AN: I was listening to Blue Rodeo's After the Rain while writing this chapter. Hella sexy in my current state of mind. I highly recommend it!
SEVEN
Jess's eyes were hazy until she'd drawn her knee to the side. Then they'd flashed. "Yes, Ma'am," he murmured with no hint of a drawl, only the eagerness to please which the scene—and his own predisposition—guaranteed.
The pit of her stomach fell, seeming to elongate in a swandive, as his lips found her. He'd stretched towards her, leaning sideways in the chair, to gently press a kiss upon that most responsive spot. Then the curls of his hair caressed, feather-soft, her inner thigh as he tilted his head and began a delicate lapping, pressing her between a tongue and a lip. Instantly dazed, she knew no other course of action than to draw her own strands of hair aside for him, clearing a path for him in the direction of her own salvation. He would be her salvation.
He licked, suckled, oh-so-lovingly. A press of his tongue, a swirl of his breath, a lateral glissade followed by a kiss gently pulling her in. She strained towards him, clamouring for more of his kisses and hungry for the erotic vision that his slithering neck and straining shoulders presented to her. Rory's upper body swayed with every slow tilt of his head, as her centre stayed grounded, inexplicably tied to the point where his flesh met hers.
Leaning upon her left hand, she slid a bit closer to his face and placed her free hand behind his head. Jess sighed a heart-stopping rumble as she pressed into him—or, rather, pressed him into her. Jess leaned further towards her, the chair creaking ominously but holding fast.
His tongue found her centre then, slickly nestling and then solidly stroking, texture exquisite. As his hands were otherwise occupied, Rory's own expert finger multiplied her pleasure. God, she thought, watching him strain towards her. Desperately, she curled her back, rolling her pelvis, purchasing those ever-more gratifying, elusive millimetres of closeness from the unfortunate clutches of gravity. The toe of her shoe—but, with care, not the heel—was leverage against his thigh. She pressed and lifted and rolled further, taking his tongue as deeply as their positioning could allow. Rhythmically, she ground against him.
Striving, beautifully to her eyes and erotically to her flesh, he met her each time, thoroughly in the middle.
She'd dreamt of him the night before. Jess—her tender soul, her magnificent, lusty beast—straining to please and taking what he may. A lusty dream that had roused her that very morning, hungry for more. Her heart quaked as she saw her dream realized and her eyes fluttered shut, her head lolled….
Her undoing had been assured. She'd been on the precipice since the start, her skin having been tingly and yearning from the moment she'd awoken. Now, a clarity, a clinging to all that they did: the texture, the motions and rhythm, the taut muscles striving towards one another. The sight of salvation. She reached for it, tied as it was to this man she loved and his glorious tongue with all the heart it represented. Her breath caught in her constricted throat and then there was no conscious thought.
AN: Please drop me a line. It would be so appreciated to hear from someone and to know how my story is being received.