She tastes bitter. Like coffee.
Tony stays at her mouth for a long time, his fingers wound in her short, short
hair. It's stiff, almost bristly with mousse, slick and ticklish over his hands.
He's got her breathing hard when he finally pulls away, her lips swollen, face
flushed pink, eyes dark with want. She's a beautiful woman, alabaster pale, breasts
pert despite her age, nipples large and begging to be sucked, perfectly-trimmed thatch
of red hair beckoning below.
Tony closes his eyes.
She says, This is a bad idea.
I thought you liked taking risks, he says.
He moves down, trailing kisses and bites, grinning into her skin as she pants out
his name. One finger, two, and a tongue; slow and then fast, a maestro on an exquisite
instrument. She curls up into him, thighs locked around him tight, and he's pretty
sure this time the name isn't his own.
She says, If for one instant you try to undermine me--
You're the boss, he says.
She's wet and tight when Tony pushes in, moving in synch with each perfect thrust.
She's carried away, eyes open wide as she stares beyond him, going over the edge before
Tony can get close. He leans down, takes her mouth.
She tastes bitter.
Like coffee.