My Valentine by Jaimie Roberts EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Author: Jaimie Roberts
- Language: English
- Genre: Erotic Mysteries
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
IN BETWEEN MY LEGS IS A BUXOM BRUNETTE—ONE WHO LOOKS LIKE
her. I always choose women who look like her. She’s making all the right
noises. Her soft moans vibrate against my soft cock as her hair cascades
over her bare shoulders, tickling my legs. She caresses my balls with her
small hand while she moves her tongue up and down my shaft like it’s a
fucking lollipop. She soon pops it into her mouth, and, in an effort to focus
on what she’s doing, I close my eyes and concentrate. I attempt to hone in
on how these things are making me feel—and on the sensations alone. But
then, flashes of her enter my head yet again. Flashes of what I did and how
she died. I squeeze my eyes shut even more tightly, and in one last, focused
effort to force her from my mind, I try to push this woman’s head down onto
my dick. I figure if I can’t get hard on my own, then perhaps I can get her to
help make me hard.
I don’t know her name, and I don’t care to know it. All I care about is
getting off, which is something I haven’t been able to do since—
“Ah, fuck! Be gentle!” I complain, virtually pulling the hair out of her
scalp in a burst of anger and sheer frustration.
“Sorry,” she whispers in a near whimper, and I know that her
submissive voice should be doing the trick and getting me hard, but, for
some unknown reason, it just isn’t.
Nothing gets me fucking hard anymore!
She starts licking her soft tongue against my shaft, moaning sweet
sounds against it. I know I should feel something, but absolutely nothing
comes—not even a flicker.
“Stop!” I shout, finally pulling her off my dick.
“How long has this been … troubling you?”
I glance up from my hands to look at my therapist. Her question snaps
me out of last night’s memory, returning me to the present. Ever since the
first day I saw her, I’ve been having wet dreams about her. In fact, the only
reason why I’m here right now is because she reminds me of her. My
therapist, Dr Mercy, has short blonde hair, whereas she had long, deep
chestnut—almost crimson—hair. Dr Mercy has dull brown eyes and wears
glasses, whereas she had the most intense green eyes I had ever seen. One
look and anyone would have been transfixed. I often called her my siren
because I knew one call from her would make me come running. Like my
late, fucked up father, I was obsessed with her. Dr Mercy may be her
opposite in every way, but for some reason, she still reminds me of her. I
think it’s in the way she conducts herself. It’s only slight things. Like the
way she pushes her hair away from her face or crosses one leg over the
other when she talks. Yes, those are the things that remind me of her, and
that’s the same reason I have been coming here for sessions ever since I
bumped into Dr Mercy four weeks ago.
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