Tracy steals a weekend at the seaside with Chris, the gardener. Everything’s going well–they might as well be an old, married couple.
But is that what, and who, Tracy really wants?
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Tracy clung to Chris’s massive shoulders, feeling the muscles tense and flex as his cock moved inside her. Behind her, the bedroom wall cooled her bare skin. Before her, the golden fur of his chest brushed her sensitive nipples, exciting her even more, if that were possible. Her legs encircled his waist, her ankles entwined and resting on his taut buttocks. He wrapped his powerful arms around her. She was in no danger of falling to the carpeted floor.
His arse cheeks contracted with each thrust. She was an extension of him, a sexual being on the verge of losing all will of her own.
“Now!” she hissed.
His arms tightened, and he seemed to swell even more inside her. After a few more hard thrusts, he uttered a guttural cry.
At that precise moment, Tracy felt her world explode in delight.
Chris buried his face in her shoulder, still breathing heavily.
She giggled. “You can put me down now.”
“What if I don’t want to?” he answered. “What if I just keep you here, attached to my cock, so I can enjoy you whenever I want?”
The reverberation of his deep, husky voice flowed over her, as tangible as a caress. It started her juices flowing all over again.
Putting one arm beneath her arse and another behind her shoulders, he lifted her away from the wall. He was a large man, and she was a small woman. He walked toward the bed, carrying her easily.
Tracy ran her fingers through his silky, shoulder length hair. “Fine with me. I could enjoy you any time I wanted to.”
Chris laughed and fell back onto Tracy’s bed, taking her with him. “Don’t you ever get enough?”
“Of you? No, never.” She lay across his broad chest while his cock faded within her. He’d be hard again in about half an hour, she knew. No one man had ever satisfied her like Chris did, or as often.
He buried his fingers in her brown curls and raised her head so she was looking into his eyes. “Then why do you stay here?” he asked.
It was an old argument, one they had rehashed many times in recent weeks.
“I have to,” she answered, wriggling up to his mouth and kissing him deeply in an attempt to prevent further discussion.
As usual, they lost themselves in their kiss, and the first signs of his prick reviving pressed against her thigh.
“Why, Tracy?”
His question felt like ripping warm bed clothes off her on a cold winter’s morning.
She rolled off him, putting a little distance between them.
She sighed. “Because Mr. Browne needs me. He relies on me. We’ve been together a while now, and I understand his… needs.”
“Been together?” repeated Chris. “You make it sound as though you’re married to him. You’re just his housekeeper, or that’s what you told me.”
“Don’t be like that, Chris. Mr. Browne’s been good to me. He’s given me a lot of… freedom. I love this job, I really do.”
“More than you love me?”
Tracy rolled off the bed, stood up, and turned to face him. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He could have been a male model, a film star, or even an ancient god. Instead, he was a gardener who mowed lawns, trimmed trees, and loved flowers of all kinds.
As always, the look in his eyes told her he thought she was the best thing he’d ever seen.
To be continued…
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