Over The Limit But Eager To Ride

One of those nights on a mission to drink enough whisky that my heels adorn his neckline.
Little red dress optional, he loves the way it bunches at my waist line, so gently, so easily exposing bare pink and swollen flesh to be his for the tastin'.
Fashionably leaving little to his imagination, loving the hunger that waters his mouth, the unsteady strum of his staggering fingers wanting the slow admiration of the curves, the lines, As his kisses steal my purrs, but wanting to greedily bite in to my longings dripping wet in anticipation of him.
I came ready to fuck him, fuck me pumps, unholy legs leading the sway of my hips against him.
He came ready and willing, combustible, wrapped tightly between my legs pressing deeply in my wombs.
And that red dress hits the floor my screams echo his name begging him for more.
He kisses the lingering spiced whiskey entangles his tongue with erected nipples and I am...my body...is his and my moans were never so real as when his pace grew....
Full of whiskey and the pulsating throb of him burrowing deeper and the fit growing ever tighter, I'm over the limit but always ready to drive.
Let my lips do the talking, my tongue is to staggered to make sense but my lips never fail to alter you drunk as I ride dangerously, vigorously, moaning his name into his ears.
A high he clings too as he thrusts his eager, throbbing, pulsating wanting into me.