“But I’ve dreamed of this with you. I’ve wanted this with you.”
Still keeping his eyes on hers, he leaned in and kissed the inside of one stockinged knee. Slowly, he kissed his way up her thigh. When he got close to the top of the stocking, he had to force his eyes away from her face due to the angle of his neck. When he got past the garter and kissed her bare skin for the first time, he heard her whimper.
It cut straight to his heart, dissecting away the scars of being despised, of being unwanted by two other women.
He had planned to kiss his way down her other thigh, but once he got close to her quim, he couldn’t move away. Her sweet musk was intoxicating. Part Pears soap, part sweat, part saddle leather, but mostly something that must be her arousal. Essence of Henrietta. He brought both of his hands up and gently parted her outer lips. He kissed the pink, dewed flesh around her entrance. More whimpers. He nudged with his nose as he kissed and finally brought out his tongue and gave her a long lick, all the way to the top of her sex.
“Ooooooooh. There. There. That’s it. That’s it.” Her hands laced into his hair.
“You like that?” he said into her cunt, reveling in her heady taste and dizzy with the notion that she actually wanted him to do this.
“The top, that little place at the top, that’s the place where . . . if you touch me there, I’ll spend. I mean that’s what I do on my own . . .”
Henrietta gave herself pleasure. Of course she did. His sensual voluptuary would not deny herself just because she had married a coward.
He felt with his tongue around the top of her slit and there was a little nub of hardness there.
She yelped. “That’s it, that’s it.”
Vasco da Gama had nothing on him. Nor Ponce de León, nor Captain Cook. Who gave a fuck about the Fountain of Life? The source of the Nile? The Northwest Passage?
Oliver Hartwell had discovered the source of his wife’s greatest pleasure.
“Gentle at first,” she whispered.
With the lightest touch, he licked the nub. Her fingers momentarily released his hair and then pulled.
“Yes, Oliver. Oliver!”
He licked a bit harder. She squealed. He licked faster. For the first time ever, he heard his wife take the Lord’s name in vain. The little nub was getting harder and harder and larger. He dipped down to her entrance. Her juices were copious now and he needed a taste of her there. And as he tongued her entrance, he felt his phallus begin to revive. His forty-three year old cock was ready for more, was it?
She quieted. But as he returned to the nub and set up the pulsing quick rhythm of his tongue again, she squealed. Again.
“God, God, God. Oliver. Oliver. Oliver!”
Her legs shook, her fingers mauled his head, she commingled his name with the almighty’s. Then she collapsed, quivering. He kissed her outer lips lightly, not ready to leave this brave, new world.
Finally, he straightened and sat back on his haunches. His height meant he had had to bend down quite a bit to get to her quim. His fantasy hadn’t taken that into account. He must buy some chairs with taller legs.
Her eyes were on him, but they were dreamy, hazed, far away in some land of indolent pleasure.
“Goodness,” she breathed.
Creakily, he got to his feet and buttoned his fall over his once-again tumescent organ. She bit her lip as she watched him put himself away.
“But . . . but what about the suckling of my breasts and the plunging into me like you’re a wild beast?”
He leaned over and pulled down her skirts. “Let’s go upstairs and take care of that in a bed. You make my cock think it’s twenty years old, but the rest of me isn’t.”
A hearty laugh burst from her before she pressed her lips together in a futile attempt to control her merriment. “Will you say more lewd things to me?”
He leaned over again and put his hands on the arms of the chair and got his face very close to hers. “Do you want me tell you about how I want you on your hands and knees on the mattress so I can take you from behind while I grope your sinfully gorgeous bottom? Drive my cock into you from that position so forcefully that your beautiful flesh jiggles and shakes and you collapse onto the bed, crushed by my need for you?”
She stared at him, her mouth agape. “Yes.”
He straightened his back and groaned and held out his hand. “Then come with me, wife.”
Seventeen
