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The cool fluid released its stronghold on her parched
throat near to a caress and settled into her empty stomach. Ten seconds later,
Boyd’s hand was on her wrist and he was pulling her to his office/studio—not
the bedroom, as she expected.

Boyd was a painter and a writer. He dabbled in natural
landscapes—those he would show his wife and friends. His real passion was the
human body. A passion his clueless wife knew nothing about. The nudes he kept
under lock and key in a warehouse. He told Sara about them. She’d asked to be
shown the paintings but Boyd said no. Then he made love to her and she never
asked again.

As she moved into the studio behind the man, Boyd
turned to her again, slid her slipover from her shoulders with practiced ease,
the material pooled at her feet, and he started a long trail of fire down the
length of her neck with his hot wet tongue.

He grazed this dangerous weapon over her shoulder with
the skill of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. His mouth then carved a
delicious path down the full length of her arm. Finally, his lips set to the
palm of her left hand. A gentle kiss given to its center raised his eyes to
hers and the smile on his face told her all she needed know. Sex was coming,
but she would be left begging before it happened.

Even she knew nothing good ever came to those who
couldn’t beg.

Finished with one side of her body, the other side
more than eager for this man’s attention, Boyd’s lips found her left breast
bared and ready. Perhaps the taut nipple had drawn his attention and as an
intelligent man he was fully aware it needed its due before he continued onto
something else.

His hot searing mouth covered her breast quickly.
Boyd’s tongue circled the rosy nub until she couldn’t stand the exquisite
torture much longer, panting uneven breaths. The flicks were gentle at first,
then aggressive. He was playing with her, using only his tongue, and this play
had set her core to burn.

Sara threw her head back, enjoying this change of
pace. She liked the idea of changing things up. But her breast was quite happy
it was being taken care off so sweetly this morning, and a happy breast made
for a happy woman.

Boyd’s mouth slipped from her left breast to the
right: licking, sucking, pulling, searing. His hands settled on her hips.

Sara felt trapped by the pressure from his palms, but
it was a good trapped. An exquisite trapped. Foreplay on this man’s bed was one
thing. Foreplay while they stood inside his office became nearly erotic.
Wantonly erotic, filled with the possibility of caught in the act.

The change of pace seemed almost frantic.

He gave her right breast more than ample attention,
then drew back to look her in the eyes.

“I want to paint you today.”

This news startled her.

Boyd had never asked to paint her before. He’d never
asked to use her as a muse. In fact, he barely made their connection seem as
though friendly in the eyes of others. Painting her would turn openly personal,
neon sign their association.

“As you are…,” he added.

Happy? Or naked and wet?
Either way worked, for she was both.

More came from his lips, drawing in Sara’s next
breath. “After we make love.”

Sara’s one and only thought slammed into the side of
her skull.
What would mousy wife say about that? After
might cut their
coupling a little too close to his little wife coming home from work. Would the
husband really chance this?

“Belinda won’t be home until tomorrow evening, nine
o’clock sharp. She has a conference to attend. It’s why she gave you so much
grief this morning, and why we have all of this day—and most of tomorrow.”

Sara’s sigh was heavy. She hadn’t known she was
holding her breath until it came out in such a rush where it hurt both lungs.
They had their lives timed to the seconds. Sand. Small talk. Sex. Every second
of every minute was accounted for, until it somehow progressed into individual
homes at night and each other only during the daylight hours. Boyd was mixing
things up. He was kissing her
before
sex. He wanted to paint her
after
sex.

Sara was thrown for a loop by these changes.

“You are so beautiful, Mecenna,” he admitted openly.
His large hands put to the sides of her face trapped her gaze. “All of the
world should be able to see your rare, raw beauty, and the passion you try to
hide from others, as I do.”

Well, when put like that, how could she possibly
refuse?

He sealed the deal with another molding of his mouth.
Only this one was not on her lips. Boyd was down to his knees. He grabbed her
buttocks in his hands and pulled her moistened, throbbing thatch to his face.
His tongue dragged exquisitely slow over her swollen nub, and he made oral love
to her. No discussions, no questions asked, no permission granted, just dove
right in and gave her what she needed, when needed the most.

She wanted more, however. She was so horny she wanted
this man inside her. Her climax was too near in coming. The sensations were too
startling in intensity. The regrets of being with him like this were all too
real. And there shouldn’t have been any regrets—damn, if done correctly, should
be never.

Boyd was good at what he did, and even more talented
at how he went about doing it. That much was a given. After the first of many
shockwaves rocketed throughout her body in an internal heat beyond imagination,
he stood, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and kissed her full on the
mouth.

Sara could taste herself, a sweetness she tended to
avoid, more often than not. If she’d wanted a female’s moisture put to her
lips, it surely was not that of her own. But she’d yet to convince him of a
ménage—and it definitely would not include Belinda or another man who would
compete against Boyd’s incredible capabilities.

“I want you in the worst possible way,” he whispered
into her ear. His mouth slid over to the side of her head. A nip made at her
earlobe, his lips then set to her closed eyelids; the slightest of kisses put
to each, making her want him even more.

“I want you…,” Sara started to say; only to have a
firm finger pressed against her lips to stall the words.

“I want to fuck you, Mecenna. I want to shove my cock
into you as far as it will go. First, I want to go in from the back, then turn
you around and gain you again and again. I want to see the look in your eyes
when this happens. God! I want more than anything to watch your face when I
sink so deeply into you you’ll forget your name, screaming out mine.”

Boyd would always look into her eyes the moment they
came together, usually missionary style, after a few creative positions to get
the nerves out. So this statement confused her, until he added more to it.

