Lights dimmed. Seat reclined. Butter pooled in the bottom of the popcorn bowl nestled under my arm. Condensation beads on the waxed cup of Dr. Pepper in the cupholder.
Ass squirming, I found my comfy spot and settled in to watch Princess Bride, my favourite movie. Strong female character, sexual tension and hot guy in black. Who could ask for anything more? Yeah, yeah, I know. Wrong movie quote, but it works.
Opening credits rolled, Mark Knopfler’s voice washed over me as I sang along. Eyes closed, the smell of Irish Spring filled my senses. I breathed it in, savouring it as I imagined the homecoming I’d give my lover when they returned from their business trip.
As the movie played on, I lost myself in the fantasy running through my mind…
My lover pulls my pyjama pants down and off my legs, throwing them into the corner. Toned shoulders push between my legs. Hands grip my thighs, spreading them wide. Hot breath blows across my swollen folds. Whimper of need arches my back. Muttered curse, “Fuck, yeah,” kisses my tender flesh. Hard, familiar tongue flicks at my sensitive clit until I cry out, lust seeping from me.
A finger slips into my pussy, curling under, beckoning my orgasm. Faster and faster. My hips pump up, clamouring for relief.
My fingers thread through silky, shoulder length hair. Lips lift off of me, kissing their way up my body. The junction of my hip and thigh. Dip of my waist. Soft...