“Yes, I am yours, but Harry!”
He dragged his eyes up to hers.
“I still have my stockings on.”
He looked to where she gestured, admiring the lovely length of her legs. They weren’t too long, or too thin, just right, with the exact amount of curve and softness he required in his wife’s legs. “Yes, you do. It’s a bit shocking, isn’t it? I shall remove them. Later.” He leaned closer, his breath brushing her mouth. “With my tongue.”
“Oh,” she breathed, her eyes huge and filled with hope and desire and a good dollop of anticipation.
Harry gave her a heated look promising a reward for all that anticipation before focusing his attention on the twin mounds that heaved before him. “What’s this?” he asked, squinting slightly at one perfect breast. “Breasts?”
“Yes, I have two of them. They’re a set,” Plum said.
“Matched, too. I loved matched pairs.” His mouth closed over the taut little peak crowning her silky white breast. Plum bucked beneath him, her eyes alight with passion as he nibbled and kissed his way around her breasts. He was suddenly filled with the overpowering desire to taste her, all of her, to lick the satin skin that glowed with a pearly luminescence that seemed to fill his soul. He kissed the twin of the first breast just so it wouldn’t feel slighted, then licked a path down her ribs to the little mound of her belly. Plum moaned and writhed beneath the onslaught of his mouth, but Harry would not be stirred from his course. He held her down with a hand on either hip, and after kissing each hipbone, nipped his way across her belly, pleased by her reaction to his touch. Her breath shuddered within her, making her flesh quiver and contract wherever he licked. He dipped lower, breathing in the perfume that was the very essence of Plum, reveling in the thought that it was he who stirred her, that she was reacting to him and no other. He kissed a line across the top of her pubic mound, and then paused. “Give yourself to me, Plum. Open for me.”
Her legs tensed. “Harry, I’m not sure—”
“But I am,” he said, sliding a hand up the soft length of her thigh. He gently insinuated his fingers between the tightly clenched legs. “You’ll enjoy this. Trust me, Plum.”
He could almost hear her thinking it out, reasoning with that delicious mind of hers, weighing his words against her natural modesty and hesitancy. He willed her to yield, to give herself to him in an absolute show of trust, and thought his heart would be ripped from his chest if she didn’t. Just as her legs relaxed, allowing him to spread them and breathe in her scent, the knowledge struck him with blinding force.
His heart was already hers.
He shook the thought away, unwilling to acknowledge it, unwilling to admit that she had such power over him, and concentrated on giving his wife pleasure. He rubbed his cheeks gently along the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, enjoying the hitch in her breathing his actions caused as he kissed a hot trail to the core of her womanhood.
“You are all pink and rose-hued,” he murmured, kissing the juncture between her legs. “You are soft like the finest silk, and these sweet petals hold your heat for me.”
Plum arched her back and thrust her hips up when he parted her woman’s flesh, his fingers dancing around her heat, stroking, teasing, rubbing her until she was moaning soft, endless moans, her head thrashing from side to side as she clutched handfuls of the bed linens.
“You’ll like this,” Harry promised, and leaned forward to lick at the tiny focus of her pleasure.
“Blessed St. Genevieve!” Plum yelled, and grabbing Harry’s head, pulled him tighter to her. He held her firmly by the hips, dancing his tongue around her silken folds, suckling and nibbling her until she arched her back again and screamed his name.
“I told you that you would like it,” Harry said smugly, pleased with himself, pleased with her response to him, and a bit surprised that the pleasure he had given her was thrumming so strongly in his blood, leaving him hungry and aching with the need to plunge himself deep within her depths. Plum lay panting, quivering slightly with the aftereffects of her pleasure, but when he moved up to cover her, she suddenly twisted out from underneath him, and pushed him down into the soft mattress.
“No,” she said, leaning forward to nip at his lower lip. “You’ve had your turn. Now it’s mine.”
Harry knew he’d never last through Plum’s exploration of him. He was nigh unto bursting now, and just the look in her dark, liquid eyes almost made him spill his seed.
She stroked her hand along his chest. “You have such a lovely chest, Harry. It has just the right amount of hair, not too much, not too little, and your flesh is very firm.”
His muscles flinched beneath her fingers as she stroked down the length of his breastbone to his belly, leaving a fiery path in their wake. She leaned forward and gently kissed his collarbone, her hands on either side of his ribs, stroking and petting him.
“Your skin is so warm, so very warm. I like to touch you. I like to feel your muscles ripple beneath my fingers. You make me feel wild inside. You make me want to do things I didn’t know were possible. You make me want to—”
A thousand places he never knew existed suddenly kindled into flame as she stopped speaking and bent her head to kiss the breadth of his chest, her hair trailing little streaks of fire and ice as it brushed his skin. She paused for a moment over one of his nipples. He held his breath. Previous to Plum, he had never been a nipple man, had never really enjoyed women fondling him there. A nipple was a nipple was his motto. They were well and fine on women, enjoyable to tease and a sure way to arouse a woman, but his own set were nothing more than decoration as far as he was concerned. All that changed the night Plum pressed hot kisses to his chest. Now she was doing more than kissing, she was tormenting him just as he had tormented her. Her little white teeth closed gently over one brown nub of a nipple, converting Harry on the spot.
“St. Peter’s cods!” he bellowed, tears coming to his eyes with the burst of pleasure that burned through his chest. “Is this what you feel? Dear God, woman, do the other one before I expire!”
Plum chuckled a throaty chuckle that vibrated down to Harry’s toes. She leaned over to tickle his other nipple with the tip of her tongue. “I like the way you taste, Harry. You taste just like I thought you would — hot and masculine and very, very pleasing.”
Harry gulped air as Plum’s sweet little mouth closed over his nipple, sucking it and tugging it gently until he thought he would burst into flame.
“Enough,” he said hoarsely, trying to twist around so he could plunge himself into her depths.
“No, not yet,” Plum said, pushing him down into the bed. “I haven’t finished. I haven’t looked at the rest of you. You’re made so fi nely, every part of you in perfect accord with the rest. I want to touch you. I want to feel you. I want to kiss you as you kissed me. I want to take you into my mouth and taste you, husband. Will you like that?”
Harry’s brain ceased functioning at her question. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, only stare at her with wide, hopeful eyes and nod his head vigorously. Plum smiled a smile that made his legs stiffen with the effort to keep from spilling his seed right then and there, and then she lowered her head and kissed his belly. He groaned his pleasure at her touch.
“You’re so hard, Harry, everywhere but your belly. Have I told you how much I love your belly?” She kissed the thin line of hair where it led down his stomach to his manhood. “I love your legs, too. You have horseman’s thighs, all long muscles and beautiful contours.”
He gritted his teeth as she trailed kisses across one thigh, her hand closing around the two globes of softness between his legs. They contracted instantly, anticipating her touch elsewhere, enjoying the light scraping of her nails against the soft flesh.