Page 27 of Tito

The well-aged denim of his jeans was all that stood between me and a night of sexual bliss. I giggled to myself at the thought of him bending me over the green sofa and satisfying me to no end. Desperate to release his stiff dick of its confines, I frantically wrestled with the buckle of his belt.

Our lips parted. His hands pressed against my chest, pushing me away.

It wasn’t a “get away, you crazy bitch” shove. It was more a delicate “step aside and let me get that for you” push.

Watching him do it would be far more satisfying. I took a step back and prepared for him to release the beast. He wiped the edge of his index finger across his lips. In anticipation of what was to come, I did the same.

My gaze fell to his crotch.

Much to my surprise, his hands weren’t unbuckling his belt. In fact, they were doing the opposite.

He repositioned his bulge and buckled his belt. “I should probably go.”

“Go!?” I gasped. “Whaaaaat?”

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he said, his voice nearly inaudible. “Let’s leave it at a kiss.”

My pussy was soaked. Mentally, I’d already fucked him a dozen times. Prepared for an all-night debate to support my sexual cause, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“You can barely stand,” he said.

“Pull my pants down and prop me against something,” I reasoned. “I’ll be sober in no time. Probably after no more than a few strokes.”

“We’ll have to do it some other time.” He leaned forward and kissed me softly. “I’m sorry.”

Incapable of formulating a reasonable response, I stood on wobbling legs and watched as he sauntered to the door.

He opened it and glanced over his shoulder. “Thank you. I had a good time.”

Still processing the loss of my brown-eyed biker, I stood with my drunken mouth agape and stared. The clunk of the door closing behind him was a reminder that our night together was over.

My quest for what I was after, however, had only begun.