There was no way to predict the hidden delights of online shopping, but when the hot, hunky delivery boy turned up at her door...
There was no way to predict the hidden delights of online shopping, but when the hot hunk of a delivery boy turned up, there was no denying them either. The second time she ordered, she was ready for the knock at the door, her entire eager body tingling with raw, animal anticipation. She was about to bring a whole new meaning to the store's slogan, "Fresh to your door"...
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July 01, 2010
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Excerpt from Fresh to Your Door by Tammy Valentine
Wriggling her buttocks to adjust her position, she relished the tangible frisson as the satin of her bathrobe skimmed the nipples beneath, and she looked down at it. The luxurious, creamy material swept away down her slender body, all rumples and folds concealing swaths of soft pink skin and tufts of short brown hair. The nipples, perking up at the attentions of the robe, emerged from the plains of satin like two little islands in a becalmed ocean.
Resisting the urge to involve her fingers just yet, she shifted herself again on the sofa to feel the texture against her limbs, enjoying the sensation of an external stimulus at work on her body. It was gentle; it was sensual; it was delicious. With a little careful maneuvering, she managed to make the robe brush against her inner thigh, drag across her willing belly, and tease her breasts with its silky smoothness. A lazy stretch of an arm pulled it taut over her torso, testing the integrity of the half knot in the belt and exposing the curve of a subtle cleavage. She lifted one naked foot onto the sofa and eased it away from her, taking in the friction of the cushion under her sole, firmer and coarser than the gown but all the more enjoyable for it.
Focusing her attention on each part of her body in turn caused a paradoxical heightening of sensation throughout her being, and she let out a small gasp. She clenched her outstretched hand against the sofa back where it lay and gripped tightly, feeling the plaited cord on the cushion pushing against her palm. She closed her eyes and laid her head back. With a slow deftness, she lifted her free hand and began stroking, with the softest of touches, one finger down the side of her face. Behind the closed lids she noticed the satin draped between her gaping legs. The toes on her foot squeezed into the sofa cushion. Her finger moved round to her throat, pressing a little harder now, joined by another, then a thumb, until her whole hand was caressing her skin between the jaw and the shoulder, agitating the nerve endings and bringing a flush to the delicate surface. She breathed more heavily, eased her thighs up to embrace the satin, felt the eager tangle on her mound scratch against its smoothness.
Hold back, she thought. It won't be long now.