Page 65 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

Sometimes love is a tsunami, sometimes it is a gentle wave . . .

And, oh, she needed touching!

Merrill stood and opened his arms to her, and she stepped forward into his embrace, gladly. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she laid her head against his chest. Even the feel of his heart beating against her ear was a touching of sorts. Everything about him was love.

And that’s just what scared her so much—what had caused her to break out in sobs and run away like a silly teenager earlier this evening. His kindness—his loving—was a tender force that broke down all her barriers. No jackhammer chiseling away. More like a persistent drip, drip, drip. She couldn’t resist him. She just couldn’t.

She raised her head and looked up at him. “Love me,” she urged.

“I already do,” he replied, and lifted her into his arms and onto the bed.

Short work was made of removing her nightshirt and his briefs. Lying on her back, she reached for him, but he took her hands instead and arranged them above her head on the pillow. “Let me just look at you first.”

Which he did.

For a long time.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

“Too curvy.”

“I love your curves. All the soft squishy places.”

“Squishy!” She swatted at him playfully. “Well, you’re beautiful, too.”

“Yeah?” he said, laughter in his eyes and voice. “What part of me is the most beautiful?”

“Your heart.”

“Oh, crap! The nice guy line again.”

“You’re beautiful on the outside, too,” she conceded with a smile.

“But I don’t have any squishiness.”

“Hardness has its attraction, sometimes.”

“Now you’re talking, sweetheart.” He took her hand and put it on his hardness, just so she’d know what he meant.

As if it wasn’t obvious!

“I want to love you all over,” he said then.

“Now you’re talking, sweetheart,” she repeated back at him.

Which caused him to smile, recognizing that it was unusual for her to banter so.

He kissed her then, endlessly. And not just her lips. He devoted equal attention to her jaw and eyelids and neck and the erotic whorls of her ears. Her breasts. Even her underarms and the inside of her elbows. Her belly. Skipping over her private parts. The inside of her thighs and knees. The arches of her feet and her toes.

Then back up again.

And they weren’t silent kisses, either. Each stop along his journey was accompanied by softly whispered, often wicked compliments or observations.

When he licked and blew into her ears, he chuckled at her squirming body and said, “Like that, do you, De-li-lah? How about this?” He dipped the tip of his wet tongue into her ear, repeatedly, until she arched her body and begged him to stop. Or had she begged him to not stop? She wasn’t sure.

He was fascinated with her breasts, and his kisses there were both praising and teasing. Who knew there were so many ways to use the lips and teeth and tongue as erotic torture devices?

“I’ll pay you back for this,” she warned when he’d done something particularly torturous, bordering on perverted.