I like sneaking around. When my desire for you overrides any conscious thought, the chance of getting caught doesn't matter, when that need just boils over and I need to ravish you right there, make you feel that same desire that I do.

I don't care that you're having friends over, for book club, or Netflix, or anything. I care that those jeans look so damn good on you, and I need to pull you away, push my hand into those jeans even as your fingers bite into my wrist, protests turning into whimpers as my fingers crook and saw into you, knuckles scraping against your panties. You're soaked even as you try to pull me out, moaning in between asking me to stop, even as I whisper that I want you, that I want you to fucking cum, in front of all of them a couple rooms over, wanting your body so bad I can't wait until they're gone.

Out shopping, a chore at times, but I like the thought of you undressing. Of sneaking into one of those rooms to watch, or stroke over you as you strip down, or make out and grope you as you get naked, bend you against the wall and split you with that cock you got so hard by flaunting your body. Can you be quiet, can either of us as I take what I need, so desperate for you?

So many options. At that bar, you with that low cut top, even better when you're on your knees outside in the cool evening, tits squeezing my erection, looking up and smirking before I empty into your mouth. After the gym, being as handsy as I can on your curves before we go to the shower for more cardio than weight training, or against a locker with my face buried between your thick thighs.

We shouldn't, but we're going to anyway, even if we might get caught. I want you that badly I can't wait.