Chapter Three
She gasped, a soft whimper of protest, as the feeling of his lips crushing against hers set every nerve in her alive, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t resist as his tongue danced across the roof of her mouth, ravishing her with lush licks that made her toes curl before entangling with hers. Nor did she try to escape when his powerful hands enveloped her, cupping her buttocks with exquisite force and dragging her across, so his resurrected cock pushed against the throbbing heat at her centre.
Then she was straddling his lap, the softness of his hair tickling the skin between her fingers as she fisted it and kissed him back, and nothing seemed to matter.
She didn’t know what she was doing, but suddenly she didn’t care.
She didn’t care that it was wrong. Didn’t care that he was her son’s best friend. Didn’t care that he was half her age.
She didn’t care that she was a married woman.
He was just too much, too much for her to resist, to deny.
Hugh groaned, a low throaty sound when she sucked his tongue, the throbbing purr tingling down her spine to spike in her clit as his fingers squeezed her bum, crushing her to him. The sting and his roughness turned her on all the more. Fuck, she’d forgotten how good this could feel.
How good it should feel.
It had been so long since a man had made her feel like this, she couldn’t help her little squeak of protest when he pulled away. Even so, a part of her screamed that it was for the best. They couldn’t do this. It was wrong; it was so very bad…
“Hugh!” His name left her in a hot breathy moan as his lips covered that sensitive spot behind her ear and sucked.
She couldn’t believe what was happening. What she was doing.
It was so surreal, like she was waking from a dream but not quite all the way, and was now trapped in that void where dreams met reality.
She didn’t do this. She’d never done anything like this.
But she’d wanted to. Fantasised about it. Dreamt about it, but never…
Heat, want, and greed surged through her as tingling sensations zapped through her from her head to the tips of her fingers and toes. Moans poured from her, hot and wanton. Somewhere in the back of her subconscious, she just registered the weight of his desire pushing against the heat throbbing in the cradle of her hips. The idea that she was affecting this young stud as potently as he was her was so exciting, she couldn’t resist. She needed to touch him, feel him.
Her hands moved slowly, cautiously, almost ridiculously so, given their predicament. However, she couldn’t help it. Half afraid the lightest touch, too bold, might shatter the spell and repulse him.
So, Elizabeth clung to him, her body crushed to his, hands pawing at his back through his shirt. He felt so hard. Not bulky the way bodybuilders strived for, but solid, corded and toned. A slab of marble, chiselled layer by layer into a work of art, like Michael Angelo’s David given life.
At any other moment, she might have wondered how the devil he had managed it, while at the same time juggling the hectic life of a lawyer in training. However, now, all she wanted was to see him, feel his skin, and worship him. If only his bloody shirt wasn’t tucked so neatly into his jeans, barring her from immediate access. It just wasn’t fair. It would take too long for her to pull it loose, and the act itself presented the considerable problem of having to take her hands off him.
Worse still, Hugh was faster and bolder, much bolder.
While his mouth worked her into a frenzy, ravishing her sensible tendons with licks and nips, one of his hands worked its way up beneath her top. It was cold against her heated skin, but the chill only added to the sensuousness of his touch. His fingers brushed over her naked flesh, up her midriff, over her ribs, gathering up the hem of her top as it went. He was careful to avoid her breasts, however, and neglect made her nipples ache as he pushed the garment up and over her bountiful cleavage.
He left the spaghetti-string top there, bunched and rolled up under her arms. With a final nip of her earlobe, he pulled back to admire his handiwork. In a dark, far-flung corner of her mind that was still capable of rational thought, a voice urged her to come to her senses and slap that smug look off his gorgeous face and cover herself.
She quickly pushed aside, however, when she saw the look in his eyes as he took her in. How long had it been since Patrick had looked at her like that? Had he ever?
He rumbled an approving purr. Deep and low, it thrummed through his body into hers wherever their skin touched, making her sex clench. Clearly, he liked what he saw, and the thought made her glad she’d worn the red lace bra adorned with black filigree.
It was a tad too expensive and ornate to be considered practical, but the way it pushed her tits up and lifted the years, made the expense a thing of little account.
Her ass also happened to look great in the matching thong, if she said so herself.
“Mmm… your tits are amazing.”
His words thrummed through her, straight down to her pulsing clit, as the pad of his thumb brushed brazenly over her breasts, teasing around her bra. Just inches from where she needed it.
“You know, I used to dream about fucking them when I was younger. I’d jerk off thinking about burying my cock in them while that mouth sucked me off, but what really made me blow was thinking about them bouncing while I fucked you. Especially when I went balls deep, and you begged me to give it to you, to take your creamy cunt…”
Her breath came in short gasps that were only slightly due to the way he was plumping her cleavage, that huge palm rubbing over her nipple through the lace in the most exquisite torture. His dirty words were a seduction in their own right. The thought of him stroking that monster while he dreamed of having his way with her. It was more than she could stand.
No man had ever treated her like this. He was rough and knew what he wanted, knew what she wanted, even if she didn’t know it. He made her feel. Made her lose herself in the moment. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t remember why she was there, or where she was, or even what had brought her to this sofa with this stranger.
This wasn’t the boy she’d known.
That boy had grown up. Become a man. A man who took what he wanted.
And he wanted her.
Wanted her so lustily, he ripped the bra away like it was dental floss. With a flick of his wrist, he discarded the expensive piece of lingerie, banished it to a place out of sight. Then the damp, delicious heat of his mouth replaced it, sucking in her nipple, making her gasp ragged breaths.
“Oh god, what… what are you doing to me…” she panted, her back arching as he brought his other hand up to cup and knead her neglected tit. Sparks and starbursts sizzled through her as he worshipped her breasts. Then abruptly, he switched, and his fingers rolled her slick right bud into a heightened state of arousal while his tongue swirled around and around her left in ever shrinking circles, until she just wanted to scream.
Somehow, Hugh knew just how to play her body like a fiddle.
Grabbing and squeezing, biting and sucking, rolling and pinching her nipples, he made her feel things…
He made her feel like a woman again. Made her feel all the things she’d forgotten in her years of captivity. Her years of bondage, in matrimony, bound to a weak, whimpering sham of a man.
Made her feel that feeling again. That slick heat throbbing so insistently down in her centre and the delicious friction that accompanied it every time she moved.
He made her feel things, and she wanted more.
“Mmm… Yeah… that’s it… fuck… you bad boy!”
The words were out before she really knew what she was saying. Almost by their own volition, her hands had threaded through his hair, both pulling him to her and steadying her as she ground her body into his.
And suddenly Elizabeth’s entire world was focusing on that feeling of him sliding along her folds, through all the layers of lace and denim, to grind against her clit.
God! He feels even bigger than he looks…
The feeling brought the universe crashing down around her.
This wasn’t right.
She couldn’t do this.
She didn’t do… this.
She was a respectable woman, a married woman. She didn’t have random quickies with men half her age. She didn’t shag strange men, even if they were the embodiment of a fucking sex god!
No! She couldn’t do this… she mustn’t … she … she … No … No…
“No!”
In other circumstances, the look of stunned disbelief on Hugh’s face as he jumped back would have looked rather comical. However, Elizabeth was in too much of a rush to appreciate it.
“I’m… sorry… that… that was a mistake. I should… I shouldn’t have done that.” Scrambling back off of the sofa and to her feet, she pushed her top down, being careful to walk around the coffee table and put as much space between her and her ravisher as possible as she did.
Then, without waiting for his reply, she was out of the room, down the hall, through the door, in her car and gone.