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My skin tingled at the memories. They say Rodin used to caress his subjects before beginning a sculpture and I kept having images of Steve as some erotic artist, me standing before him. The man knew how to touch. I could barely keep from touching myself when I reminisced.And that kiss. Wow. Too many men didn't know how to kiss. At least too many of the men I'd dated. But Steve ... Steve knew how to kiss.Yet he'd pulled back at the end of the two minutes. If he'd kept going, I would have let him pull me onto the bed, if I didn't pull him there first. But he'd stopped. I was sure he wanted me, but he'd stopped at a kiss!I realized I really didn't understand Steve. In fact, I barely knew the details of his life. Yet, he wasn't like the other guys I'd dated. Not in the way he stood or held his body. Not in the way he noticed everything. Not in the way he mixed impishness with a serious core. I suspected he could do things to me that no other guy could. That excited me. That scared me.. It's almost deserted.As I lay here on the hotel bed, wearing only a pair of solid white thigh highs with lace trim, the lights turned down low, but not completely off, my mind begins to turn imagining the things to come.First to tiptoe across my naughty brain is, "Exactly how will this all begin?".Wondering if you'll come through the door with your cock already hard and just slam into my quivering pussy and fuck me forceful and fast. Or will you come in, take your time to explore the pleasures of my body.Mmmm....my hand slides up my stomach and squeezes my breast, pinching my nipples hard. It doesn't matter how you use my body as long as it pleases you.I love to listen to my man while he's inside me. The heavy breathing, the growls of delight, the grunts and groans of pleasure, the filthy things you call me, the naughty things you tell me you're going to do or that you want me to do. These are all like orgasms to my ears and my mind. The thought of me being able to draw this out of.
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