I had just taken out the bullet when I felt a pair of warm hands on my shoulders and a cock pressing against my back. He nuzzled my neck and ran his hands around to cup my breasts. “I couldn’t sleep without telling you how beautiful you look tonight.” I turned towards him. Put my arms around his neck and kissed him deeply “Ha, I look beautiful every night.” I rubbed against him and arched an eyebrow. “Was there anything else on your… mind?” He laughed and kissed me back “Just that I’m a lucky man.” He reached around to cup my ass, lifting one leg to wrap around his waist. He paused as his fingers brushed the base of the anal plug. His brows lifted and he pulled back to look at me. “Again? Honey you must have had this in all day. I'm surprised you didn’t jump me as soon as I came through the door. Why do you keep torturing yourself like this?” I grinned at him, unrepentant. “Simple. I love the way it makes me feel.” "Feel this," he growled and pushed inside me in one long smooth. She had grown to understand and to accept the realities of their relationship: his work took precedence over all else. Her needs, unfortunately, had forced her to take full advantage of his mental absence. Alexander knew very well the subtle signals she had given him. If he would not pleasure her then surely she had the right to quell her thirst at another well. It was for this reason alone that he sat hour after painstaking hour writing what would very well be the culmination of an illustrious career with the quill. His brow furrowed ever more intensely as he wrote at a more urgent and desperate pace. He seemed to race the dawn, racing to an end no less dramatic than the magnificence of the rising sun. Alexander never once questioned his purpose, he lived to write not for others but for himself. He had lost a great many friends in his lust. Constant contemplation and deep thought possessed him through his life and guided him and never would he have doubted what he did was right..
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