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“Your face. I love it, crazy excitement mixed up with crazy nerves. This is what we’re made for, as well as getting paid for…”
“I’m going to remember that expression. It’s so true.” I suck in a breath. “Seriously, I’m shaking.”
“No need,” she says, “when you’re getting ready, just let your mind kick out convention and rationality and whatever else might hold your dirty soul back, and go with the flow. Josh knows what he’s doing.” She winks. “He’ll make it worth every second.”
“You’re preaching to the converted.” I laugh, giving her a fake kiss as we end the call.
I dash to the bedroom and change from my loose PJs into a slinky little satin nightdress. I pull on some hold ups, but leave my pussy bare, ready for the action. I put on a bit of makeup – choosing a scarlet red lipstick that will smudge like sin, and then I fluff up my hair.
I’m doing a spin in the mirror by the time the D&S message comes through.
Bedroom xx I send back.
Fuck niceties or introductions, I want action, right from the off.
I lie down on his huge, grand bed with my legs open just enough to tease, and then I wait for him like a good girl. No touching, though. No touching.
These ten minutes are going to be the longest of my life. My pussy is so desperate, it hurts.
Chapter Twenty
I think I’m ready and set for the action, in position on the bed with the lamps on for ambience, but when I hear the front door open, I realise I’m not. I’m not set for the action at all. My heart is thumping, brain spinning – what if I’m not up to this? What if I’m not good enough? What if I’m not the hardcorer I think I am?
Breathe, I tell myself. Just fucking breathe.
I summon Tiff’s advice, relying on the knowledge that she shared with me. I try my hardest to switch off the rational part of my brain that’s panicking and give credence to my filthy soul.
I CAN do this. I WILL do this. I WANT to do this.
I want to share my boyfriend’s filthy experiences with him, as hardcore as they fucking get.
In just a few seconds he’s at the bedroom doorway, leaning against the frame as he surveys the scene before him. I put my hands behind my head in anticipation – conveying my submission – and I have to grin as my eyes land on him. Josh’s hair is a beautiful mess, sweaty and dishevelled. His shirt is crumpled, and his tie is loose, and he winces as he kicks his shoes off.
Ahh, fuck, he says, and I can see the pain flash across his face.
“How was it?” I ask, and he steps closer, casting his suit jacket off and tossing it to the floor.
“Filthy. Dirty. Disgusting.” His voice is breathy. “Savage. Rough.” He smirks. “Really fucking hot.”
His stare is so animalistic that I’m burning up, poker hot prickles all over my body. I part my legs, silently begging him to come and play. Please.
I’m fixated on his hands as he loosens his belt, wondering just what the fuck he’s been doing with them. My pussy clenches at the thought of his whole fist inside a kinky silver fox’s ass. My eyes must widen, and Josh catches me. He holds his hand up, and licks his fingers one by one.
“This whole hand has been bedded deep,” he tells me. “Deep and fucking dirty.”
“Show me,” I say, the dirty part of me thrill seeking.
“I’ll do more than show you.”
He strips slowly, teasing me. He drops his pants, and kicks them aside, and I gasp as his cock finally springs free. It’s clear he’s been using it. It’s tainted, dirty as he slides his hand up and down the shaft.
“Stay there,” he says, stepping up to the bed to tower over me. “Don’t fucking move.”
His tone is so different to the guy who laughs with me and snuggles up close on the sofa. This isn’t the guy who dishes up breakfast with a ta-da, baby.
This is Weston. The hardcorer. Fresh from the action. And I need to be Holly here. I need to be the hardcorer to match him.
He lifts one foot up onto the mattress, and there it is – a dripping spillage of cum down his thigh. His ass is still full like he promised. I wonder just how much he’s taken. How loose and sore he is. How much is in there…
