Albemarle
art gallery and custom framing shop, in addition to their charity
projects, had worked hard to give him and his sisters the best
upbringing. He pictured his dad, and the look on his face if he
could see his son right now. No, he wouldn't understand.
For that matter, Chip hardly
understood. He'd never met anyone like Melony—all messed up and
beautiful, vulnerable and unbending at the same time. He came from
a close, well-adjusted family. Though they hadn't been rich, they
hadn't wanted for much, either. All his friends and colleagues
seemed to come from similar or better backgrounds, so Melony
presented a mystery. A mystery he wanted to crack.
Turning, he threw back his head and
gave the pounding water access to his neck and chest. Aah. So good.
As he began to truly relax, he wondered what Melony did while he
bathed. Did she put clean sheets on her bed and light candles? Did
she put on romantic music? Or did she get naked? She hadn't come
right out and said she wouldn't. He imagined her kneeling on the
bed, massaging her gorgeous breasts and waiting for him. His
johnson sprang to life and the sack underneath tightened with
delicious pressure. Damn, the woman had him hot and
ready.
In a rush, he soaped, rinsed, and
stepped from the stall to dry in a flurry. On the counter sat a
toothbrush still in store packaging and an unopened tube of
toothpaste. He smiled. So involved in the relief of the shower, he
hadn't even noticed her come in to leave them. Not wanting her to
wait too long and possibly change her mind, he got busy getting his
mouth ready for serious kissing.
Finally, he checked his reflection,
used his fingers to put his hair into at least some semblance of a
neat arrangement, and went to the hallway. A bedroom waited to the
left, and he took a step in that direction.
"Chip?" she called from out of sight
to the right. "If you're finished, come to the living
room."
A public room? Interesting. Heading in
that direction, he decided he liked spending all his time naked in
her apartment. He almost laughed in remembering his mother telling
him time and again about how much trouble she had with him taking
his clothes off when he was a toddler. He guessed he hadn't changed
much.
He slowed as he passed through a
corner of the kitchen and stopped before touching the carpet of the
living room. She'd been busy. The sofa stood open, its bed made
with the finest cinnamon-colored linens issuing from its innards to
fill half the conservative space. Over the back, two coils of rope,
one russet and one brown, draped in menacing promise. An exotic,
pleasant aroma perfumed the air from two large, unlabeled candle
jars sporting dancing flames. A quiet, sweet, lilting melody from
oriental-sounding instruments seeped into the ambiance, enhancing
the mood.
As if thrust into a dream, Chip passed
onto the carpet and entered a sensory experience. The fibers under
his feet cushioned with silky softness. Running fingertips across
the turned down sheet, he discovered crisp, rich cotton of
excellent quality. He closed his eyes and actually imagined he
stood in a luxurious Japanese palace boudoir he had once seen
duplicated in a Chicago museum. This was turning out to be some
reward.
"You look good enough to eat." Her
voice pulled him out of his imagination and into his real-life
fantasy.
She came to him from the far corner,
the sight of her stealing his breath. Her hair, freshly brushed,
cascaded past her shoulders in shining, golden waves that begged
for his touch. She wore black eyeliner that gave her deep brown
eyes a slanted, oriental appearance, and her full lips seemed even
fuller under cherry red gloss he wanted to taste. Exhibited on a
black, satin shelf bra, her white breasts swelled upward, the
fabric only covering the bottom half and allowing her nipples to
peak over the edge. His balls tightened uncomfortably, and he ached
to slip his dick into her lovely cleavage.
Delicate ribs tapered to a tight, tiny
waist he
art gallery and custom framing shop, in addition to their charity
projects, had worked hard to give him and his sisters the best
upbringing. He pictured his dad, and the look on his face if he
could see his son right now. No, he wouldn't understand.
For that matter, Chip hardly
understood. He'd never met anyone like Melony—all messed up and
beautiful, vulnerable and unbending at the same time. He came from
a close, well-adjusted family. Though they hadn't been rich, they
hadn't wanted for much, either. All his friends and colleagues
seemed to come from similar or better backgrounds, so Melony
presented a mystery. A mystery he wanted to crack.
Turning, he threw back his head and
gave the pounding water access to his neck and chest. Aah. So good.
As he began to truly relax, he wondered what Melony did while he
bathed. Did she put clean sheets on her bed and light candles? Did
she put on romantic music? Or did she get naked? She hadn't come
right out and said she wouldn't. He imagined her kneeling on the
bed, massaging her gorgeous breasts and waiting for him. His
johnson sprang to life and the sack underneath tightened with
delicious pressure. Damn, the woman had him hot and
ready.
In a rush, he soaped, rinsed, and
stepped from the stall to dry in a flurry. On the counter sat a
toothbrush still in store packaging and an unopened tube of
toothpaste. He smiled. So involved in the relief of the shower, he
hadn't even noticed her come in to leave them. Not wanting her to
wait too long and possibly change her mind, he got busy getting his
mouth ready for serious kissing.
Finally, he checked his reflection,
used his fingers to put his hair into at least some semblance of a
neat arrangement, and went to the hallway. A bedroom waited to the
left, and he took a step in that direction.
"Chip?" she called from out of sight
to the right. "If you're finished, come to the living
room."
A public room? Interesting. Heading in
that direction, he decided he liked spending all his time naked in
her apartment. He almost laughed in remembering his mother telling
him time and again about how much trouble she had with him taking
his clothes off when he was a toddler. He guessed he hadn't changed
much.
He slowed as he passed through a
corner of the kitchen and stopped before touching the carpet of the
living room. She'd been busy. The sofa stood open, its bed made
with the finest cinnamon-colored linens issuing from its innards to
fill half the conservative space. Over the back, two coils of rope,
one russet and one brown, draped in menacing promise. An exotic,
pleasant aroma perfumed the air from two large, unlabeled candle
jars sporting dancing flames. A quiet, sweet, lilting melody from
oriental-sounding instruments seeped into the ambiance, enhancing
the mood.
As if thrust into a dream, Chip passed
onto the carpet and entered a sensory experience. The fibers under
his feet cushioned with silky softness. Running fingertips across
the turned down sheet, he discovered crisp, rich cotton of
excellent quality. He closed his eyes and actually imagined he
stood in a luxurious Japanese palace boudoir he had once seen
duplicated in a Chicago museum. This was turning out to be some
reward.
"You look good enough to eat." Her
voice pulled him out of his imagination and into his real-life
fantasy.
She came to him from the far corner,
the sight of her stealing his breath. Her hair, freshly brushed,
cascaded past her shoulders in shining, golden waves that begged
for his touch. She wore black eyeliner that gave her deep brown
eyes a slanted, oriental appearance, and her full lips seemed even
fuller under cherry red gloss he wanted to taste. Exhibited on a
black, satin shelf bra, her white breasts swelled upward, the
fabric only covering the bottom half and allowing her nipples to
peak over the edge. His balls tightened uncomfortably, and he ached
to slip his dick into her lovely cleavage.
Delicate ribs tapered to a tight, tiny
waist he
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