relatively motionless

“You’re so fucking hot,” I said, changing lanes and slowly creeping closer to the cab. Ellen bit her lip and smiled painfully. The scent of her musk filled the car. She turned toward the window and lifted her t-shirt, exposing her dark-tipped cream melons. I matched the truck’s speed so we were relatively motionless for thirty seconds. The sudden blast of an air horn roared over the plains. I punched the gas and we tore away.

Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances

About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
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