Death by Chocolate

The sun crept through the blinds, painting warm stripes across my white down comforter. One thigh slipped free, soaking in the soft golden rays. My mahogany skin gleamed like wet silk, kissed by the morning light. I let the blanket slide off me, exposing more—inviting the sunlight to explore. It climbed past my thigh, lingered at my navel, and stopped teasingly at the curve of my breast.

My nipples tightened from the cool air, dark and ready, my breasts rising slightly as I shifted away from Clint. We’d been up earlier, making love—but like clockwork, he came, rolled over, and was snoring before I even had a chance to chase mine. Typical.

I was bare under the sheets, skin still humming. I turned onto my stomach, the linen twisting around my legs. Still hot. Still aching.

I glanced at Clint—still dead to the world—and exhaled. I wasn’t about to ask for another round just to end up unsatisfied again. I needed more than that.

Across the room, the full-length mirror caught my eye. I arched my hips, letting my ass catch the sunlight. My skin was radiant, peanut butter slick and golden. I smiled at my reflection, biting my lip as I reached down, fingers sliding between my thighs.

I didn’t need anyone right now—I had me. And I knew just what I liked.

My fingertips danced across slick skin, circling slow, teasing. I watched myself in the mirror—wild curls cascading down my back, lips parted, eyes smoldering. God, I was sexy.I was the fantasy.

But then… he slipped into my mind.

The grocery store cashier. Tall. Dark. That thick build. Sleeves of ink down both arms. I couldn’t even remember his name—but I remembered the way helooked at me. Like he already knew how I tasted.

In my mind, he towered over me, grabbing a fistful of my hair, whispering filth in my ear.

“You know this is mine, right?”

My body arched, and I gasped, fingers circling faster. He pushed me forward in my fantasy, strong hands pinning my hips. His voice was rough velvet:“Tell me you want it.”

I didn’t answer—I just moaned into the pillow. I imagined his breath hot against my neck, that thick length pressing against me, teasing but never giving all the way in. He liked control. And I liked surrender.

I peeked at Clint again—still snoring.

Back in my fantasy, the cashier thrust into me, deep and slow, dragging every inch of pleasure until I couldn’t take it. Sweat dripped from his chest, muscles flexing with each pump. I imagined his voice, low and commanding:

“This is what you needed, huh?”

My breath hitched. I was close.

My fingers moved in perfect rhythm. My legs trembled. My toes curled. The heat built, rising, crashing—and then…

“Ohhhh myyyyy God…” I whispered, burying my moans in the pillow as my orgasm rippled through me like a tidal wave. Beads of sweat trickled between my breasts. My body trembled, back arched, eyes glazed in bliss.

I stared at myself in the mirror, smirking.

Damn, I fuck myself better than he ever could.

Clint stirred beside me and rolled over, tossing an arm around my waist. Still half-asleep, he mumbled, “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too,” I said softly, brushing hair from my face.

“You want another round? I want you to cum this time.”

He still hadn’t opened his eyes.

I adjusted my pillow and exhaled. “It’s okay, babe. We gotta get up soon anyway.”

“You sure?” he asked.

I didn’t answer right away. Just let the last waves of pleasure roll over me one final time.

“Yes, baby,” I finally whispered.

“I’m sure.”