“Let me fuck you. Right here, right now,” you whispered, your breath hot against my ear. “Why should I?” I asked, reaching between us to strok... your cock through your pants. “Do you feel how hard you’re making my dick, Kylie?” you countered, still whispering in my ear. “That’s why.” I looked over my shoulder and up at you, smiling softly. You pushed me closer to the bookcase, not stopping until my body was closed in between it and yours. “Kylie…” you murmured, nibbling on my earlobe. “Fuck,” I. We argued about it a bit; she hated hunting generically, while I was of two minds about it. Hunting for the dinner table, well and good, as I saw it; it culled the herds to prevent overpopulation, it was a lot less cruel than the vagaries of natural selection and winnowing by casual starvation and disease, and the meat went to good use. She reluctantly conceded that point. On the other hand, we shared a distaste for trophy hunting.Catching a lull between new registrations—by then six vehicles. More

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