“I want to video-tape us in the act. You’ll look so
incredible on film, Mecenna. The color of your eyes will pop. You’ll see what I
get to see, every time we make love. I desperately need you agree to this.
It’s…well, it’s my fantasy Mecenna, and both of us know you like to play out a
little fantasy with your sex.”

Sara snapped out of his arms as if a rubber band. She
shook her head. Fantasy or not, this new change in the sex request went beyond
her limits. “No.”

She couldn’t agree to a videotape. Her life was a lie,
and a lie should never be taped.

Boyd seemed stunned by her refusal as if she’d told
him to go straight to hell or his pecker was on fire. His eyes narrowed in on
her, shadowing the planes of his jaw and cheekbones. He stood taller, squaring
his shoulders, drawing in a breath.

If ever he got moody, he tended to make the sex short
and clinical. A pat on the behind as thank you, and Sara sent home before she
was ready to go home—unsatisfied. Those moments were more than memorable, but
rare, so she had to act quickly or she would lose him today.

She was using him, but at times, it felt as though he
was using her more. Neither would admit how they felt aloud. However, the facts
were what they were. She was having an affair with a married man and he wasn’t
complaining, not in the least.

“Um…I don’t think videotaping is such a great idea,
darling.” She smiled sweetly at his face, only to cover up her agitation.
“Can’t we have a nice day while in each other’s arms—as planned?”

Her hand set to his lower arm to hold him in place,
the tightness of his muscle warned her he was pissed.

Sara could feel the moisture start to slide down the
inside of her thighs from her inner core. What Boyd started with his tongue had
made her body so ready for him she didn’t want to lose that. A quick glance at
his shorts told her he was ready, as well. So why would he want to ruin their time
together by bringing up the idea of taping the sex? Christ! His wife might find
the tape. Worse, he could sell it…and Sara would be up shit creek with a broken
paddle. She trusted Boyd with their long afternoons, because if he said
anything about them, he could be in deadly quicksand with the
little woman
.

Nevertheless, this was different. Sara wasn’t ready
for the difference, or ready for why she even had to question any difference.

Odd behavior from a man she trusted made her nervous,
almost nauseous.

Sara Rogan—aka Mecenna Jones—wasn’t ready to let trust
slip from her grasp.

She took a deep breath and a quick step forward, and
this movement brushed her bare breasts against Boyd’s bared chest. The fine mat
of his hair tickled her flesh, making her need far worse.

This must have changed his mind about videotaping
anything because he grabbed for her like a dying man and pulled her body as
close as she could get. Boyd’s huge erection pressed firmly into the juncture
of her legs. Shorts and boxers shrouded the thickened sex, and Sara wanted it
to come out of its entrapment as soon as possible.

She lowered her hand to his hardened cock, dragged
brazen knuckles over the hard mound under what she felt as far too much
material on an exquisite male body, until she sensed the slight tremor inside
Boyd rise to near out of control.

Two seconds later, she slipped her hand under the
waistband of both shorts and boxers and firmly held onto his full length.

Boyd’s groan was loud, penetrated deep into her
eardrums. He moved his palms to her shoulders and held firm. His fingers dug
into her flesh as she dragged her nails down his shaft, over the velvety soft
tip, and underneath—to the most sensitive part on his body.

Boyd closed his eyes, flaring his nostrils. His left
hand, however, dropped to his shorts to stop her actions. He grabbed her wrist,
pulled her hand from his shorts, and with long easy strides hurriedly moved
them to his desk in the corner of the room.

A quick sweep of hand, Boyd removed the remaining
pencil jar and stapler to the floor. He then turned her so she could sit down
on the desk with his legs placed inside her parted thighs. He let go of her
wrist, shimmied out of his shorts and boxers, and literally slammed his
thickened shaft into her wetted opening as hard as he could.

Sara took the full length of him in one fell swoop.
Her mouth clamped shut to hold in her gasp. Yet the urge to bite her lip
overshadowed all else.

The violent action would have torn a less experienced
woman, had she not been ready for his massive size. Luckily, she’d been wetted
beforehand; else, this would have been painful, almost punishing. Was that it?
He was punishing her for not agreeing to any taping?

They’d never gone at it this hard, or this quick,
without a lot more foreplay and a near ton of conversation to take up most of
their day. Boyd was changing things up. He usually pleased her first. There
would always be the apprehension of both caught in the act, the tentative need
always insatiable. The anticipation when coupled with lust near unstoppable to
most having an affair.

Sara never made Boyd wait for her until ready. She was
always ready for this man. How could she not be? He was sufficient in the size
department, quite skilled in the seduction department, had all the right
muscles in all the right places. He smelled great, looked great, and was an
awesome conversationalist. An accomplished artist, to boot, there wasn’t a
single thing wrong about him.

Other than the wedding ring on his finger.

Sara did him a favor. Boyd returned the favor by
making adultery worth her time. Therefore, it surprised her he would want to
change all that.

His hands moved to her hips as each thrust came harder
and faster, more urgent, and filled with more regret. Another hard, deeper, penetrating
thrust caused Sara’s gasp to come out unchecked. A near slam into her slippery
vaginal tract had her biting down on her lower lip.

As her nails dug into his lower back and her legs
remained wrapped around his waist, the friction of her ass a little painful on
the mahogany desk, she felt the intensity build inside him. The tremble of male
power held back for as long as possible. The violent crash of desire set
against the want.

The war overcame by the simple act of sex.

Boyd spilled inside of her without apology. He pulled
the length of his cock halfway out with precise movements, then fully out of
her tract, and five seconds later, the reddened tip of his incredibly large
cock left her body to drip any remaining fluids onto the polished floor.