Once inside the bedroom, we shared sloppy kisses and undressed. Gray decided to take a shower in the connecting bathroom designed in bluish quartz and different types of marble. The man enjoyed his long and hot water escapades under the spray, wasting an absorbent amount of water, which proved that each of us on the planet had our own personal vices. Not that such anti-green methods would prevent me from marrying the stud, of course. My love for him was unyielding, a superior find when it came to other cowboys in Stockton County. To not land the man was foolish on my part, since he was caring, thoughtful, especially aggressively in bed, and enamored me to the fullest. Gray was my rock, and to toss him away would have been detrimental for me, a true loss on my part.

Of course we became frisky after he exited the shower, dripping wet all over the bedroom’s walnut floorboards. And once again he proved that he was alluring and sexually desired as my future husband. Gray McKeever was top-notch beautiful in my opinion, particularly when he was fresh out of the shower, completely naked, standing just a few feet away from me, and showcasing his beefy goods for my use. His blond hair was wet and looked somewhat tarnished, and his Cancun-blue eyes were even brighter than normal. Droplets of shower water skied down and over his built and hairless chest, but were soon wiped away with the sky blue cotton towel that he carried into the bedroom with him. The man’s strawberry-shaded nipples were erect and looked as if they needed licked or even gently bitten. And his navel was compact and glistened with shower moisture, a simple comma-shaped indentation among his rippled abs that could easily drop me to my knees in unstoppable hunger. Below the navel was something of a spectacle and offered porn-perfect satisfaction: a thatch of blond and wet pubic triangle and his nine inches of cut dick, which was upright and ready to be toyed with. The shaft was veined and pulsing -- a mass that could easily choke me to death and add uncivilized euphoria for me at the same time.

“Something tells me you want this,” he said in his aggressive, cowboy tone. His right hand grabbed the plump fixture between his thick thighs and he gave it a simple jack.

I stood next to the massive bed in my cherry red briefs, which were snug against my center and attempting to hide growing wood. Then I winked at the man of my dreams, grinned from ear to ear in a longing manner, and replied, “You’re going to hurt someone if you don’t put that away.”

He laughed at my comment, and added, “I was hoping to hurt you with it, Dixon.”

I shook my head, teasing him, and said, “I’m almost a married man and can’t mess around like that. My fiancé would have my ass in a sling.”

He continued to jack his wand with his right hand, applying slow and satisfying motion to the veined and throbbing object between his thick thighs. In the process, his clean-shaven balls bounced up and down, which was a total turn-on for me, and offered unlimited bliss. As his self-handjob ensued, he said, “I’d like to have your ass in a sling.”

Before I could respond, playing with him, he simply dropped the cotton towel to the bedroom’s floorboard, rushed to my side, clenched my sides in his hulking hands, and tossed me to our shared bed, which creaked wildly because of such action. Within seconds my briefs were removed from my body by his teeth and tongue and lips found the most sensitive places on my body for the next ten ... twenty ... thirty minutes as we connected in lust, blending as one, fiancés entrapped in a relentless state of love.