18. Deep Touch #2
Emma leaned back, letting her head rest against his chest. Above them, clouds drifted past the glass ceiling, alternately revealing and hiding the stars. The night air had turned the conservatory windows to mirrors, reflecting countless versions of their intimate tableau.
“Should we document the effects of combined stimuli?” she asked, but the words dissolved into a soft sound as his lips found her throat.
“I have a different experiment in mind.” His hands slid lower, making her arch. “One exploring the body's most sensitive regions.” He demonstrated with skilled fingers, and her breath caught. “Unless you’d prefer to take notes?”
She turned in his arms, the movement sending her wineglass toppling. Port spilled across the white tablecloth like blood, but neither moved.
“No more notes,” she breathed against his mouth. “Show me.”
Everett led Emma toward the chaise long, his heart thundering with anticipation. The moonlight caught her golden hair, draping her in silver strands.
“My wife,” he breathed, still marvelling at the word. His fingers traced the delicate line of her jaw, feeling her shiver beneath his touch. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this moment?”
Emma’s response was to melt into him, her kiss a wordless surrender that shattered the last walls between them.
There was trust in the way her lips parted, passion in the soft catch of her breath against his mouth.
He devoured her response, matching and magnifying her fervour until the kiss blazed between them.
This wasn’t just a kiss. It was a first intoxicating taste of what they could capture together.
This moment would echo through countless others, each more searing than the last. As her fingers threaded through his hair, drawing him deeper, he knew this kiss was an invitation to ecstasy, one that would transform them both.
No matter how desperately he wished to claim her, he took his time undressing her, treating each newly revealed inch of skin as territory to be explored, mapped, and cherished. Her sighs and soft sounds of pleasure urged him to lose control. Her hands discovered ways to drive him to distraction.
The rustle of fabric stilled and there she stood, French lace draping her like morning mist and one shoulder bare.
His throat went dry.
He circled her while his pulse thundered, drinking in each detail as if she were some rare, wild creature he’d only dreamed of until now.
Behind her, he surrendered to the intoxicating scent of her skin where neck met shoulder, breathed in the honeyed essence of her hair.
His knees hit the floor before he realised he’d fallen, drawn to her by some primal magnetism.
When he pressed his face to her chemise at the apex of her thighs, the heat of her through that gossamer barrier made his entire body throb with need.
His restraint crumbled like sand through fingers.
When at last he rose to his feet, her wide eyes confirmed his gaze expressed every bit of wild desire he felt.
He stood a few feet away from her and undressed.
His skin prickled everywhere her gaze arrested.
First his throat, then his chest, and as he turned to display his back to her, every cell in his backside tingled with awareness.
He turned, watching her eyes darken as she observed his cock grow.
He stepped closer, their bodies sensing each other’s heat, humming in their ears, and the breaths tingling their senses.
His hand reached for her nape, fingers spreading to press her mouth to him, to get as close as possible.
His kiss was deep but slow, feeling every texture, every taste, and every movement of her mouth as he backed her up against the chaise long.
He nudged her down on her back, one leg hanging off the edge, her heat naked to him.
He lost all semblance of civility then. Bending over her breasts with hunger, he reached for her cunny.
A sound he didn’t recognise escaped his throat as he dipped his fingers in the pool of her arousal.
He massaged her swollen bud while his mouth nipped, sucked, and caressed her coiled nipples.
The muscles in her thighs contracted and relaxed until she cried out.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and her moan filled the room.
Everett rose above her to his full height, every cell in his body buzzing with need. He lifted her knees up and tucked them against her belly. Her neck and cheeks turned red at his scrutiny.
“Everett, stop…” she said, her voice timid.
He met her gaze. “Just when I thought you couldn’t be more perfect… Your cunny…and your rosebud…are the prettiest I’ve seen.”
Slowly, Everett wrapped his fingers around his cock and stroked languidly as Emma appeared rivetted by the sight before her.
She exhaled softly, licking her lower lip.
He then butted his tip against her entrance, the head looking like a brute against her delicate folds.
He soaked it in her juice and sucked in a breath as pleasure surged.
“Everett…”
“Hell…” he rasped as he closed his eyes. “Say it again, Emma.”
“What?”
“Let me hear you say my name.” He opened his eyes and set his gaze on her flushed face.
“Everett.”
“Again.”
“Evere—"
With a grunt, he thrust into her silken flesh with his thick head, then released a long guttural groan as her inner muscles gripped him. Emma gasped; her attention fixed on where they were joined, his engorged member stretching her to the maximum.
Everett didn’t move inside her but waited.
Her lashes finally lifted, and her eyes met his, dark and unfocused. “Please…”
One corner of his mouth curved upward. “Please what?”
“You know what,” she breathed.
“I don’t know anything except that you wanted to wait. Or is it Michael Kincaid that you want?”
Indignation flashed in her eyes as she whimpered. “Everett, don’t be so cruel,” she said, wriggling her hips to bring him deeper inside her. Everett grunted at the delicious sensation but held down her hips.
“No cheating. Tell me what you want, Emma. I want to hear it.”
“I-I want you,” she said with haste.