ofcourse, to realize that when someone is as lovely and vital as she is, she really doesn’t need to wear tons of makeup and short skirts to get attention; she could turn heads if she walked in wearing a dustbin liner and a porkpie hat.
I smile. “Of course, Sara, well, Nicholas, I
was
being sociable—as you can see, I was talking to Sara, she very kindly got me a drink, I was just about to come and find you and Will, and then here you were—”
I can feel the tension coming off Nicholas in waves. I can’t imagine what has got him so distraught, it can’t just be me, it must be something to do with work; but it’s not like him, he’s usually so self-contained. It’s one of the things that drew me to him in the first place, his assurance, his total certainty of who and what he is—not always
right
, of course, but certain nonetheless. There are more layers to Nicholas than even he knows, aspects of him I had rather hoped would come to the surface as our marriage went on; but never mind that now, we are still the best of friends, of lovers, so much luckier than most couples these days.
I take his arm and guide him toward his colleagues, chatter soothingly about absolutely nothing in his ear, stroke him emotionally and mentally and even physically as we stand talking and laughing with Will, and finally he pulls me against him and I feel him relax beside me; though not
quite
enough to totally erase that distant stirring of alarm.
I realize that now really isn’t the time to mention that Trace is moving back to Salisbury.
4
Nicholas
I awaken from dreams of pale, long limbs and strawberry gold hair with a tumescent erection that makes my balls ache. It’s still dark outside, apart from the garish glare of multicolored Christmas lights that Evie insisted we hang along the eaves, and for which vulgar display of infectious Americana I risked life and limb atop the window cleaner’s borrowed ladder.
I brush my palm across the warm vale that dips between Mal’s shoulder and hips, cupping her buttocks lightly with my hand. My middle finger curls between her legs and strokes the soft fur around her pussy, sliding into the welcoming wetness. Mal doesn’t respond, but the change in her regular breathing tells me she’s awake.
I slide closer, penis nudging the small of her back. Gently I find her clitoris and increase the pace and pressure of my finger, reaching my other hand over her shoulder toward herbreasts. Mal mumbles something indistinct and rolls onto her stomach, taking both breasts and pussy out of my reach.
“Nicholas—”
“It’s OK, don’t worry, we have time. It’s not six yet.”
Easing my way down the bed, I bury my head between her flanks and describe small circles from her coccyx down to her pussy with my tongue. Sweet, like the lavender honey she harvests from our hives in the orchard every June.
Rising up on my haunches, I replace my tongue with my rigid cock at the entrance to her behind. Mal wriggles and squirms in the bed beneath me and flips onto her back, slender legs opening in welcome as she smiles sleepily up at me. She’s always loved early-morning sex; we both have. To wake warm and aroused and melt into each other—there’s no better way to start the day. She starts to draw me in to her, but I pull back and go down on her again, opening her like a ripe fig. I can feel her impatience as she tightens her thighs. Her juices dribble down my chin as if I’ve bitten into a rich peach.
My cock throbs as I move my body over hers. It nudges at her pussy and I slide in, savoring her tight, wet grip. Her small breasts crush against my chest. I rock my hips and thrust into her, feeling the familiar heat course through my body, down my cock, sweat slicking our skin together. My feet overlap the foot of the bed and the headboard crashes timpani against the wall. Hot—want—need—want—
Sara
.
Christ, I didn’t say her name aloud, did I? I glance fearfully down at my wife. Her
I smile. “Of course, Sara, well, Nicholas, I
was
being sociable—as you can see, I was talking to Sara, she very kindly got me a drink, I was just about to come and find you and Will, and then here you were—”
I can feel the tension coming off Nicholas in waves. I can’t imagine what has got him so distraught, it can’t just be me, it must be something to do with work; but it’s not like him, he’s usually so self-contained. It’s one of the things that drew me to him in the first place, his assurance, his total certainty of who and what he is—not always
right
, of course, but certain nonetheless. There are more layers to Nicholas than even he knows, aspects of him I had rather hoped would come to the surface as our marriage went on; but never mind that now, we are still the best of friends, of lovers, so much luckier than most couples these days.
I take his arm and guide him toward his colleagues, chatter soothingly about absolutely nothing in his ear, stroke him emotionally and mentally and even physically as we stand talking and laughing with Will, and finally he pulls me against him and I feel him relax beside me; though not
quite
enough to totally erase that distant stirring of alarm.
I realize that now really isn’t the time to mention that Trace is moving back to Salisbury.
4
Nicholas
I awaken from dreams of pale, long limbs and strawberry gold hair with a tumescent erection that makes my balls ache. It’s still dark outside, apart from the garish glare of multicolored Christmas lights that Evie insisted we hang along the eaves, and for which vulgar display of infectious Americana I risked life and limb atop the window cleaner’s borrowed ladder.
I brush my palm across the warm vale that dips between Mal’s shoulder and hips, cupping her buttocks lightly with my hand. My middle finger curls between her legs and strokes the soft fur around her pussy, sliding into the welcoming wetness. Mal doesn’t respond, but the change in her regular breathing tells me she’s awake.
I slide closer, penis nudging the small of her back. Gently I find her clitoris and increase the pace and pressure of my finger, reaching my other hand over her shoulder toward herbreasts. Mal mumbles something indistinct and rolls onto her stomach, taking both breasts and pussy out of my reach.
“Nicholas—”
“It’s OK, don’t worry, we have time. It’s not six yet.”
Easing my way down the bed, I bury my head between her flanks and describe small circles from her coccyx down to her pussy with my tongue. Sweet, like the lavender honey she harvests from our hives in the orchard every June.
Rising up on my haunches, I replace my tongue with my rigid cock at the entrance to her behind. Mal wriggles and squirms in the bed beneath me and flips onto her back, slender legs opening in welcome as she smiles sleepily up at me. She’s always loved early-morning sex; we both have. To wake warm and aroused and melt into each other—there’s no better way to start the day. She starts to draw me in to her, but I pull back and go down on her again, opening her like a ripe fig. I can feel her impatience as she tightens her thighs. Her juices dribble down my chin as if I’ve bitten into a rich peach.
My cock throbs as I move my body over hers. It nudges at her pussy and I slide in, savoring her tight, wet grip. Her small breasts crush against my chest. I rock my hips and thrust into her, feeling the familiar heat course through my body, down my cock, sweat slicking our skin together. My feet overlap the foot of the bed and the headboard crashes timpani against the wall. Hot—want—need—want—
Sara
.
Christ, I didn’t say her name aloud, did I? I glance fearfully down at my wife. Her
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