His Inspiration Read Online Free PDF Page A

consent.”
    I couldn't have shaken my head for the world. Mouth dry, pussy
wet, I nodded and closed my eyes.
    Malcolm kissed my earlobe, then let his tongue gently tickle the
inner folds of my ear, his breath hot and harsh inside my head. My skin
dissolved into shivers as he gave my belly a nudge with his cock, clearly
wanting to be inside me now, but under my hands I felt him trembling, holding
himself back. He wanted to fuck me badly, but he wanted to do it properly.
    A hot kiss landed on the pulse point in my throat, where my
jugular leaped with anticipation. Quickly, frantically, he placed burning
kisses down my throat, drawing moans from my mouth as he reached up and cupped
one breast in his hand before descending upon it and sucking my nipple into his
hot, wet mouth. I cried out, holding on tight to him, as though I would fall
apart at any moment and he was the only thing keeping me together.
"Malcolm," I moaned as he nipped and nibbled at me.
    He made an indistinct grunt of pure desire before dragging his
fingers over the flesh of my back, massaging the muscles there and releasing
the tension imprisoned in them. I cried out and quaked as his hands found my
ass, squeezing and massaging, molding them together and pulling them apart. My
quivering pussy lips opened and closed, and I ached deep inside, needing the
pressure of his cock.
    Then he broke away and twined his fingers with mine again,
leading me over to the pile of clay beneath the wet towels that kept it
pliable. Turning me to face him, he lifted me up onto the clay as easily as
though I were a child, and I suddenly realized what he meant to do. He meant to
fuck on the clay.
    Clay as a medium is alive. Every push, every pull of it is
recorded within the clay. A true record of the artist. And we were going to
fuck on it. Whatever we did would be recorded forever on its surface.
    The thought inflamed me and I opened my legs wide. Malcolm
reached between them and ran his long finger over my slit, probing my wet,
slick entrance. Then he reached around me and laid me back, gently letting me
splay out across the clay. The warm air of the room caressed me, the warm damp
towels beneath me were delightful, as though I were at a spa, about to be
pushed and kneaded into bliss. And I was, I realized. Malcolm bent his sandy
head to my pussy and gave me a lick and a kiss, as though saying hello to an
old friend, then slid his hands over the backs of my thighs and lifted my legs
into the air.
    "Are you ready, Sadie?" he asked. "Nod if
yes."
    I nodded vigorously. I ached and quivered, needing him. It was
almost surreal in that moment, knowing that I was going to get what I knew I
had wanted from that first moment our eyes met across a crowded room. So corny.
But true.
    I closed my eyes and bit my lip as I felt him move between my
legs. The soft, wet head of his cock slotted against my entrance, as though it
were made for me, and then, slowly, he entered me.
    It was bliss.
    I cried out as he did it, my body curling and twisting, and I
had to force myself to hold still, to relax and take the full girth and length
of him. Three times he had to pause and pull back before gently pushing forward
again, filling me up slowly, letting me become adjusted to his invasion. I
wanted him to fuck me fast and hard, but I also didn't want this moment to end.
I wanted him to enter me for the first time forever. I felt him inside me, and
nothing else was real. In, out. In further, out. In, out, slow, steady, until
at last I finally felt his pelvis run up against my soaked pussy lips and he
was buried inside me.
    For a long moment, we stayed that way, trembling with the
sensation of each other. I was full to the brim, his thick, long cock brushing
against something inside me I'd never felt before. It felt strange, but also
delicious. I didn't want to move, because I knew if I moved we would fuck, and
I knew that when we started, we would eventually stop.
    But I wanted him inside me always. I wanted