Instinctive - By Cathryn Fox
In three days she’d be gone. Erased. Buried.
Dead . . .
Today, however, today was an entirely different story. Not only was Jaclyn Vasenty still alive and breathing—she was hell-bent on living the last few hours of her life to the fullest.
She glanced at the well-endowed man powering upward between her thighs, taking note of his smoldering blue eyes, dark, shoulder-length hair, the clench of his firm jaw, and the small beads of perspiration trickling down his bronzed skin. Every pleasure-seeking nerve in her body came alive as her gaze traveled downward to the tuft of curly black hair smashing against her naked, passion-drenched pubis as he drove his cock all the way up inside her.
Scrumptious . . .
Oh yeah, she was going to enjoy today, she mused.
She swung her long chestnut curls over her shoulders to expose her aching breasts. Brian’s hungry eyes latched onto her pale pebbled nipples. When his tongue darted out to wet his sensuous mouth, a small moan slipped from the curve of her well-kissed lips and caught the attention of those around her. A few couples stepped closer, some eager to get a better look, while others coveted to get in on the salacious action. Jaclyn’s libido fed off the sexual energy swirling around her, the intoxicating euphoria drawing her deeper and deeper into a cocoon of lust and desire.
Just knowing the voyeurs in the club were watching her fuck the dark-haired Adonis strapped to the plush sex chair, while she rode him like a feral animal in heat, brought on wild and wicked sensations.
She looked past Brian and glanced around Risqué, the erotic club where anything and everything goes. She took a moment to observe the explicit sex acts taking place on the nearby dance floor.
All in various stages of undress, hot naked bodies writhed in sync to the sensuous beat booming from the nearby speakers. Wet pussies and hard cocks were out in abundance tonight, all striving for one common goal—to get off using any means possible. In their single-minded pursuit of pleasure, some were fucking while others were licking, sucking, nibbling, or burying their faces in the juncture between their lovers’ legs.
Her entire body vibrated in bliss.
As she took pleasure in the show, a rush of liquid heat rocketed through her and brought on one hell of a violent shudder. Jaclyn’s pussy dripped in response to the stimuli, and her clit tightened with primal need, screaming for a little of that tongue action from Brian while she watched the hedonistic acts from afar.
God, she would miss this when she was dead.
With her pussy hot, wet, and ripe for the taking, she bent forward and loosened the silk rope from one of Brian’s shackled hands. Settling for fingers over fellatio, she inched upward, her actions conveying without words exactly what she wanted from him. And she expected nothing less. Brian, the masterful lover that he was, shot her a grin and deftly parted her twin lips. With little finesse, he unceremoniously scraped the rough pad of his thumb over her inflamed clit, his perfect ministrations keeping her hovering on the precipice.
“Oh yes . . . ,” she murmured, grinding her fleshy nub against him until pleasure bled into pain. “So good . . .”
“That’s it, baby. Let me take you to heaven,” he whispered and bucked against her, so his rock-hard erection toyed with her oversensitized G-spot.
Lust prowled through her and urged her on. Jaclyn cupped her engorged breasts, lifted herself clear off his cock and then swiftly impaled herself onto him. Jesus . . . As Brian’s impressive length speared her, his girth stretched open the tight walls of her cunt until a creamy release was merely a stroke away.
She hungered to prolong the pleasure, to continue their fuck session clear on through to next week. But it couldn’t continue and she damn well knew it. Because come Monday morning at eight a.m.—merely thirty-five hours and fifteen minutes away—she’d be dead.
Well, not dead in the biblical, or even the Wikipedia, sense of the word, but certainly in the spiritual sense. She knew her essence for life, the uninhibited sexual force deep inside that drove her pleasure-seeking hormones, would slowly be snuffed out until she became the proper girl her family demanded, and her upper-class, high-society community expected.
As a privileged socialite residing in Chicago’s Gold Coast, she was supposed to play by her society’s stringent rules, despite the fact that deep down she never felt she belonged. At times she attributed her loneliness