A Wild Surge of Guilty Passion - Page 16

“Don’t,” she said, and she turned. Even with hot tears trickling down her face, she was electrifying. She held his cheeks in her hands and said, “It’s your kindness. You’re so, so kind, Judd! No man has ever been that way to me; not my father, not Albert—just the opposite.”

She fretfully watched as he hesitated at the foreign threshold of unfaithfulness, and then Judd took the initiative and kissed her and she held his head so that he couldn’t jerk away, her soft, full lips seeming ravenous for his, her full breasts pillowing against his chest. And then she let him retreat a little. She smiled. “I have been wanting to do that since I first saw you. I knew you’d be a good kisser.”

“You’re so gorgeous, Ruth. I hadn’t the daring to even dream—”

She kissed him again and lifted his left hand to her right breast. He cupped it in a measuring way and then squeezed its cushion. “You’re so much larger there than Isabel.”

She smiled. “You like?”

He hunched to revere it with a kiss and took the blunt pink nipple in his mouth, sucking it hard until he smacked. And then he straightened. “Shall I take off my clothes?”

Shyly, she said, “Yes, please.”

With his wife he’d get naked in a hidden way so he’d not scare her with “his thing,” but as he was turned away and getting out of his gray flannel trousers, Ruth squirmed against him from behind and reached around to grip him in her palm. She tenderly jerked him erect, and he held still, tottering with intoxication, a slave to the pleasure of her hand, and sighing out, “Oh, you’re amazing, Ruth.”

She stepped around to the front of him and knelt. “I have wanted to do this, too.” She took him in her mouth and her head moved frontward and back. She’d stop now and then to back away and examine his cock as if just looking gave her joy. And then she said, “Don’t come yet,” and flicked her tongue a last time before standing and walking over to his desk and slouching back on her forearms with her thighs receptively wide. “Have you been with your secretary here?” she asked.

“I haven’t had sex with anyone but my wife. And certainly not here.”

She grinned. “Good.”

“Shall I kiss you down there?”

“Oh, that’s all right. I’m ready.”

“Shall I pull out?”

She pouted. “No. I like the seed inside me.”

Judd walked into her and sneered a little as he entered the soft and velvety caress of Ruth. She wryly gasped with false wide eyes as if he were enormous, and he smiled as he jammed himself in and out, holding off as long as he could, and then feeling his semen lash out of him with such force he loudly cried, “Ah!”

She petted his head as he fell against her in exhaustion and feebly kissed her ear and neck. She cooed to him, “Oh yes, there’s my good boy. My Loverboy. I have such a nice place for you to visit.”

His heart was hammering as he said, “I haven’t felt this way. Ever.”

She whispered, “You will, Judd Gray. Whenever you want.”

And he smiled. “I so enjoyed meeting you and hope to do so again.”

THREE

MR. & MRS. GRAY

She got to Queens Village just before midnight on Friday. All the lights were still on in the house. She walked through the foyer and dining room to the kitchen, found the cellar door wide open, and heard the finale to Beethoven’s Fidelio playing on Albert’s Victrola in the attic. Because the baby would be sleeping, she didn’t call to him, but ascended the staircase and saw Albert was kneeling next to their clawfoot bathtub and gently lowering a steaming, three-gallon copper kettle of beer wort into a foot of ice water. His white shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. A hank of sandy brown hair fell over his forehead. She asked, “What are you brewing now?”

Albert glanced up at her. “I lucked onto some Saaz noble hops. I’m making a fine Pilsener lager.” He dipped a thermometer into the wort and watched the temperature gradually change. “Was the moving-picture show good?”

“Lots of action. Douglas Fairbanks in The Three Musketeers”

“Was the plot impossible to follow?”

It was his standard complaint. “Not really.”

“And how’s your nutty cousin?”

“Ethel’s fine.”

“I have to get this down to forty-five degrees,” Albert said.

Tags: Ron Hansen Historical
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