Perfect Stranger

The long, hard cock thrust into her. She sucked in a deep breath. Oh, Drake, that feels so good. It thrust again. Harder. Oh, dear God, Drake, shove it in deeper .

The climax began, then twitched and slipped away. She groaned, then shifted, reaching out for him. Something jarred her arm. Her eyelids flicked open and she realized she was on the lounge chair by Marie’s pool. Her elbow had banged against the armrest. A rustling of cloth grabbed her attention and she gazed to the left. Craig—Drake?—lay on a chair opposite her, watching her, his hand on his long, naked cock, stroking it .

Embarrassment flushed through her. She pretended to keep her eyes closed and she turned her head the other way .

“Marie?” she murmured, intending to alert him to the fact she was awake without embarrassing them both .

“Marie isn’t here .”

“Drake?” Slowly, she lifted her head. When she turned toward him, a towel rested over his lap, covering his incredible hard-on .

“Lori, you were calling out in your slee