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Just pure affection. A mental I knew you had it in you, beautiful girl. You’re strong. You’re smart. No one can ever take that away. And now I really am crying.
“I’m a fucking rock star,” she repeats. “And you are my prize.” My mouth goes dry, my cock strains toward her, and when she slips one strap off her shoulder, my knees threaten to give out. I’ve seen her naked from head to toe more hours this week than I’ve spent reading, and the sight of her playing the seductress barely an hour after the Wonder Woman show is not only putting an unholy strain on my hard-on, it’s doing wonky things to that little muscle in my chest. The one that’s getting more and more attached to her by the minute.
She can never, ever want another man, because she’s mine. This pussy? Mine. These breasts? Mine. This woman? Mine. Because I’m hers. Heart, body, and soul. She’s it. I’m done.
Done. Yes!
I kiss him like he’s my sun, moon, and stars, because he is.
Desperate and hopeful and searching, like I’m his sun, moon, and stars. As if all his light depends on having me by his side.
