Scott opened the door to the small apartment he and Amy shared in Boston’s North End. “Hey, baby how was your field hockey game?” he asked and looked around. He was answered by a hand firmly clasping his right ass cheek. “It was good, but not as good as this is going to be” she said in her musical voice.
He smelled her before he saw her: the floral scent she wore daily and underneath the earthy yet refreshing musk of her sweat. She stepped around to face him. Her chestnut brown hair, bleached blonde at the ends, fell to her shoulders, framing her gorgeous face. Her big brown eyes sparkled at him underneath her bangs and her sensuous pink lips curved in a smile.
She pressed the flat of her hand against the crotch of his khakis. His half-hard cock ached with longing. “Someone’s glad to see me.” She grasped it between her thumb and two fingers and squeezed the shaft slowly yet firmly right beneath the head. It grew harder and more swollen.