smug – and aroused. His whole body looked filled with the same delightful tension that animated the impressive erection that jutted in front of him.
So tasty. José had some streaks of white in his black hair and she knew he was older than she and Mel were, maybe in his early forties, but his body didn’t show it. He was slim all over, his muscles sleek rather than bulky, his skin a delicious dark-honey colour, only slightly lighter where it was normally covered by clothes. She hadn’t noticed the other night that he didn’t have tan lines; she wondered if that was just his darker complexion or if he sunbathed naked when he had a chance. Now that was a lovely thought.
He wasn’t as broad shouldered as Gabe, though, she noticed. And a bit of chest hair would make him all that much yummier.
She shook herself mentally. It wasn’t polite, somehow, to compare the man she was actually with to someone else. Not to mention the fact that she’d never had a chest-hair fixation until she’d met Gabe. Somehow that tantalising glimpse of golden fur had got under her skin – and then the full view had finished her off. She was fixated on that body, that leonine gold-tipped pelt, that more sharply defined set of muscles. Even two days without really seeing him hadn’t minimised the impact.
Before, she’d always liked smooth chests and slim catlike bodies. Hadn’t she?
To prove to herself she still did, she stroked her hands down José’s torso, not concentrating on the nipples yet, just on the feel of his skin under her hands. Heated silk over…not steel, but something resilient, warm, yet just as solid. She wanted to think of a good word to go with the ‘heated silk’ image, but the sensation flowing from her fingertips seemed to short-circuit something in her brain. Forget metaphors: this was the male body in a particularly fine form, and her female body appreciated it. Appreciated it as in wanted to lick, kiss, nibble and otherwise taste every available inch of it. That lovely uncut cock, for instance – but all in good time.
All right, then. Just because she was a little fixated on Gabe didn’t mean she was broken.
She let her hands roam back up, brushing the taut nipples, feeling her own tighten in empathy. Mel moved to join the action.
‘Hey,’ José said, laughing. ‘Someone’s overdressed for the party. Or should I say two someones?’
If José’s unveiling had been slow and teasing, the women, by some unspoken agreement, undressed in a flurry of flying garments. Not that Felicia had much to striptease with anyway; she’d changed into a little Indian gauze sundress when she’d gotten home, trying to beat the heat, and that and minuscule panties were all she had to contend with.
Mel grabbed the bottle of champagne. ‘Anyone for a drink?’
Felicia started to say no. Then she met her friend’s eyes. Mel glanced from the bottle to José’s body and back again, and that was enough to communicate the idea to Felicia. ‘Sounds good!’ she said.
Then she helped Mel tip José back on to the bed. Not that it was a lot of work; he was more than willing to be tipped.
Mel proved as competent at opening a champagne bottle as she was at dealing with leopards and margays. This didn’t mean she didn’t allow some of the bubbly to foam forth in dramatic (but not sommelier-approved) fashion – it meant that she aimed the alcoholic explosion carefully, getting most of it on José. She then poured some more on his flat belly. Most of it puddled in his navel, but some headed for the thicket of dark hair and the tree trunk of his cock.
‘Don’t move,’ Felicia said. ‘It’s harder to lick off the sheets!’
The sheets were a lost cause anyway but, since the women seemed to have taken control, it might add to his sensations if he tried to keep still. Sort of like bondage without the trouble of actually tying him up.
They started on laving off the spilt rivulets of crisp gold wine from the expanse of
So tasty. José had some streaks of white in his black hair and she knew he was older than she and Mel were, maybe in his early forties, but his body didn’t show it. He was slim all over, his muscles sleek rather than bulky, his skin a delicious dark-honey colour, only slightly lighter where it was normally covered by clothes. She hadn’t noticed the other night that he didn’t have tan lines; she wondered if that was just his darker complexion or if he sunbathed naked when he had a chance. Now that was a lovely thought.
He wasn’t as broad shouldered as Gabe, though, she noticed. And a bit of chest hair would make him all that much yummier.
She shook herself mentally. It wasn’t polite, somehow, to compare the man she was actually with to someone else. Not to mention the fact that she’d never had a chest-hair fixation until she’d met Gabe. Somehow that tantalising glimpse of golden fur had got under her skin – and then the full view had finished her off. She was fixated on that body, that leonine gold-tipped pelt, that more sharply defined set of muscles. Even two days without really seeing him hadn’t minimised the impact.
Before, she’d always liked smooth chests and slim catlike bodies. Hadn’t she?
To prove to herself she still did, she stroked her hands down José’s torso, not concentrating on the nipples yet, just on the feel of his skin under her hands. Heated silk over…not steel, but something resilient, warm, yet just as solid. She wanted to think of a good word to go with the ‘heated silk’ image, but the sensation flowing from her fingertips seemed to short-circuit something in her brain. Forget metaphors: this was the male body in a particularly fine form, and her female body appreciated it. Appreciated it as in wanted to lick, kiss, nibble and otherwise taste every available inch of it. That lovely uncut cock, for instance – but all in good time.
All right, then. Just because she was a little fixated on Gabe didn’t mean she was broken.
She let her hands roam back up, brushing the taut nipples, feeling her own tighten in empathy. Mel moved to join the action.
‘Hey,’ José said, laughing. ‘Someone’s overdressed for the party. Or should I say two someones?’
If José’s unveiling had been slow and teasing, the women, by some unspoken agreement, undressed in a flurry of flying garments. Not that Felicia had much to striptease with anyway; she’d changed into a little Indian gauze sundress when she’d gotten home, trying to beat the heat, and that and minuscule panties were all she had to contend with.
Mel grabbed the bottle of champagne. ‘Anyone for a drink?’
Felicia started to say no. Then she met her friend’s eyes. Mel glanced from the bottle to José’s body and back again, and that was enough to communicate the idea to Felicia. ‘Sounds good!’ she said.
Then she helped Mel tip José back on to the bed. Not that it was a lot of work; he was more than willing to be tipped.
Mel proved as competent at opening a champagne bottle as she was at dealing with leopards and margays. This didn’t mean she didn’t allow some of the bubbly to foam forth in dramatic (but not sommelier-approved) fashion – it meant that she aimed the alcoholic explosion carefully, getting most of it on José. She then poured some more on his flat belly. Most of it puddled in his navel, but some headed for the thicket of dark hair and the tree trunk of his cock.
‘Don’t move,’ Felicia said. ‘It’s harder to lick off the sheets!’
The sheets were a lost cause anyway but, since the women seemed to have taken control, it might add to his sensations if he tried to keep still. Sort of like bondage without the trouble of actually tying him up.
They started on laving off the spilt rivulets of crisp gold wine from the expanse of
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