I’ll remember this kiss for a veeeery long time

Yeah, maybe it's better to stay away from New York's outskirts for a while.

I should focus on getting blood the way I'm best at.

That's why I'm here—at that famous lounge bar in downtown Manhattan.

The one that's always full of rich wives of top businessmen.

They're without a doubt the easiest prey. And the richer they are, the easier it is to fuck them.

Everyone knows it—time is money. And to make lots of money, you need to invest lots of time.

Time that those businessmen steal from their beautiful, horny wives… who are just waiting for a young stud to give them what they're missing.

And I'm the one they've been waiting for.

After living under the same roof for eight years with a woman both rich and refined, seducing these wealthy wives is child's play for me.

All it takes is showing a bit of charm and intellect to break the ice.

Looks just help seal the deal and get them to invite you upstairs.

But it's the savoir-faire that gets you from the bar to their loft.

And that's exactly how tonight is going.

I'm sitting at a table with the elegant Mrs. Lunsford, wife of a successful Wall Street broker who, like most nights, is stuck working late.

I'd bet my soul he's screwing some young secretary right now, but I'd better keep those suspicions to myself—I wouldn't want to ruin Mrs. Lunsford's mood.

She's an elegant, refined woman, both in looks and in speech.

Long blonde curls.

Barely any makeup—or maybe just so well done it looks natural.

She's fifty-two—ten years older than Isabelle—and if I'm not mistaken, she's the oldest woman I've ever dealt with.

And no, she's not some wrinkled mummy, but a woman who looks barely forty.

She wears it damn well.

Even her boobs are amazing—even if they're probably fake.

I'd bury my face between those big tits without hesitation—and judging by how the night's going, I won't have to wait long.

«It's really unusual to meet young men who are so refined and well-mannered. Your parents must've raised you wonderfully. You know, you remind me of my husband when he was your age. He was such a gentleman—that's what made me fall for him.»

Oh yes… the classic magic line: You remind me of my husband when he was young.

I've heard it so many times, I'm starting to think I have hundreds of look-alikes all over New York.

And when a woman who misses her husband says that… well, the game's over.

«It's so dark out… Would you mind walking me home? I don't live far—just four blocks from here—but these days, you read such horrible things in the news. I'd feel safer with a young man escorting me.»

Another classic—I heard it a thousand times.

New York women are especially paranoid, apparently.

They don't just want me to walk them to their fancy high-rise—no, they want me inside the apartment too.

I swear, it's one of the nicest places I've ever seen—probably tied with the one I live in.

And the shower... insanely spacious.

Big enough for two, even with her bent over, hands pressed against the bathroom tiles, water pouring down our naked bodies.

I was right about her boobs—they're fake. The moment I grabbed them, I knew.

Too firm and heavy to be natural, especially for someone so petite and narrow-hipped.

I almost worry I'll hurt her, thrusting in too hard.

She's clearly doing her best to muffle her moans—probably worried some nosy neighbor might hear.

I can already picture the husband being stopped by some neighbor the next day:

«Man, you really went wild last night! I could hear your wife screaming like you were right in my bed!»

Hilarious.

From the way she's moaning—muffled as they are—I'm pretty sure she came a couple times before I did.

Of course, I didn't cum inside her—that's a privilege reserved only for Isabelle, the only woman I truly love.

When my cum splattered across the shower tiles, I figured that was it—she came, I came, time to go home.

But just as I was about to step out and get dressed… something happened.

A kiss.

A long, deep kiss.

With water pouring down from our hair.

But not just any kiss.

Something insane. Indescribable.

Slow. Painfully slow. From the outside, it probably looked like a scene in slow motion.

And yet it was so damn arousing. So sweet.

Sorry, Isabelle… but without a doubt, this was the best kiss of my life so far.

Just that one slow, immersive kiss was enough to get me hard again—harder than before.

My hands grip her small ass.

They slide down to the tops of her thighs.

I lift her—her legs wrap around my waist, and I start fucking her again with new energy and passion.

And I don't stop kissing her—not even for a second.

But feeling my thick, hard cock inside her pussy—clearly not used to this kind of stimulation—makes her lose control completely.

Her tongue starts moving again, spinning wildly like in any other kiss.

Shame… the sex itself isn't anything special, I'm doing all the work, but that kiss—that one, slow, unique kiss—was her signature move.

The thing that'll make me remember her.

Too bad it ended so soon—after just a few thrusts.

Still, that swirling motion of her tongue gives me the perfect chance to wrap up the night the right way.

A tiny bite to the tip of her tongue—just enough to draw a few drops of blood.

The pleasure she's trying so hard to hold back helps cover the slight pain.

The sweet, warm taste of her blood fills my mouth… it's intoxicating.

Without a doubt, one of the finest I've ever tasted.

Another point in her favor.

One thing's for sure—this won't be the last time I see Mrs. Lunsford.

Someday, I'll even learn the secret behind that damn kiss, so I can teach it to Isabelle.

See? I'm not that selfish or heartless.

Even when I'm fucking other women, my thoughts still go to her.

That's love too, right?