Just Desserts

Chapter 1

She was going to have to toss her panties. No doubt they were now ruined; if they weren’t stretched to within an inch of their life being yanked down around her ankles, any vital signs that remained to be found in their elastic were non-existent in the wake of the workout her left leg was getting.

*thump...thump...thump* *thuump* *thump...thump...thump*

Damn, she wondered as her head lolled to the side for the umpteenth time in response to another agonizingly slow, deep grind of his hips, what the hell is he doing...writing his name?!

The erratic rhythm being pounded out by her sneaker clad foot as it banged against the side of the mahogany desk was proving quite successful; instead of a wounded seal, the sounds assaulting her ears now bore a close resemblance to muzzled seal...accompanied by a bass drum. For the briefest of seconds she wondered if it were even possible to place a muzzle on a seal, after all—

“Ungh...fuck...ungh...ungh...yeah!”

Any chance at entertaining distracting thoughts was effectively shot as it became apparent that in addition to call of the wild noises words were now being added to his coital repertoire!

She would have marred her cocoa-dusted complexion with a frown but she quickly remembered they resulted in wrinkles. It was bad enough she was seeing the faint appearance of fine lines as of late.

A tiny voice mocked her. You know why you have those, right?

As usual, she chose to ignore her pesky, persistent so-called conscience and instead gladly returned her attention to the matter at hand. Hell, she wasn’t even 30 yet and suddenly she was faced with the prospect of entertaining the possibility of Botox? What happened, she wondered, to that adage, “Black don’t crack”?!

~*~

Gravity is working against me
And gravity wants to bring me down

~*~

There is something wrong with you...

It was a truth some would find hard to embrace yet it was one she accepted as calmly as each thrust and groan she endured. There she was, finally receiving something she had been in desperate need of for months—a good fuck—and the fact it was being delivered courtesy of her husband’s much beloved cousin, a man whom she found to be in possession of a peculiar charm and intensity, was not what left her in her current state of disgusted disbelief. No, what resulted in her wanting to heave her breakfast upon his freshly starched designer shirt was the sad realization it took her longer to brush her teeth than it did for him to spill his seed inside her.

Three pumps and he was done.

That was the lone thought that continued to ricochet throughout her mind. Not that she’d broken her vows to one of the best and most decent men to walk the earth. No, all she could focus on was the inescapable and extremely aggravating realization that the moment had fallen flatter than a ruined soufflé. The substantial column of flesh buried deep inside her was useless; she would have been better off relying on a bit of battery-operated satisfaction or, even better, her hand. And worst of all, what left her more incensed than anything was that she had not gotten hers.

Oh, yes. There was definitely something wrong with her.