To Fuck With NightShade

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He’s waiting at the door when she gets off work. The lust in his eyes is unmistakable. He desires her so completely, so thoroughly, she’s half afraid he can see through her clothing. She barely has time to shut the door before he pounces on her. He yanks off her panties without bothering with her skirt. He devours her breast without considering unbuttoning her blouse or removing her bra. Nightshade is an animal of passion from the caveman era. He is possessive and demanding, a force of nature that’s neither gentle nor patient. No part of the house is sacred. In the kitchen, the laundry room, the bathroom, the living room, the closet, and even the garage all become eventual mating grounds when Nightshade enters. Every moment is a possibility, every corner is a bed.

She is flattered by the intensity of his desire, glad to be able to turn on her man so completely. His lust for her is electrifying and raw. When he mounts her, it’s with a certain urgency, as if he discovered he was about to die and knew he would never be able to hold her again.

Nightshade is an expert at makeup sex or angry sex, for he is able to physically express his desire more clearly than even Marlon leTerrance or Inmate20173. There is no questioning whether or not Nightshade finds his woman attractive or sexy. He makes his intentions clear in the rawest, purest way possible. There’s no poetry with nightshade, no sex toys or intimacy. He will fuck his woman in a car that located in a crowded parking during Christmas. Nightshade is an alpha male, a monster of desire, a creature of lust. He’s loyal to his companion and would never betray her by straying outside their relationship. Still, that loyalty comes with a price—a raw, lust-filled price.

When Nightshade fucks, it’s as though each sizzling stroke is a male chauvinistic declaration of “You MY woman!” To be with Nightshade is to be possessed, completely.