Page 92 of The Fed Sex Man

Desire rushed through me like a fever. I tried to act indifferent.

The lasagna was on the counter behind me, waiting to be served. There was no doubt watching her ride my cock would be far more satisfying than eating. I picked my jaw up off the floor and gave a deadpan response.

“Rumor has it that lasagna’s better cold than it is hot.”

Her perfectly-sculpted eyebrows raised. “Oh really?”

“Want to give it a try now?”

“Which one?” she asked. “The lasagna? Or the sex?”

“The cowgirl, Cowgirl.”

“I’ve got a lot of eating experience.” She reached for her belt. “And, a lot of catching up to do on sex.”

The mere mention of sex had my cock standing at full attention. I slid off the edge of the barstool and pointed at my distorted shorts. “There’s only one way to change that.”

I’d spent seventeen years screwing every woman that would give me an opportunity. Jo, by her own admission, had done just the opposite. Despite my desire to fuck her every waking moment that she was in my presence, I hoped to spend at least a portion of our idle time growing closer to her on a more intellectual level.

She, on the other hand, yearned to experiment with sex.

I decided to combine the two efforts. I could explore her intellectual side while we explored her sexual desires. Considering the books that she’d read, she undoubtedly had a mountain of ideas stored away. By the time we’d satisfied all her wishes, we’d be closer than a married couple.

Satisfied I’d thwarted one of our relationship’s potential problems, I rid myself of my shorts and boxers in one shove. After tossing my shirt to the side, I glanced in her direction. Topless and bent at the waist, she was struggling to remove her fitted jeans, pushing them along her silky-smooth thighs one frustrating inch at a time.

“I. Am. Never. Wearing. These. Things. Again.” She shoved against the spandex-infused denim with each abruptly spoken word. “This. Is. Ridiculous.”

The jeans seemed to be stuck, just above her knees. Bare-assed with her legs bound together by the skin-tight material, she looked up and met my gaze. “Can I get some help?”

In a hilarious effort to maintain her balance, she hopped across the floor with her pants tangled around her knees, bumping into nearly every object in her wake.

“Please?” she pleaded, bouncing off the arm of the loveseat as she spoke.

Before I could provide her with any assistance, she came crashing against the edge of the coffee table. The impact caused her to go reeling in the opposite direction, head over respective ass.

When she came to a stop, she was midway between the fireplace and the couch, face down and resting against one shoulder, with her bare ass high in the air.

I glanced at her glistening twat and grinned. “Nice pussy, my dear. Didn’t wear panties today, huh?”

She flopped onto her side. “Will you help me? Please?”

With my eyes fixed on her cute little ass, I ambled to her side, struggling all the while not to laugh out loud. “Lift your feet, Grace.”

She extended her legs. I gripped the hem of her jeans and pulled, fully expecting them to simply slide off her legs. They stretched a foot in length and popped right back into place. Frustrated, I pulled against them so hard I lifted her from the floor. After several all-out tugs, she collapsed onto the floor and I held the jeans.

“Jesus.” I looked the jeans over. “These things are ridiculous.”

“I’m never buying another pair of jeggings,” she exclaimed. “Ever!”

I tossed the jeans aside. “What did you call them?”

“Jeggings.”

“What the fuck’s a jegging?”

“Jeans and leggings,” she said. “Combined.”

“Jeggings.” I laughed. “That’s the most absurd amalgamation I’ve ever heard.”