EIGHT IS NEVER ENOUGH

She had one of those baby faces--the kind that would probably hide her age even when she was an old woman. Old, certainly she was not now. In fact, F.S. would have to guess that she was closer to jailbait than gathering her pension. And jailbait was something he didn't need.

"Ahhh, Ms. Oaks?" He was stammering. Crap. F.S. felt the blood rushing from the top half of his body to the bottom half. So much for that Philadelphia-forged will of his.

"Yes, yes, that doesn't matter. I hope you brought my cocks. This is an extremely time-sensitive problem. I can't tell you how upset I am about the whole thing." She turned and went back into her house.

F.S., feeling like he was a jackass being led to water, followed. What else could he do? Maybe without those glorious ta-ta's bouncing in front of his face, he could think with his brain rather than the nine rather throbbing inches between his legs.

Or maybe not.

She moved in front of him at a dizzying pace and he got his first look at her ass. The cotton tee outlined it perfectly as she moved and F.S. sucked in his breath. It sure looked like she was wearing nothing but the tee. He closed his eyes for a second then opened them again, hoping he'd been fantasizing. Nope. No bra, no panties.

Good God. He'd been rocked by her breasts but her ass was truly spectacular. He had a sudden, urgent vision of taking her doggy style, bending her over and spanking those soft globes until they were rosy red before bringing them both to exquisite release.

Did he have her cocks? It took every ounce of his control not to tell her he had more than enough cock for anything she needed.

Stunned by the force of his desire, F.S. stood stupidified for a moment. He realized the vision was already moving like a tornado out of sight and still talking just as rapidly as before. One hundred miles an hour was obviously her resting speed. Again, he had a vision. This time it was of jumping on her for a quick spin just to see if she could do everything as fast as she talked. God help him if her hips could move as fast as her mouth.

Oh Christ. Don't think about her mouth.

Amber Quill Press