She’d hooked him. He couldn’t have backed away if he’d wanted to. “You know you’re beautiful, as well. Or you should.” He leaned over her and began to unbutton her dress at the cleavage, allowing it to slip off her shoulders. “Every bit of you has been touched by beauty in its purest form. To me you are the
very essence of woman.” He moved his fingers down the soft skin of her neck and around her breasts, his hands cupping them and gently squeezing their gloriously malleable flesh.
She sighed, and her nipples began to peak and darken under his touch. “I’m not so sure about it, but I love that I am all that for you, Cal.”
There was something veiled whispering within her words, something that called to the deepest part of him, something that made his chest tighten. Need suffused him. He wanted to taste her, to eat her, to lose himself in her. He bent and tasted her nipples with his tongue, moving from one to the other, his face pressing into the soft, fragrant skin of her cleavage, absorbing her scent.
She stroked his hair, and he lifted his head to look at her. Her eyes were pools of desire, her mouth open as if waiting to be fed. Her bountiful tits were peaked for action, lolling toward him. Cal wanted to grab every bit of what she offered.
“I want to devour your gorgeous body and cover it in tracks of my semen.”
“Oh, god, yes.” Her voice was a moan. She clung to him.
He wanted to feel skin on skin and reached up to haul his T-shirt over his head. He lay over her and moved his naked chest against her breasts, slowly riding the firm flesh and the knots of her nipples back and forth with the movement. It was rich -- rich and powerful. He could feel the waves of sheer lust that rolled between them, crashing waves of sensation through their every nerve ending.
She snatched at his shoulders, a growl in her throat, pushed him back and rolled over him, taking the kiss into her own mouth. He groaned and lay back against the grass. The smell of crushed grass and summer seed hung heavy in the hazy atmosphere. He let his arms fall open, taking the heat of the sun into his skin, bathing in its warmth. He felt the stirring energy of the earth beneath him and the rich passion of the woman climbing over him. She lay with her breasts crushed against his abdomen while she led her kisses across his body, from one arm, along his collarbone, to the other.
Her mouth was warm, moist, and succulent. It closed on his nipple, and the gentle tug of her teeth closed his eyes to the sky. The pull of her body on his rose up inside him. His arms moved to take her, but she held them down against the ground. Her body was arched over him, pinning him down. She looked like a wild creature again, come to feast on him. He groaned and relinquished himself to her.
She rubbed her face against his chest, resting her belly over the swell of his cock. It was sweet torture. His body was taut with the need for release. She stroked her hands over his chest, and he arched up in response. Every bit of him was wired. The hard curve of his cock pressed insistently against her belly. She rolled and freed it from its constraints, and, to his extreme pleasure, captured his hot, pulsing rod in her waiting mouth.
He felt the core of his body sinking and rising simultaneously, as if he were diving into a warm pool of water. Her tongue danced and teased over his cock until he was crazy with it, the blood pounding into his loins harder and faster. She took him deep, plunging up and down over the stiff shaft of his cock with her delectable mouth until he whimpered. Then she was milking him with her breasts, that sweet, soft flesh riding him, slow and deliberate. All he could feel was the warmth all round them and that heavenly enclosure on his cock, drawing him off with such consummate skill.
He looked down at his cock thrusting up between her tits. She was rubbing their flesh up and down on his burning hot skin, occasionally licking the end of his cock to lubricate it, taking it deep into her mouth before returning the rod to her breasts, alternating the pressure and texture of his pleasure. She glanced up at his face, watching his reactions. She was observing him to find what stimulated him most and what held him off from coming just yet, to make his sweet torture last.
Christ, she was good.
He gasped when she took him deep into her mouth again, stroking the sensitive places on the head of his cock against her throat with such eminent precision that he thought he would have to beg her to make him come soon. His balls were locked in an iron grip. Her ribcage was pressing down onto them with each stroke. Then he felt the quick, urgent hammer of release, its thudding pressure building up until it ripped him up and he spurted his seed into her mouth.
He lost contact with time and space for a few moments. Then he felt her move, felt the gentle lapping of her tongue drinking him in while her hands stroked and soothed him. She crept up his body, her tongue leading the way. When she paused, his hand went into her hair, drawing it back from her face, and then slid over the warm skin of her back, stroking the sunshine with his fingers. His body was still jerking in the aftermath.
He stroked his hand down to where her dress hung around her hips. He pulled the skirts of it up around her waist, and she rolled over onto her back. “Open your legs,” he whispered.
She followed his instructions, drawing her knees up and opening her thighs for him. His hand passed down over the warm skin of her belly and across the soft, delicate hair on her mons. He wanted to taste her; he wanted to drink from her sex. He knelt between her legs and bent his head, plowing her sex lips apart with the strong muscle of his tongue. He trailed it from the nub of flesh that stood out between the full, ripe lips, down to the wet channel of her inner sex. Like a tiny mouth, it beckoned him. He pressed his tongue home there, suckling on her juices, and then began to lick and stroke the tender pink folds of skin that surrounded her honey pot. She writhed beneath him, low moans coming from her open mouth. He pushed her on until her sex grew plump and heavy with blood and sensation. He closed his mouth over her clit, nurturing it and milking it until she was drenched with waves of pleasure and her hips began to buck.
Her head rolled against the ground, and she grunted with the force of her need. Her fingers clutched at the earth. He felt her spasm inside, and she dripped her honeyed essence onto his waiting tongue, a heavy ooze of pleasure that he devoured.
Chapter Eight
“You must be starving.” Felice eyed Jason across the long oak table that stood down the center of the kitchen. “I’ll cook for you.”
Jason, having rested well the night before, hadn’t gone to sleep that afternoon at all and had been quickly whisked off by their hostess. She had shown him around the house and the grounds, then invited him into the kitchen for a chat and coffee. The room was massive, two walls lined with steel shelving housing a massive range of utensils, more of which hung from a rack above their heads. A big black range spanned one side of the room, with two fridges, work surfaces, and the sinks on the other.
“Well, if you’re sure you have the time.” Jason realized that with everything that had happened, he hadn’t actually eaten since lunchtime the previous day.
“Of course! I love to feed people ...”
Her glance was outrageously suggestive, and Jason couldn’t keep the eager expression off his face.
“I get the chance less often now that Georgie is in London and David, her father, is away so much.”
She began to rifle around in the fridges, one elegant leg stretched out behind her, her movements as graceful and eye-catching as a ballerina while she went about her tasks.
“When he was the local member of Parliament, we had such dinner parties here.” She turned back to him, her arms laden with goods.
“Have you been with the family long?”
“Twelve years. Since Georgie was a mischievous girl running around the place, driving away every housekeeper who came to work here.” She winked. “I won her over.”