Free Cover Model by Devon Hartford Page B

photos.
    Connor is quite the dancer. After a few moves, he grabs the brim of his ball cap and frisbees it into the audience. A group of women suddenly jump up to catch it. They fight for it desperately. They all want a piece of The Connor Hughes.
    Random women scream from the crowd:
    “I want your baby!”
    “No, let me be your baby mama, Connor!”
    “Come home with me, Connor!”
    “I’m getting a divorce!”
    I can hardly blame them.
    Based on how well he’s dancing, Connor either has training as a male stripper or he’s a natural dancer. I’m not sure which. He gyrates his hips hypnotically. He really can move.
    As he waves his body up and down, he grabs the collar of his T-shirt and slowly tears it open, revealing his incredible chest and abs. The big projection screen shows a gigantic image of his writhing muscles.
    A surge of desire spasms in my core. I was pressed up against that mythical body only a few minutes ago.
    I squeeze my knees together and gasp audibly. If it wasn’t for the chaos of all the screaming women, I’d be embarrassed. But nobody can hear me in this noise. I’m cocooned in my own world of high definition arousal. What would it be like to have Connor’s hard writhing body between my legs? To have that thick cock of his filling me up, pounding me to orgasm? Oh god, I’m going to come in my panties right here just thinking about it. My entire body shivers as pleasure blooms in my stomach. At this rate, I’m going to soak right through my fitted skirt. I need to get a grip.
    Connor wads his tattered T-shirt into a ball and throws it to the other side of the crowd. Another wave of women rise up to fight for it.
    This is insanity.
    Connor starts taking off his sunglasses. He does it with the same languorous slowness I imagine he’d use when removing my panties. The crowd gasps with electric anticipation. Oh gawd, I’m melting into my seat. I swear I’m about to come from all the excitement.
    Nothing prepares me for what happens when Connor finally removes his sunglasses. The women go absolutely crazy. The sound of the desperate screams is deafening. It’s worse than Biebermania or Beatlemania or whatever kind of mania you can imagine. Some of the women surrounding me are literally hysterical. Others are merely in awe of Connor Hughes.
    He throws his sunglasses into the crowd and continues to dance, making his way toward the front of center stage. He continues to twist and swivel his hips with seductive finesse.
    All of the energy pouring off the women surrounding me combined with Connor’s dancing is having a strange effect on me. Not twenty minutes ago, this man who is melting the minds of all these women, wanted me .
    Not them .
    Me.
    Little Electra Warmoth.
    Does it make me shallow that I care what everyone else thinks of Connor, that them wanting him makes me want him that much more?
    I don’t know.
    But I do know that Connor is looking right at me.
    Me.
    He has that same stupid cocky grin I know so well and he’s pointing it straight at me while all these women wish he was looking at them. Some of them are literally begging for his attention.
    “Connor! Over here!”
    “Please, Connor!” another woman screams desperately, on the verge of sobbing.
    “Connor!!!!”
    But he’s only looking at me.
    Connor is doing all of this for me…

    <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

    CONNOR

    Between the PA and the women, it’s louder than a Metallica concert in here. But I don’t notice any of it. I’m 100% focused on Electra.
    She’s all I’m thinking about.
    I’m dancing for her.
    Lord knows I’ve tried every other fuckin trick in the book to get her to lower her defenses. I’ve never tried so damn hard to get a woman to fuck me. Usually they’re the ones doing all the work to get on my cock. But when all else fails, do a striptease in front of a thousand other drooling women. If this doesn’t show her the light, nothing will.
    Based on the way her luscious lips are opened in a pouty O, I think