Indian Woam Sarri Sex

“…ballsy… “ I heard you mutter under your breath as the server appears with the two drinks and a raised eyebrow. The Jack on ice is for me, Jameson for you. I raised my glass. “To New Orleans, baby.” I leaned in and whispered in his ear, and felt him shiver ever so slightly. I know that he would have caught a whiff of my perfume - feminine, familiar, understated but darkly sexy. I sat back and sipped, enjoying the headiness of the sour mash and letting it flow through my body. I looked at him over my glass and he sees something else in my eyes – a longing, a lust. He drank deeply from his glass. “Baby, are you sure about this? “ he asked. “There’s no going back.” “I fucking want you.” I replied, each word more sure of that then anything else I had in a very long time. He looked over the shoulder at his line. It was late Sunday evening, almost midnight. There is nothing that the kitchen can’t handle without you at this point. “Fuck this,” he muttered, and grabbed my neck and pulled me. Vanessa was 5'6", had dark brown doe eyes and long dark hair that fell to her hips in natural, soft waves. Her weight matched with her height perfectly to create a very desirable body mass index as well as a desirable figure. She never wore much make up, but her mother always told her that her face was beautiful the way it was. Vanessa lost her father when she was very young and so she had very little memory of him and therefore could not really share the same pain that her mother felt when they lost him. For her year without school or work, she had planned on bagpacking across Europe to get some time away from Boston. She was sick of the city and she wanted to explore new cultures and climates. She was looking forward to Italy after studying many plays, poems and novels which were written there or influenced by the beautiful country. Perhaps if her father had been alive, he would have warned her of the dangers that would be present when she went travelling alone. Her mother had.
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