The Hooker and the Hermit

The fact that I didn’t have a condom had been at the back of my mind the whole time, but I’d been trying to ignore it. Still, it was troubling. I trusted Annie implicitly and wanted her to trust me back.

“You want me inside you now, love?” I purred as I pulled myself free of my pants.

Her eyes ate me up as she nodded and licked her lips. I allowed my gaze to trail over her body before I leaned forward and ran the tip of my cock over her folds. She whimpered, and I bit the inside of my mouth because fuck, it felt too good.

“Please, Ronan,” she begged, opening her legs wider, voice breathless.

“I don’t have protection,” I admitted.

A flicker of hesitation passed over her face before she rose forward slightly to kiss me. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

And damn, was that exactly what I needed to hear. No sooner had the words passed her lips than I was sinking myself inside her. I did it slowly, savoring every inch, until I was buried deep. She moaned and sighed my name. I loved the sound of it, remembered back to the time when she’d only call me Mr. Fitzpatrick. Now all the formalities between us were gone. She was mine, and I belonged to her. I didn’t think a time would ever come when I didn’t want her this badly.

I began to move my hips in a slow rhythm, fixating on the belt secured snugly around her belly. It was such a sexy look. And wow, the feel of her around me was incredible. I’d never felt anything like it. Had never made love to a woman I felt such a fierce, soul-deep attraction to.

I rested my forehead against hers as I started to increase the speed of my thrusts. “You cannot imagine how unbelievable you feel, Annie. I don’t ever want to leave.”

“I don’t want you to, either,” she breathed. “I feel so surrounded.”

I rose then, unable to contain my need to fuck her senseless any longer. My hips jutted in and out almost violently, and she took it all, soaked me in and let me back out again, gave me something that I didn’t ever want to forget. She absorbed me. She was everything in that moment. All I could see.

“You drive me crazy,” I said and then let out a string of select swear words.

I could feel myself getting closer, closer to the divine heaven of coming inside her perfect, beautiful, celestial fucking body. I stared at her face, her eyes big and taking everything in. She was still all tied up; and I saw how not touching me was painful for her, yet she was getting off on it. I thrived on that pain. I was still thrusting in and out, her thighs holding me in place, when I ran my hands from her neck down to her breasts and all the way along her torso.

She arched, straining for my touch, “Ronan, oh—oh God….”

Annie came apart, swift and fierce, saying “please” over and over, begging me. She shook from the force of her orgasm but was unable to reach for me.

I had all the power, and she had nothing. I could do anything to her, and she was simply there to enjoy the ride. A willing, submitting participant in this game for two. This was the dynamic I’d craved my whole life, but I had never found a partner as perfect as my dear, sweet, gorgeous little hermit.

In the next second I came with a deep, strangled groan as I melded my mouth to hers and thrust my tongue inside. I’d never climaxed so hard on my life. I felt empty, drained in the most wonderful sense of the word. I drew away and cupped her face in my hands, planting tiny, worshipful kisses on her cheeks, her mouth, her forehead, her eyelids, and murmuring desperate declarations. “You’re perfect. The feel of you. Can’t get enough. I’m addicted. I love you.”

I was still kissing her, working my way down her neck and nibbling on her earlobe, when I realized I’d said that last part out loud.

Chapter Nineteen

New York’s Finest

Blogging as *The Socialmedialite*

April 11

It’s time for everyone’s favorite blog post! That’s right—it’s time for DILFs!

Sometimes “DILF” stands for “Dudes I’d Like to Flip Off.”

Sometimes “DILF” stands for “Dogs I’d Like to Fix” (I think everyone remembers the prodigious leg-humping incident of 2014).

And sometimes, “DILF” stands for “Donalds I’d Like to Fire” (spoiler alert, it’s always Donald Trump).

But I think everyone’s favorite kind of DILF post is when it stands for “Dads I’d Like to Fuck”?

It may be crass. It may lower me in your eyes. You may object to the fact that I’m looking at these dads with lustful intentions and licentious lewdness. But—come on—if our society has MILFs, then we need to have some DILFs for the ladies.

Amiright, ladies?

So, feast your eyes on the pictures below, my sisters in avariciousness. Today I’ve included a record-setting 36 desirable, drool-worthy dads.

You’re welcome.