The fall of the cloth revealed his pale gold skin and the deep crevices between his rounded muscles.
Her hands rose. She couldn’t help reaching for him, even while he was pulling a flat square out of the nightstand drawer and laying it on the top.
His body rested between her thighs already, kissing her and pressing her back into the soft mattress. His mouth still tasted faintly of fresh mint because he never drank while he was protecting her. His skin on hers ignited the fire in her veins, and she arched under him as his mouth found her throat.
“Remember, when you’re out there,” he whispered as he rolled her over and mouthed the backs of her shoulders, breathing on the skin of her spine, “that in here, you’re mine. I do whatever I want to you.”
“Yes,” she said, panting. Sweat gathered around her hair. She was burning for his touch.
He kissed her back until she was yearning for him, pressing her ass up to try to make him slide inside of her. His hands grasped her breasts, hips, and the round globes of her ass, making her whimper for him totake her.
He pulled her hips in the air. “Say yes again.”
That meant he had something planned, something wild.“Yes.”
Something cool nudged her ass.
She almost jerked forward because he’d never done that. When she looked over her shoulder at Dieter, he was sitting back on his heels. Muscles wrapped his body as if thick ropes wound his arms and braided over his torso. She rocked back a little to show him she was agreeing to it.
He pressed a thing inside her ass with a pinch. She gasped.
“Good girl,” he whispered, pushing her over on her back and spreading her thighs.
He took her with his mouth first, kissing and sucking her clit more and more roughly until she was arched so hard that she balanced on her butt and the top of her head, running her fingers through his short, blond hair as he dug into her with his tongue.
When she was crying with need, almost coming, he crawled up and reached for the package on the nightstand, rolling it on and then pushing himself inside her. The spice of his cologne surrounded her, warm cinnamon, fresh spring air, and the dark, masculine musk of him.
Passion built inside Flicka. That thing in her ass pressed him up against the top of her channel, filling her more tightly. Every time he stroked into her, a stripe of sheer pleasure crested through her body.
She was twisted so tightly, trying to come, that she couldn’t hear herself keening but could feel every cell of his body on hers, the silk of the soft hairs on his chest and the trail down his stomach, the roughness of him inside her, and the warmth of his arms around her.
One of his arms moved, reaching around her thigh to where the thing ached in her ass.
A tremor started in the thing, a slow throb that built, keeping time with Dieter’s strokes into her. A buzz spread through her body, riding the waves of pure pleasure up her spine as he pounded into her and the thing vibrated harder.
A cry tore from her throat that she could feel but not hear.
The whole world crashed around her, a shattering that she felt in her soul.
When the pieces of herself came back together, Dieter had held her in his arms, murmuring to her how beautiful she was.
The sheets were ripped where she’d clawed them.
And then, just like now at Wulfram’s wedding, he had never looked away from her. He had held her with his eyes and his arms.
Flicka had loved when he did that, so she looked back at him and let herself drift in the memory, dreaming for just a moment.
But the wedding ended.
Dieter looked away to shake Wulfram’s hand, and Flicka looked back at her husband, standing behind her.
Pierre Grimaldi jutted his elbow toward her. “Shall we?”
She slid her hand under his arm, feeling his muscular biceps under his finely tailored suit. “Of course.”
At The Wedding
Dieter Schwarz
