Thayne continues to enthusiastically channel his inner Whitney Houston into the spoon while holding it between us, insisting wesharethe makeshift microphone.
The spotlight.
The moment.
Still holding onto my clutch allows him to suddenly turn it into a pretend tambourine between our booty bumping to the beat, no cares or concerns or contemplation given to how silly he may look to anyone watching.
His impetuous actions are infectious and exhilarating and so intoxicating that I can’t stop myself from spontaneously grabbing him by the suspenders at the end of the song and panting, “Kiss me like I am that somebody, Jukes.”
Catching my breath is willingly abandoned the instant his mouth crazily captures mine. Both hands relinquish their hold on their respective objects in order to possessively cup my face, to let just the tips of his fingers dig into the edges of my neck, to mark me with his touch to the same unyielding tenacity that his tongue is. Moaning and groaning and pawing and clawing are accompanied by increasingly faster and faster twirls that feel impossible to stop until we’ve successfully tangled our figures into a seemingly inseparable knot of carnality.
Then –and only then –do our lips move to that of a feathering nature.
Once more, my music loving dream come true not only insists that I find my voice, but that I use it. “Tell me what’s next, Gillybean.”
“Um…my place?”
One palm unexpectedly slides the length of my curves to wolfishly help himself to a handful of my ass, an action that receives a loud whimper. “Like you fuckin’ mean it, baby.”
“My place.” The slight twitch of his swollen cock against me aids in finding my firmer vocal footing. “Now.”
Chapter 6
Thayne
First blocked by a moody teen.
Now…an alien?
What in the Talking Heads is going on today?!
Blowing a whistle on the play – on the very obvious sponsored by Boys II Men play – is getting to playoffs difficult yet done. “Uh…you’ve got…a guest?”
Rather than flop onto the edge of her queen-sized mattress, Gilly glances over her shoulder to where I’ve kicked my chin in order to see a pale, heart shaped plastered face pressed against her window. “That’s Owlfonso!”
Alright then.
Not an alien but an owl.
Better?
Same?
Whichever it is, it’sstillin the net blocking what was in the process of naked happening.
Somethin’ I haven’t done in far,fartoo long.
“He’s my owl,” she exclaims prior to turning around completely in my arms to enthusiastically wave.
He immediately extends his wings and hisses.
Not hoots.
Fuckin’. Hisses.
“You sure that’s anowl, Gillybean?” I nervously investigate, hands settling comfortably on her hips. “That doesn’t sound like a hoot to me.”
“Barn owls don’t hoot. They hiss.” She momentarily locks eyes with me again. “Shouldn’t you know that? Didn’t you grow up on a farm? Or farmland? Or a ranch?”
