In Striker’s arms. He’s lying on his back in the middle of the king, sunlight streaming in from the windows to the right, making his skin glow. And just as I’d imagined it last night, I’m practically scaling him like a tree. I’m flush against his hard, hot side, one leg draped across his groin, one arm stretched over his chest.And I’m wet.Hot and tight and wet.He’s supposed to be in his own bed. I mean, I’m trying to respect his boundaries, desires. But they’re really screwing with my own. I move, just a little, slide my leg down a couple of inches so I can see the rock-hard sex that’s been pressing against my inner thigh.My breasts tingle against the blue cotton of my tank as I spy the head of Striker’s impressive cock peeking out from the confines of his pajama bottoms. He’s pink and stretched, and I can’t help myself. I reach for him and brush my thumb over the smooth head. Instantly, I feel it twitch, pulse. And as I watch, a drop of semen leaks from the small slit.
