With my other arm, I reached around her and grabbed a breadstick for myself and then stepped back to lean against the kitchen island. I folded my arm... and placed the breadstick near my mouth, then aimed it towards her.“Yes, mad. It was close to your lips and I just took it away,” I said with a wink. “Would you like something to drink?” “Water, please,” she whispered. I tried to control a part of me I did not wish her to meet yet, but, that changed when she returned and walked directly. No luck; it was smooth oak rather than ladder-barred or metal. I've always heartily disliked cast iron bedsteads but at that moment (and a few others, here and there over the years) I understood at least some of their advantages. I finally managed to get my hands down behind the mattress and grabbed hold of it for all I was worth as the thrusting continued to intensify.Breathing deep from both of us by now, her moans rising to the status of yells, my own usually taciturn nature forced almost. More

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