Fangs in Frosting by Cynthia Sax Page A

biker gang accountant outfit again -- pairing a black leather suit with a gray shirt. The lack of color has to be contributing to his dour mood, so, as a public service to women everywhere, I push his jacket off his broad shoulders.
    Proving that all good turns are rewarded, Viktor kisses me thoroughly, stroking into my mouth, his tongue sliding along mine. We neck like two college kids, sucking on each other’s faces, lips pressed against lips. He holds me still as he ravages my mouth, my face sandwiched between his two big hands like he thinks I want to get away from him. I don’t. I link my fingers behind his neck, and I pull him closer, spreading my legs in welcome, my staid grass green skirt hiking up to my waist.
    Viktor wedges his hips between my bare thighs, his leather pants sliding along my skin. Clementine cupcakes, this feels good, and then the experience gets even better because he commences to grind the ridge in his leather pants against my soaking wet bright yellow panties.
    Yep, my panties match my blouse. If I was a tall, blonde, size zero, I might be able to get by with clashing underwear. A girl my size, however, doesn’t casually shag and bag a mantastic lover like Viktor. We have to work for our perks.
    Viktor is not lazing around either. As he rubs my pussy into a frenzy, he is loving up my neck, licking and dragging his surprisingly sharp teeth along my jugular. I tilt my head to the side, giving him complete access to me.
    He skillfully unbuttons my blouse with one hand, as though he has unbuttoned a zillion blouses before, and he probably has, but I don’t care because he’s sucking on the sweet spot where my neck meets my shoulder. My pussy pulses in time with the tug and pull of his mouth, and I clutch his arms, bucking into his grinding cock.
    “My passionate Charlotte,” he murmurs. “You’re so vibrant, so very alive.” As if to prove his point, he slips one soft hand between bra and skin to cup my right breast, and I abruptly arch, my spine bowing back.
    “Oh, yes, baby cakes.” I push my flesh into his hand. “Work that tittie.” He caresses and squeezes, while I moan, twisting under his touch. I need him. I need his cock.
    “I’m going to work you too.” I reach down to unzip him. This is challenging as his hard cock presses against the metal teeth of his zipper, stretching his leather pants. “Move on over, big guy.” I gently nudge his huge slab of manmeat to the side, and I manage to free the monster, peeling his pants away from his body, pushing the tight garment off his hips.
    “Gotcha.” I catch him, trying to act cool like it is every day I hold a massive cock in my hands. This nonchalance is all for show, as I’m shaking with unabashed horniness. Our last fast and furious fuckathon had left no time for groping, and having that cock rammed into my pussy and seeing it laid across my palm in all its naked splendor are two entirely different things.
    “Great Ganache. You’re enormous,” slips from my lips, and the corners of Viktor’s mouth curl upward around the nipple he’s feasting on.
    I’m amazed I had taken it all, numerous times, in all different positions, though I shouldn’t because I’m a shameless pain whore, and I remember being in a dazed man candy stupor at the time. There’s only so much gorgeous a woman can stand before her brain shuts down.
    I stroke and pet him, running my fingers up and down his shaft, and Viktor mumbles something in Latin or German or hell, I don’t know. Languages aren’t my strong suit. I translate his words into “stroke me harder” so I do.
    He retaliates by sucking my now naked breast into his hot, wet mouth, laving my nipple with his tongue, and I squirm with the exquisiteness of his touch. “Oh, that feels so good, sweet cheeks.”
    Determined to drive him as bonkers as he’s driving me, I glaze his purple cockhead with the precum I’ve drawn from his body, making his skin shiny and delicious. “Frosted to