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I hear her moan in pleasure and can sense her tensing and gripping the sheets beneath her at her sides as my tongue finds the swollen bud of her clit. I know what she wants, but withhold it for just a moment longer, encircling her most sensitive spot with my tongue and then teasing the whole line of her wet slit with long, slow strokes. As her breathing rate increases yet more, I reach a hand up beneath my chin to rub some of the combination of our juices, her wetness and my saliva, onto the tight pucker of her arsehole. I hear her moan her assent, breathlessly telling me how I'm her naughty boy, as I start to probe just the very tip of my spit-slick index finger into her well-moistened anus. Her hips rise and fall in time with my gently thrusting digit and I start to move my tongue more rapidly on her clit. I can hear her getting louder and can feel her grasping at the sheets even more tightly with one hand as her other goes to the back of my head, so I push the whole length of my. Never had that happened before. Holding her tight against him he asked, "Has it really been five years since we've seen each other?"Jake buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent deeply. She smelled like raspberries. He ran his hands over her back and down to the curves of her hips. He couldn't help but notice how perfect her hips fit in his hands. Finally, he pulled back enough to look at her. He brushed a loose curl behind her ear, "You look great, Ren."Lorena's eyes filled with tears. His chest felt as if it would cave when she told him shakily, "I've missed you too much, Jake."Her arms wrapped around his neck and squeezed him so tight he thought she'd choke him to death. He lifted her into a bear hug. Inadvertently his hands cupped her ass and her gasp froze him momentarily. He groaned as his hands met bare flesh. He felt her tremble as he fully cupped her ass and guided her legs around his waist. As he turned to nudge the door close, he leaned her into the back of the.
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If he had calculated right, he should begin to feel something at forty-five seconds. A quick glance at the counter confirmed it. Forty seconds on the dot, and he already had a growing headache. With nitrogen racing to the engines, the machine was forced to a breakneck pace in seconds, turning faster and faster, humming deafeningly as it spun. The g-forces increased with each revolution, as did the pain in his head. Richard had constructed his seat on a series of bearings that allowed it to move proportionately to the machine. Acting as a sort of free-moving gear ratio, it compensated for the Dream Cleaner’s fantastic spin, keeping him in one piece. Without it, he would have been torn to shreds in seconds. He only hoped now that his handiwork held. Grasping the throw handles on the dash in both hands, he watched the counter. Sixty-four, sixty-five, sixty-six–timing was critical, it meant the difference between freedom and death. At seventy-one seconds exactly, he jerked the handles.

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