Imperial white. Tiger Skin. Kashmir gold. Amber fantasy. Aurora. Rosa Persa. You're waiting for me. Between the cold slabs of smooth shiny rock. I walk around in my capris and studded belt and high heeled sandals and I look for my kitchen counter and I keep seeing you. There's a white piece of paper in the corner of all the slick ones, and the shiny ones- 95 dollars a square foot some of them and that's uncut, but I see you there, watching me between the stacks. It's quiet like a library in here- the salespeople hide in the office and I don't know if you work here or what you do if you do but your eyes are burning through me. Why am I such a slut for your kind of guy, the handyman, the roughneck, the bad boy?

I'm in the office checking prices with the cute olive skinned brunette behind the desk and you're staring at me through the window, one hand in your pocket, the other almost kissing the zipper of your jeans. Staring. No apologies. Your eyes devour my curves, my freckles, the v between my tits. What now?I bet you'd love it if I flirted with her, if we started playing around on the desk in that porn star kind of way so you could watch through the window as I slid my hand up her pink t shirt and sucked on her nice little tits on top of that nice granite desk, if I eased her out of her Ann Taylor khakis twisted her thong into her ass and plundered her hot hole with my tongue. Her little cell phone would just ring and ring, her French manicured fingers reaching back for it to skitter it down on the table, to try to shut it up while I make it so impossible for her do anything but forget her price list while she squeals like a piglet. So impossible. Girls take work. But you won't. I scan the warehouse. Empty but for walls of rock, stacked, labeled, soundproofed, sleepy for Saturday. Let me see what I can do for you on that price. Yeah, the one on the end. I always want the most luxurious materials. Travertine, not Corian. Custom bullnose. I'm spoiled like that. I walk out to do more research. Bury myself in the room, a maze of cold stone, brilliant, feldspar, quartz, micah.

Your eyes meet mine and you know it worked, I'm waiting for you, for the hot fuck against the cold wall. I put my hands flat against it, readying myself for you, for your breath on my neck while you start it off with your hand. I arch my back for you. Between the tits and then down against the the crotch of my pants, following the movement of your fingers with the circles of your hips. You're already hard as I undo my belt and your hand slides into my panties. Slow and low, a rhythmic fuck, building me smooth and wet for you, so hungry as you seek my tits with your mouth and I stroke the bulge in your jeans. I love feeling it, riding it, rough as I slide against the friction. And I just want use and you know it, instinct, but you show it to me first, that cock, and get me on my knees so I can suck on it. You got someone at home and I love how I might see you loading this slab of rock into my kitchen later this week, but right now I love your easy slide into my throat and how I carefully and slowly work it for you as I kneel on that sterile industrial carpet against the freshly painted wall. Taboo. You don't know me but you're strangely gentle, enthralled, your hands in my hair as I lick the shaft lightly, long strokes, nibbles and suckles, loving its taste and feel, making it clear you can fuck my throat. The first thrust and I can hear you breathe and I wrap my hands around your ass and let the tears run down my cheeks. I play with the tip of your head with the tip of my tongue and then take you in, alternating short strokes with long until long is all you need and I feel you explode like rain down my throat, my back against this cold wall of desire.