Chapter 7 #3
He came to the bed, standing over her. Feeling like some pagan god about to consume a virginal sacrifice.
Cupping her chin in his hand, he was reminded that her bones were delicate as spun glass.
“No, little wife. I’m not just going to kiss you, I’m going to devour every secret inch of you.
I’m going to taste you in ways you might not yet have imagined, and I want you to make peace with that right now. ”
Her face warmed right there in the palm of his hand, turning a brighter shade that he’d yet seen. She swallowed once, twice, the subtle movement of her graceful throat working against his hand.
Once her chin dipped in a nod of acquiescence, he was lost.
She met his kiss with a warm, sibilant welcome, and what he tasted inside of her mouth set his skin on fire.
Need. As big and vital as his, trapped in a much smaller frame.
Nothing else in the world existed outside of her tantalizing flavor. The kiss was all soft groans and silken slides, giving way to penetrating explorations and hot, seductive swirls.
Eli’s lungs felt as if they’d dilated to twice their size in order to take in the frantic breaths they shared, locking them away as part of himself.
Yearning to become part of her with such fanatical fervency, he could feel the throbbing of his cock in the curl of his toes, the arteries of his wrists, the chamber in his chest.
His body was one huge, synchronous heartbeat, and he kissed her as if she could save him from this excruciating craving.
Breaking the kiss, she whispered against his lips, “Stop being so careful, Eli. I’m not as fragile as everyone thinks.”
The dam of his self-control shattered, and his hands were on her before she’d finished her admonition. In the past, he’d gone right for the good stuff. Breasts, ass, thighs, pussy, usually in that order.
But, as in all things, Rosaline was different than any other woman.
His fingers found the oddest places wildly erotic. A downy trail behind her ear that led along her swanlike neck. The divot above her clavicles. The eruption of goosepimples hidden beneath the filmy garment as his abrasive skin snagged on her sleeves.
Their lips continued to shape and morph against one another, their heads constantly repositioning as their tongues tested, advanced, retreated, teased.
Eli couldn’t remember why he’d not been fond of kissing before.
Perhaps because no one had tasted like her before. No one had so artlessly and amorously endeared herself to him, so much that he cared enough to indulge in this time-consuming exploration of her gentle mouth, one designed for sin and sensation.
Perhaps he’d be her first lover, but she was his first, too.
The first woman who’d ever shaped both her palms to his jaw and held it as if it were precious. The first to thread elegant fingers into his hair to stroke and sift rather than pull and demand. The first to ever use a word like “exquisite” to describe him.
The first to make him burn with such intensity, the heat threatened to melt the fortress of iron he’d cast around his heart.
Eventually, his hand found her breast, tested the soft curve of it, kneaded the insignificant weight. He cupped the entire thing in his palm and still spanned some of her ribs with his fingers.
The shape of her body wasn’t sloped and gathered into dramatic peaks and valleys.
They reminded him of the difference between the Rocky Mountains and the pastoral hills of this country.
Gentle curves, seamlessly rolling into the next with unmeasured perfection.
Easily explored, endlessly lovely. Soft where a woman should be soft, but sleek in an almost feline manner.
When his thumb grazed the taut nipple, she gasped against his mouth and squeezed her thighs shut. Smiling with a sensual suspicion, he did it again, delighted when her hips twitched and squirmed where she sat.
“You feel that, don’t you?” he crooned, pressing little kisses against the corners of her mouth, the bridge of her nose, the divot in her chin.
“How could I not?” she whispered back.
“You feel it between those pretty thighs,” he pressed. “When I do this.”
Her breath hitched as he thrummed the other nipple, using the fabric to produce the soft glide his skin could not.
“Yes,” she rasped. “How do you do that?”
“That’s all you, honey.” He kissed her temples, her fluttering eyelids, the sharp peaks of her cheekbones. “So responsive.”
Though he tried to keep his kisses gentle, they deepened each time his mouth returned to hers. Slow, consuming ardor intensified to strong sweeps of his tongue, a rhythmic intrusion echoing what his body yearned to do to hers.
Demanding her surrender, thrilling when she submitted.
He moved on before he went too deep, dragging his lips down her throat, over the gossamer gown, his hands also venturing lower to make way.
With a broken sigh, she lowered from her hands to her elbows, offering the flesh his mouth sought in an erotic arch of her spine.
