The purest, the loveliest, the most enduring trouble. She was sweet as a strawberry and yet sour as the sourest lemon. Tart, defying, bold. She was Lolita in her cute ponytails, her heart shaped knickers, her soft skin, her inocent but teasing smile. She was trouble from head to bottom and he knew it as soon as he glanced over his shoulder when crossing the street. And she knew he captured a glimpse of her mischevous endevours. She decided to tease him, make him fall for her, make him beg for her tender body, her small but beatifully shaped breasts, her sweet naughty lips. Barely standing in his own two feet, he couldn't believe he wanted her that much. His heart raced, his mouth watered as if hunger was the problem with his mind. The truth is, he was plain excited to taste her and he could feel it in his body.
She glanced at him, calling him. Hypnotised, he went to her. They talked for a brief moment but he could hardly listen or remember what she said. In his thoughts, they were already sharing their bodies and he imagined it so lively that even he felt he was blushing harder by the minute. With great surprise, she invited him for a walk. He agreed, nervously doubting she could ever want him as he wanted her. Her voice was sweet and young, her face, oh her face, precious in every laughter. Shamefully, beautifully, she took him by the hand and led him to her waist. He knew then what he couldn't believe minutes ago. She was going to be his, he would feel her, kiss her, touch her, make her come as no one had ever made her come and enjoy the pleasure of giving her the greatest pleasure. By the time he got inside her, he was forced to make a reality check. Her innocence was his and yet, she seemed the most mature woman when it comes to sex. He loved her. He knew that when she smiled after an orgasm and hid her face, shy as a young child. Did she love him though? She was trouble. A double trouble...
