Steamy Encounters
Matt rested his forehead against her inner thigh, breathing heavily, his cheeks wet.
He lifted his head slowly, looking wrecked and triumphant as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, never breaking eye contact. “Tastes like guilt,” he rasped. “And mine.”
He rose from his knees, his jeans straining painfully at the front, and he leaned over her, bracing his hands on the counter on either side of her hips, caging her again.
“He has no idea,” Matt murmured, his eyes tracing her tear-streaked face, her exposed body, the damp patches on her shirt. “That his wife is here with me, legs spread, panting from just the feel of my mouth on her most intimate parts.”
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