He bent over her, his lips finding her tight nipple and kissing it, dampening the fabric as he opened them to use it as a filter for his hot breath.
“Oh… Oh my—” Her whisper was lost to a moan as his tongue flicked over it, his hand shaping to the curve of her waist, her trembling hip. The flimsy fabric often caught on his calluses, the sound of the scrape a ripping reminder of what he did to delicate things.
She didn’t seem to have a care for the garment, as her hips rolled slightly forward, lifting toward his hand’s approach as if upon instinct.
Regardless of the welcome, her thighs were still clamped tight as a vise. Mouth never leaving her breast, he traced the seam where her thigh met her torso, following it to the downy patch between her legs.
He pet her idly, enjoying the feel of the intimate hair beneath the web of see-through silk.
“Eli?”
He heard every question contained in the single syllable of his name, and he lifted her head to meet her anxious, unfocused gaze. “I’m right here with you. Just lie back and let me make you feel good.”
“Should I…should I be doing something?”
“I’ll tell you what to do,” he said.
“Oh. Good.” Relaxing, she allowed her shoulder blades to meet the mattress, arms straight at her sides, gripping the coverlet as if it would keep her from falling.
Eli reclined on one elbow beside her, nuzzling at the fragrant cove between her neck and her hair, breathing in honeysuckle and the warm, intoxicating musk of her skin.
Resting his hand on the flat of her stomach, he marveled at how far across it spanned. Hipbone to hipbone, maybe a little more. This time, he paid attention to her other breast, teasing the fabric with his damp breath, kissing, licking, and laving.
His hand smoothed down the plane of her stomach again, to stroke over the slight curve of her mons.
This time, she melted on a sigh.
Eli stretched the moment as long as it would allow, playing softly against the plump furrows of flesh with lazy strokes, and tickling the tightly closed slit from over the fabric.
Encouraged by her soft little expressions of air and the visible twitches and trembling of her thighs, he slid his index finger into the crease of her sex.
Fingertip covered in silk, he found the slight protrusion of her nub, and bent his finger around it, gliding toward those pliant folds of protective skin.
It was between those folds he found a pool of slick heat.
Sweet. Holy. Christ. She was so fucking wet.
This was something a diligent wife couldn’t pretend. This evidence of her body’s desire, this slick concoction only a woman’s well could spring to make ready for his intrusion.
She stiffened, as if suddenly aware of the situation.
“Oh,” she fretted. “Oh no. Something is wrong.”
Lifting his head from her breast, he said, “No, my sweet wife. Everything is all right.”
“But—”
“It’s supposed to happen…” he soothed. “So I can do this.” Coating the fabric and his finger with the moisture, he drew it up through both layers of her sex until he found the fold he sought.
She jolted as if struck by lightning. Her teeth audibly clacked together, and legs straightened into the nether past the edge of the bed, her toes curled into tight little buttons.
He rotated the insinuated finger this way and that as he returned to stroke and suck at her nipple with his mouth.
“Oh,” she breathed again. “It’s never felt so…ah!” Her back arched off the bed as he ever so gently scraped his teeth against the taut peak while simultaneously threading his finger just beneath the hardened little pearl.
Eli released her nipple, gaping down in disbelief as she bowed up in a supple arc, as if someone had tied marionette strings to her sternum. A high, tight sound escaped as her hips convulsed in strong, brief jerks.
Could she really be this sensitive? Was she truly coming apart after only a couple of twists and touches?
Her throat made little grunts and groans of distress until one of her hands slapped against her mouth, and her teeth bit down on the middle finger.
Wide, wet eyes found him as he continued the miniscule movements of his fingers.
He stayed with her, his eyes boring down into hers.
Doing his best to convey what he was incapable of saying.
That the sight of her pleasure humbled him more than would the presence of God.
That he was grateful she broke into his observatory because that led them to this moment.
That he was beginning to feel things he couldn’t identify.
Things he didn’t dare profane with something so base as language.
She must have found what she sought, because she gave over to the moment, allowing little tremors to wrack through her until she brought her knees up in order to twist and writhe away from a climax gone too sensitive to bear any longer.
Eli took pity on her, pulling his hand away.
“I—I never knew,” she marveled. “I never… Oh no. What—”
Taking advantage of her movement, he nudged at her bent knees, encouraging her to part them. When she resisted, he increased the pressure.