“You haven’t. Apart from that you’re horny.” I tried to laugh. It didn’t come out right, mainly because my foot was still assessing his erection.
“You drive me mad. In the best way.”
I shook my head. “It’s probably because I’m pregnant.”
“It isn’t because you’re pregnant. Not just that anyway.”
A waiter came over, pleasant smile in place. “Can I get you any dessert?”
The dessert menus had been in front of us for about fifteen minutes. “Can I have the strawberries and cream, please?” I looked at Gully, letting him know we needed a response.
“Nothing for me, thank you.” He pushed the menu away slightly, giving the waiter a friendly smile before he headed away.
“I drive you mad?” I pushed at his cock with my foot, imagining how it would feel in my hand instead.
“Insane.”
“How? What I’m doing now?”
He shook his head. “What you wear in the house, when I hear you in the shower, when I’m holding you in the morning. When I was touching your tits, I just wanted my brother to fuck off back home so I could have you there at the bottom of the garden.”
So it wasn’t just Gully who was aroused now.
“Let’s go home and do it.”
He shook his head. “Not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want you to combust as much as me first.”
Dear Gully,
I’m writing this while lying in bed, thinking of you. You’re two rooms away and I know you’re awake, probably thinking about me, probably wondering what I’m doing, whether I’m touching myself, whether I’m going to think about you when I make myself come.
I thought a lot about that night in New Orleans. I thought about how you fucked me against the wall as soon as we got into my hotel room, how desperate we were to touch each other, like it was the end of the world and those were our last few hours. The night was sultry and filled with feelings and freedom.
I remember how it felt when you first entered me. You were big and wide and you filled me better than anyone else ever had and I came too quickly which made you grin like the smug fucker you are some times.
I think about that night when I touch myself. I think about you. I thought about you a lot over the last couple of years, even when I was having sex with someone else because it was the quickest way to get off.
Did you think about me?
I’m going to push this under your bedroom door and then I’m going to close my eyes and think about you and what could happen if you come into my room after you’ve read this.
Would you touch me? Would you use your fingers or your mouth or your cock?
Would you tell me what to do and would you treat me like spun glass?
You don’t need to, because I know you’d never let me break or fracture or fall.
Or are you all talk, Gulliver Holland, and was our night in New Orleans a one hit wonder?
Yours, about to test out my fingers,
Iris
Gully
