Girls Of The Tajmahal 6

Damn her, she knew his buttons. Every single one of them, and she knew them well. Changing out of her work clothes and into a comfortable skirt and wrap around shirt she shooed him out into the kitchen, asking without asking for a cup of coffee. Picking up the box she took it to the lounge room, noticing the work papers. Setting them down away from the coffee table she took the cup he offered, taking a sip before setting it down beside the box. Opening the lid but keeping the tissue paper covering it she watched his eyes flick between her and the box, then flick back.Making her a cup of coffee from the always warm pot, he stopped and refilled his own mug before joining her in the lounge, seeing his work papers moved he whined softly, but settled when he saw the opened box. Smiling softly he looked to her, and wiggled slightly. Asking without asking to be shown what was inside, before taking his place next to her knee. He didn’t speak, or ask about her day, that would come later,. Moira had never felt so exposed, never so vulnerable as she did forced to stand so with a god who immersed himself in the sinful and obscene. Though she had always tended toward such tendencies herself, she suddenly knew that he would take her beyond what invisible lines she had drawn. His strong hands caressed each cheek with reverent strokes, sliding over every arch and slipping between dark crevices. Moira let out a shuddering breath when she felt that oh so clever tongue working dizzying whorls down her spine. He spent careful attention skimming his luscious lips lightly over the small of her back before lowering himself to the floor. Her ass rising like high mounds above his head, he feasted upon every inch of it with his hot mouth. Once he had consumed each curve, his tongue delved into the cleft of her ass, and Moira thrilled to the sensations that swept like a hot fire over her. He circled the tightly puckered flower that was usually hidden in the darkness, now desperate for.
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