He could sense her weakness! The intensity of the charade was sapping her energy and blocking all thinking.It was opaque. All of it. None of it was tr...e. She lived in a three bedroom suburban house with a husband called Charles and a blonde headed daughter with dimples. Cecily wasn't a spy! She'd never been to a war zone. She was a psychologist like it said on the door. She was a fake and a plant and it was a test: an interview. Everything about her was an invention.That's what he told himself. He kisses down her neck and collarbone until finally he’s at her chest. She has one hand curled in his hair, and is using the wall for support now. Her breathing is slow and hard, her chest rising and falling, so beautiful. He cups her tits, making a narrow valley in the middle of her large domes. He slowly kisses the tops of each one, and then licks down to her nipple, right first. He takes it in his mouth, sucking and flicking it with his tongue. It sounds as if she’s trying to not scream.. More

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