shorts and he quickly grabbed her breasts.
“Oh yeah ,” he said. Exactly what he’d thought. The flesh plump but firm– young . He squeezed. Her hands found his wrists. He squeezed harder. Her fingers tugged futilely at his arms. He squeezed harder. A whimpering moan escaped her and her hips squirmed underneath him.
“Stop,” she breathed. “ Please .”
The way she begged–it was perfect . To hell with the foreplay.
He grabbed the light blouse at the neck’s v-line and ripped. He felt like he could have ripped leather . His chest swelled with the effort as the fabric gave way. Isabelle managed to grasp at it, trying to hold it together.
“Oh no,” he said. “You’ve teased me long enough.”
The blouse ripped completely in two.
Geoffrey threw the torn edges aside and gazed down at what he’d revealed. Her body was gorgeous, the olive skin flawless, the hourglass shape of her no longer just a hint. But as his groin throbbed, she tried to cover herself with her gloved hands. He easily captured them, took both wrists in one hand, and pinned them on the cushion over her head. As he leaned down on top of her, his arousal pressed into her flat stomach and he cupped her through the satiny bra. Though she tried weakly to raise her head, he easily pressed it back into the cushion with his own.
“ Got you ,” he hissed and then his mouth clamped down over hers.
He plunged his tongue into her, no longer worried about her biting. She’d become more and more lethargic, less coordinated, and definitely weaker. Though it’d taken a second dose, the roofie was finally doing its job. He worked furiously on her mouth, the tender lips no longer pushing back. He devoured her, anxious to move on, and yet thrilled just to be kissing her. Slowly, her jaw went slack.
Geoffrey drew back and smiled. Isabelle’s eyes were closed. He let her wrists go and her hands fell limply at her sides. He stared down at her breasts, squeezing the one he still cupped. He watched it give, bulge between his fingers. His arousal felt like it would burst. He needed to be quick.
He got up on his knees and lifted Isabelle a little higher on the lounge. Her head tilted back over the top edge of the cushion, her neck completely relaxed, her lips parted. He spread the ripped blouse wide open. His hands landed on her breasts again but quickly smoothed down her flat stomach to her hips.
The skirt. He should have unzipped that before he’d laid her down. No matter. He’d noticed from her very first visit that she didn’t wear panty hose. He backed up a little and flipped the hem of her skirt up, revealing delicate, pink-laced panties that could easily be moved aside.
No problem , he thought, unzipping his fly.
•••••
As Maurice slid to the floor, unconscious, Mac flew through the door and into the hallway. Third door on the left.
He counted them.
One.
He had no intention of picking any more locks. As he passed the second door, he picked up steam, pushed with his thighs and led with his shoulder. Like a battering ram, he crashed into the third door as splintered wood flew in every direction and he barreled through.
“Isabelle!” he yelled. The stench of Geoffrey’s cologne was everywhere. “Isabelle!”
The plush living room was empty. Neither Isabelle or–
There was a loud thump from beyond the sliding glass window to his left. Mac crossed the room in seconds, grabbed the handle and threw the door open, slamming it on its rubber stopper. He thrust the screen door to the left so hard it came off its rail.
“ Isabelle! ” he yelled.
Sprawled on a deck chair, obviously unconscious, Isabelle was nearly naked. Her shirt was open, her skirt hiked up, her eyes–
In a heartbeat, Mac was kneeling next to her. Quickly, he put an ear to her chest and a hand to her diaphragm. Her heart was good and strong, her breathing deep and regular. But, as he carefully thumbed an eyelid open, there was no doubt she was
“Oh yeah ,” he said. Exactly what he’d thought. The flesh plump but firm– young . He squeezed. Her hands found his wrists. He squeezed harder. Her fingers tugged futilely at his arms. He squeezed harder. A whimpering moan escaped her and her hips squirmed underneath him.
“Stop,” she breathed. “ Please .”
The way she begged–it was perfect . To hell with the foreplay.
He grabbed the light blouse at the neck’s v-line and ripped. He felt like he could have ripped leather . His chest swelled with the effort as the fabric gave way. Isabelle managed to grasp at it, trying to hold it together.
“Oh no,” he said. “You’ve teased me long enough.”
The blouse ripped completely in two.
Geoffrey threw the torn edges aside and gazed down at what he’d revealed. Her body was gorgeous, the olive skin flawless, the hourglass shape of her no longer just a hint. But as his groin throbbed, she tried to cover herself with her gloved hands. He easily captured them, took both wrists in one hand, and pinned them on the cushion over her head. As he leaned down on top of her, his arousal pressed into her flat stomach and he cupped her through the satiny bra. Though she tried weakly to raise her head, he easily pressed it back into the cushion with his own.
“ Got you ,” he hissed and then his mouth clamped down over hers.
He plunged his tongue into her, no longer worried about her biting. She’d become more and more lethargic, less coordinated, and definitely weaker. Though it’d taken a second dose, the roofie was finally doing its job. He worked furiously on her mouth, the tender lips no longer pushing back. He devoured her, anxious to move on, and yet thrilled just to be kissing her. Slowly, her jaw went slack.
Geoffrey drew back and smiled. Isabelle’s eyes were closed. He let her wrists go and her hands fell limply at her sides. He stared down at her breasts, squeezing the one he still cupped. He watched it give, bulge between his fingers. His arousal felt like it would burst. He needed to be quick.
He got up on his knees and lifted Isabelle a little higher on the lounge. Her head tilted back over the top edge of the cushion, her neck completely relaxed, her lips parted. He spread the ripped blouse wide open. His hands landed on her breasts again but quickly smoothed down her flat stomach to her hips.
The skirt. He should have unzipped that before he’d laid her down. No matter. He’d noticed from her very first visit that she didn’t wear panty hose. He backed up a little and flipped the hem of her skirt up, revealing delicate, pink-laced panties that could easily be moved aside.
No problem , he thought, unzipping his fly.
•••••
As Maurice slid to the floor, unconscious, Mac flew through the door and into the hallway. Third door on the left.
He counted them.
One.
He had no intention of picking any more locks. As he passed the second door, he picked up steam, pushed with his thighs and led with his shoulder. Like a battering ram, he crashed into the third door as splintered wood flew in every direction and he barreled through.
“Isabelle!” he yelled. The stench of Geoffrey’s cologne was everywhere. “Isabelle!”
The plush living room was empty. Neither Isabelle or–
There was a loud thump from beyond the sliding glass window to his left. Mac crossed the room in seconds, grabbed the handle and threw the door open, slamming it on its rubber stopper. He thrust the screen door to the left so hard it came off its rail.
“ Isabelle! ” he yelled.
Sprawled on a deck chair, obviously unconscious, Isabelle was nearly naked. Her shirt was open, her skirt hiked up, her eyes–
In a heartbeat, Mac was kneeling next to her. Quickly, he put an ear to her chest and a hand to her diaphragm. Her heart was good and strong, her breathing deep and regular. But, as he carefully thumbed an eyelid open, there was no doubt she was
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