The hands of Gezza held Linda Maci by the hips and her skin was aching as it went under the palms of his hands, the kitchen island creaking as she opened up even more with her thighs.
Her auburn hair fell on her flushed cheeks, her green eyes shining with Playbook-inspired lust half-closed and starving.
Her sweater was bulging over her full breasts, lacy bra forgotten, and her nipples set hard in the cool air.
"What your... Name" She panted, her jeans disarranged at her ankles, her lacy black panties forced aside, his slickness against his erection, free of his unzipped jeans.
His shoes scuffed the floors, his hoodie lay on the floor, and the Playbook was burning his backpack.
"Your love." he whispered to her ear. "But call me Gezza. "
Mike's mom, all mine. Fuck you, meathead. The beating in the alley hurt him, but his sleaze smothered the pain and his heart beat.
He tickled her entrance, his tip rubbing her.
her gasp could have been a scream, hips jerking. "Gezza.."
She's begging for it. Slowly he thrust and her walls tightened round and round him, wet and hot.
Throaty moaning, Linda hung on, and her fingers wrapped the marble edge of the island, nails scraped, her body jerking.
"ahhhH.... Her cry was tremulous, loving and blind to passion, lips opened, drool shining.
He grinned with his lips silencing her's, tongue snarling, feeling mint and cookies, her gasping.
His strokes became deeper, more regular, the greasy rhythm of the thrust mingled with ambience, flour intermingled with her lavender smell.
Her thighs trembled, and wrapping round his waist, and setting in his back, she urged him on.
His hands were slipping under her sweater, hugging her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples, her moaning was more acute, heard her voice bouncing off the tiles.
Mike'd choke seeing this. She bit his lips, a little bite, nails scraping his shoulders beneath his hoodie, and she has left red tracks.
His heart throbbed with a stabbing chill. Not now. He shoved through, faster with his hips, and her walls ached.
"Ah... Gezza we shouldn't... Ah... Shouldn't do it here", Linda panted, looking up at the staircase.
Her hips bucked to the contrary of what she was saying. Gezza grinned and carried her off the island.
He embraced her, with his arm below her waist, the breasts of her softness pressed against his chest. "Bedroom", he snarled, kicking his backpack in the direction, the warmth of the Playbook scalding his feet.
They bumbled across the hall, her bare feet beating the hardwood, his sneakers squeaking, her hand on his arms.
The atmosphere of her bed was warm and heavy with lavender and linen, the bed being soft and white sheets shimmering under low-watt lamp.
He forced her down and the mattress sank, her auburn hair sweeping the pillow, green eyes fixed on him, bashful, yet voracious.
He dropped his jeans fully, his erection free, the great length hovering over Linda.
She dropped her sweater which slid down her head, breasts jutting, panties free, fully naked.
Goddamn, perfection. he scrambled over her, tongue upon her neck, and hands upon her curves, and her hips lifting.
He touched her with enthusiasm, fingers sliding, parting her thighs, and her warmth glistened. His lips went down, kissing her collarbone, her breasts, her tongue going round a nipple, her gasp being loud, her hands clinging to his greasy hair. She's losing it. He sucked more, her body curved, a scream fluttered out and her nails in his scalp. He changed sides, his penis was entrusted between her breasts, her body being warm and soft. Fuck, yes. He applied her breasts, their fullness pressing him, her eyes opened and a moan, one of shyness, peaked out. He was rocking and his thighs were being bitten by her nails and her lavender smell was so strong that she was insistent about her desire.
He drew away, mouth on her stomach, tongue on her lower, tongue stroking her inner thigh, her smell drunkening. She fidgeted, her muscles trembled and her hands pulled his hair. He forced his way in, further, into her, her walls clinging to him, and her moan was brutal, and the bed-frames creaked. She's mine, Mike's done. He hoisted her legs upon his shoulder, and pushed her, her hips jerking, her nails ripping his back. Her, breasts were bouncing, her auburn hair matted, the drool on her lips. He turned her over on her side and got in behind her and his hand was over her breast and his thumb was over her nipple which made her moan more and more.
Oh, yes... yes, hoarsely, she said, her body shaking against his, the sheets tearing. He changed position and, with her on her hands and knees, her hips raised, his hands seizing her at the waist and he pushed deep every time, each thrust eliciting an even more agonized moan. Her walls throbbed, smoothness on them all, her head falling down the pillow, her auburn hair falling clung to her wet neck.
His fingers went to her clit rubbing, her body jerking, a high-pitched moan spilled out. The light of the lamp was dimmed out, the lavender and sweat heavy, the bed squeaking more.
He rolled her over and her thighs apart, and again, her heat embraced him. He was clawed by her nails, her eyes rolling back, in lust her green irises lost.
His strokes became more pacing and insistent, her cries were a desperate chant, her breasts swinging.
A shock struck his chest, and it was colder, more severe, and he cringed. Fuck, not again. He had disregarded it, his hips banging, her walls aching, his climax bouldering, a white-hot swell.
She screamed, and her body shook, and her nails tore his skin, and her warmth was pressing as she climaxed, and wetness.
He poured into her, and gasped, and his body shook and he kneeled and sank on his knees.
The bed was creaking, the sheets wet, the body of Linda cuddled against his, her breath hot on his neck, her auburn hair matted, her green eyes fluttering, drool curing on her lips.
The smell of her lavender was stuck to his clothes, and her breasts were lying against his side. I own her. Mike's fucking mom.
His chest ached, his ribs ached, the warmness of the Playbook dying in his bag, a shiver running down his spine.
His hand was on her hip, her skin wet, and his sleaze was raging with victory.
It was not the voice of Linda, but rumbled with guttural low tones. "You use me for your own gain." The eyes of Gezza opened with a jump of the heart.
The bedroom disappeared, and there was a dark purple emptiness, like smoke, cool and infinite.
He was hanging in nothingness, the heat of the Playbook died.
The smell of Linda disappeared and was replaced by a metallic scent. What the fuck? His breath was caught, his eyes flying, the nothingness throbbing, the speech invisible.