The blonde threw her head back, rolling her hips in time with his movement, her hands gripping so tightly to the pillows behind her head that her knuckles were white. Her mouth opened and closed but made no sound, her eyes clamped themselves shut, and her hips that had moved in a rhythmic dance began to make uncoordinated jerks. "Oh god." She finally breathed, feeling the sparks of her orgasm begin right down in her toes.
"Oh, god! F-Fox…harder!" she cried in ecstasy. "Don't stop! You're an animal, Fox!"
A man on top of her moved faster. Harder. Like a horny old fox that he was. Oh, how he loved that name! How fresh and exotic it sounded, yet simple and insanely effective in starting a conversation as well as, more importantly, in bed.
This fine, muscular body was rotting in celibacy for too long, and he was determined to put a stop to it. In fact, he saw no reason to ever stop putting a stop to it...
"Say it again!" he demanded and the blonde cried out compliantly, in all the glory of a woman approaching an orgasm.
"Fooooox!"
And then it happened.
The blonde threw her head back and cried out her bed fellows name, head thrashing from side to side as she rode the waves. He was not far behind, and he too cried out with his release, still able to feel her walls pulsing around him as he pumped his seed into her. He could do anything, get anyone he wanted. He was in heaven.
Later, as the blonde dejectedly began picking up her clothing, he looked himself in the mirror. He never got tired of that marvelous reflection. So young, so handsome, without grey hair, without pain in the back and annoying wife and children who nag and demand... Who wouldn't want to be a Fox freaking Mulder?
Morris Fletcher certainly enjoyed every second of it.