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She wriggles against me, but I ignore her motion and bury my nose in her hair. “You smell so good, Anastasia,” I whisper. She settles and I grab the body wash from the shelf beside us. Squeezing some into my hand, I work the soap into a lather and start massaging her neck and shoulders. She moans as her head lolls to one side under my tender ministration. “You like that?” I ask. “Hmm,” she hums in contentment. I wash her arms and her underarms, then reach my first goal: her breasts. Lord, the feel of her. She has perfect breasts. I knead and tease them. She groans and flexes her hips and her breathing accelerates. She’s aroused. My body responds in kind, growing beneath her. My hands skim over her torso and her belly toward my second goal. Before I reach her pubic hair I stop and grab a washcloth. Squirting some soap onto the cloth, I begin the slow process of washing between her legs. Gentle, slow but sure, rubbing, washing, cleaning, stimulating. She starts to pant and her hips move in synchronization with my hand. Her head resting against my shoulder, her eyes closed, her mouth open in a silent moan as she surrenders to my relentless fingers. “Feel it, baby.” I run my teeth along her earlobe. “Feel it for me.” “Oh, please,” she whines, and she tries to straighten her legs, but I have them pinioned under mine. Enough. Now that she’s all worked up into a lather I’m ready to proceed. “I think you’re clean enough now,” I announce, and take my hands off of her. “Why are you stopping?” she protests, her eyes fluttering open, revealing frustration and disappointment. “Because I have other plans for you, Anastasia.” She’s panting and, if I’m not mistaken, pouting. Good. “Turn around. I need washing, too.” She does, her face rosy, her eyes bright, pupils large. Lifting my hips, I grab my cock. “I want you to become well acquainted, on first-name terms, if you will, with my favorite and most cherished part of my body. I’m very attached to this.” Her mouth drops open as she looks from my penis to my face…and back again. I can’t help my wicked grin. Her face is a picture of maidenly outrage. But as she stares, her expression changes. First thoughtful, then assessing, and when her eyes meet mine, the challenge in them is clear. Oh, bring it on, Miss Steele. Her smile is one of delight as she reaches for the body wash. Taking her sweet time, she drizzles some of the soap into her palm and, without taking her eyes off mine, rubs her hands together. Her lips part and she bites her bottom lip, running her tongue across the little indentations left by her

E l james grey  

Fifty Shades of Grey

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