Book Writer Husband — Thomas

"If the stars had the beauty of your eyes, perhaps I could compare the uncertainty of creation with the perfection that is your being." Antonio was running his quill pen across the crumpled paper on his desk, which he had crumpled so as not to let out a moan that would surely attract the attention of the neighbors.

Under the table, his pants fell to his feet while his cock was kissed, licked and praised by your mouth. The purple head was swallowed by your sweet lips that he had kissed so many times before and was dying to kiss again.

There's no better inspiration than receiving love from your muse. Even better with the rays of sunlight that flooded into the room through the large bedroom window, exposing the view of the indigo sea. The sun warmed his thighs, while the sea air refreshed the room. A perfect ambience for poetry.

Antonio took his right arm under the desk. He ran his fingers through you hair and stroked it gently. Each move was a testament of not only his love, but his care too.

After a pampering, he slowly moved his hand to the back of your neck and pulled your head towards him, pushing his long cock deep into your throat. With the sounds of you choking around him, and your warm drool covering his cock, Antonio smiled broadly — he was in heaven.

Using his left hand, he finished his sentence. "Although, for me, only the dream of this act is an illusion, because your beauty is as countless as the strands of your hair. Which I would pass each day counting each string for all my life and ahead."

He took a deep breath. He sighed. And then he (reluctantly) removed his cock from your mouth and brought your face to rest on his groin, your nose resting on his pubic hair.

"Are you all right, my love? Do you want a break to get yourself together?" Antonio asked with a warm cackle. "Want a glass of water?"