferably sooner.
Just as I feel the bite of electricity deep in my brain, an orgasm calling my name from the depths of my brain, I hear a knock at my door.
It’s firm and steady, just like I imagine it’d be if Colt was knocking at my door.
Because, of course, it must be Colt knocking at my door.
I mean, who else?
Seems like I’m going to have a taste sooner than anyone could’ve ever predicted. Grinning to myself, I reach for my bed stand, where I’ve thrown my cell phone, and unlock the damn thing.
Scrolling down my contact list, I fire Colt a quick text message.
Already knocking at my door, huh? Guess someone couldn’t wait.
Alright, to be fair, I couldn’t wait as well. It’s just my luck that Colt seems to be in the same wavelength I’m in.
Sliding off the bed, I reach for the drawer and remove a satin robe from the inside, one revealing enough to make him hard faster than his brain can process the curves on my body. And that because I need him hard and ready to goright now.
Yup, I’m a dirty girl.
And I love it.
Tiptoeing my way toward the door, I open it without even looking through the peephole first.
“And here we are, aren’t—” I start to say, but the words catch in my throat as I realize that it isn’t Colt on the other side of the door. Instead, I’m face to face with two tall men, dressed in all black. Judging by the hard expression on their faces, they’re not Bible salesmen and, most definitely, they’re not here to deliver a pizza.
I try to slam the door shut, but it immediately meets the tip of one of the man’s boots. Before I can react, he uses both his hands to push the door open. I stumble backward, my ass hitting the couch behind me, and I can do nothing but watch as the two men stroll inside my apartment, casually closing the door behind them.
