“My . . . clit is the part you mean to kiss.”
“It is, but first you must make me a promise.”
“Yes?” Did I sound too eager? I found I wanted that lightning bolt of sensation to strike again.
He rubbed more gently around the pulsing spot. The hungry pang I felt deepened. “You must promise to let me finish you. I want you to experience the full paroxysm before I enter you.”
A paroxysm sounded vaguely alarming. “Will it hurt?”
He laughed. “Only until you have it, and only a little. During and after feel wonderful.”
I searched his eyes.
“I promise,” he assured me.
I nodded, trusting him as much as I was able without firmer evidence.
He soothed me with his fingers before lowering his head.
His mouth on me there should have scandalized me. Instead, almost at once, I forgot my embarrassment. The dairymaids had understated how enjoyable this activity was—unless, perhaps, my partner was especially skilled at it? I groaned, unable not to, my fingers finding his hard shoulders and digging in.
Oh yes , I thought, biting my lip for fear of blurting the words out loud. I needed more of his sucking, more of his rubbing and pressing and panting against my skin. My hips lurched upward, my throat echoing with a cry. He held me down and bore in more firmly. My pleasurable sensations rose. The flesh between my legs seemed to swell and tighten at the same time. The ache was incredible, and yet I would not call the feeling pain.
“Please,” I moaned, my fingers now buried shamelessly in his hair. “Please, Damien, finish me.”
His thumbs and lips and tongue suddenly worked over and against the tender button he focused on. Suspense coiled higher, sweeter . . .
The paroxysm was a hot stab of golden feeling shooting deep inside me. Instantly, I loved it, and just as instantly wanted more. I was greedy. He’d been absolutely correct to apply that term to me.
His mouth gentled, though I didn’t want it to. He had to wrap his hands around my hipbones in order to pull away.
If my eagerness displeased him, it certainly didn’t show.
“I’ll give you more, wife,” he said in a rough and exciting voice. “Don’t you worry about that.”
I could scarcely wait for him rise and come over me. He was sweating, and I found that exciting too. Beneath the scent of a recent bath, I smelled the actual scent of him.
Him in rut , I corrected, for he hadn’t smelled quite like this before. My position at the end of the tester bed permitted him to stand on the floor. He bent over me from the hips and braced on his arms. It seemed he intended to proceed from there. Was this the way people performed the carnal act? I’d been under the impression couples lay down fully.
“Lift your legs around me,” he said.
I wasn’t sure what he meant until he arranged them. It seemed odd to have my bare heels pressed right on his bare buttocks. Such an intimate bit of contact to have with someone I barely knew!
My gaze slipped to the dramatic upward thrust of his organ.
To my amazement the tip part—the glans—was even bigger than before. Moisture gleamed on the pulsing crown. My tongue crept over my upper lip. Was this wetness a further sign of his arousal?
“Do you wish to touch me now?” he asked.
Did I dare? “Do you want me to?” I hedged.
“Yes,” he said. “Very much.”
The shaft intimidated me less than the other parts. I reached for that, wrapping my thumb and fingers carefully around it. I blinked at the unexpectedly alive feel of it.
“It’s hot,” I said.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“And smooth—apart from the veins.”
His head dipped closer, his nose nuzzling my cheek. “Rub it,” he urged me thrillingly.
A sort of strut seemed to support it underneath. Not wishing to injure him, I rubbed that harder than the rest.
“God,” he said, his neck arching back so that his Adam’s apple stood out clearly. “That’s perfect. Keep that up, nice and slow.”
I hardly minded. Though I
“It is, but first you must make me a promise.”
“Yes?” Did I sound too eager? I found I wanted that lightning bolt of sensation to strike again.
He rubbed more gently around the pulsing spot. The hungry pang I felt deepened. “You must promise to let me finish you. I want you to experience the full paroxysm before I enter you.”
A paroxysm sounded vaguely alarming. “Will it hurt?”
He laughed. “Only until you have it, and only a little. During and after feel wonderful.”
I searched his eyes.
“I promise,” he assured me.
I nodded, trusting him as much as I was able without firmer evidence.
He soothed me with his fingers before lowering his head.
His mouth on me there should have scandalized me. Instead, almost at once, I forgot my embarrassment. The dairymaids had understated how enjoyable this activity was—unless, perhaps, my partner was especially skilled at it? I groaned, unable not to, my fingers finding his hard shoulders and digging in.
Oh yes , I thought, biting my lip for fear of blurting the words out loud. I needed more of his sucking, more of his rubbing and pressing and panting against my skin. My hips lurched upward, my throat echoing with a cry. He held me down and bore in more firmly. My pleasurable sensations rose. The flesh between my legs seemed to swell and tighten at the same time. The ache was incredible, and yet I would not call the feeling pain.
“Please,” I moaned, my fingers now buried shamelessly in his hair. “Please, Damien, finish me.”
His thumbs and lips and tongue suddenly worked over and against the tender button he focused on. Suspense coiled higher, sweeter . . .
The paroxysm was a hot stab of golden feeling shooting deep inside me. Instantly, I loved it, and just as instantly wanted more. I was greedy. He’d been absolutely correct to apply that term to me.
His mouth gentled, though I didn’t want it to. He had to wrap his hands around my hipbones in order to pull away.
If my eagerness displeased him, it certainly didn’t show.
“I’ll give you more, wife,” he said in a rough and exciting voice. “Don’t you worry about that.”
I could scarcely wait for him rise and come over me. He was sweating, and I found that exciting too. Beneath the scent of a recent bath, I smelled the actual scent of him.
Him in rut , I corrected, for he hadn’t smelled quite like this before. My position at the end of the tester bed permitted him to stand on the floor. He bent over me from the hips and braced on his arms. It seemed he intended to proceed from there. Was this the way people performed the carnal act? I’d been under the impression couples lay down fully.
“Lift your legs around me,” he said.
I wasn’t sure what he meant until he arranged them. It seemed odd to have my bare heels pressed right on his bare buttocks. Such an intimate bit of contact to have with someone I barely knew!
My gaze slipped to the dramatic upward thrust of his organ.
To my amazement the tip part—the glans—was even bigger than before. Moisture gleamed on the pulsing crown. My tongue crept over my upper lip. Was this wetness a further sign of his arousal?
“Do you wish to touch me now?” he asked.
Did I dare? “Do you want me to?” I hedged.
“Yes,” he said. “Very much.”
The shaft intimidated me less than the other parts. I reached for that, wrapping my thumb and fingers carefully around it. I blinked at the unexpectedly alive feel of it.
“It’s hot,” I said.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“And smooth—apart from the veins.”
His head dipped closer, his nose nuzzling my cheek. “Rub it,” he urged me thrillingly.
A sort of strut seemed to support it underneath. Not wishing to injure him, I rubbed that harder than the rest.
“God,” he said, his neck arching back so that his Adam’s apple stood out clearly. “That’s perfect. Keep that up, nice and slow.”
I hardly minded. Though I
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