She’s standing in front of the stairs as I step up behind her, pressing my front against her back. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Her breath hitches. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Sure you do,” I murmur. “You’re thinking about how we stood right here as I bent you over and buried myself inside of you.” Putting my hands on her shoulders, I spin us around so she’s facing the kitchen. “And when you look at that island, you picture the way I sat you on it and ate you out until you screamed.” I glide my hand down her arm, and her head falls back against my chest. Her breathing
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