But when I peek through my peephole and see Graham standing there, I can’t help myself: I smile and blush. Drunken butterflies tumble through my sto...ach. I feel like I’m sixteen again, riding the back of Tom Daly’s motorcycle. Except Graham isn’t Tom—all pimples and hands where I don’t want them. He’s smiling softly on the other side of my door, waiting for me to open up.So I do.“Hey, Virginia. I hope I’m not interrupting anything. I would have called first but I don’t have your number.”“That’s. I love the way you taste, by the way, and I plan a lengthy sample in a few minutes—my final Christmas present to you.” Barbara said nothing, but then she didn’t have to. Her smile said it all. I waited about five minutes before lifting her and laying her back onto the seat with her long shapely legs on either side of my head.I began by gently kissing each of her silken thighs from her knees to her labia. Up and down I went, teasing her mercilessly until she was shaking in rabid. More

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