bubbles of uncertainty and desire that had been cartwheeling inside Beth over the past few days collided with the fantasies she’d harboured about Dr Harrison Harris ever since she’d first read his book all those years ago, and exploded in the pit of her stomach. She felt like a groupie whose dream of dating her favourite rock star had come true.
Her head swam as Harrison, his methodical pace both gorgeously sensual and frustratingly slow, extracted the layers of cotton from her belted waist. As the first graze of a fingertip met Beth’s hips, she began to give as well as she got. Gripping the bottom of his shirt, Beth yanked it up over his head. Her palms swept over his torso, the rush of pleasure at feeling his taut flesh, gritty with sand, like a supercharged aphrodisiac.
Harrison, his breathing rapid, his lungs feeling as if they were only capable of coping with tiny amounts of air at a time, took hold of Beth’s long-sleeved shirts, and returned the favour.
The chilled evening air that played around their semi-naked bodies went unheeded as the two archaeologists devoured each other with their eyes, their hands moving with equal enquiry over each other. Harrison only stopped the progress of his fingers when he reached the outskirts of Beth’s faded green bra.
Beth’s throat snagged as her partner placed the flats of his hands over each cotton-covered globe. The pressure was far less than during the tense moments of listening outside the hut, yet a million times more arousing. A mewl escaped her mouth, but otherwise she found it impossible to speak as her nipples fought back, the swell of her chest filling every millimetre of her underwear.
She found herself thinking she ought to do something, say something, move faster, but nothing existed in that second but the feel of his hands. When Harrison finally reached around and undid the clasp of her bra, Beth let out a massive exhalation of oxygen she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in.
Harrison’s pupils dilated wider than ever. ‘They’re even on your tits!’
‘I’m sorry?’ Beth peered downwards, expecting to see trapped sand or dirt or, worse, day-old spilt couscous smeared against her chest, but there was nothing there.
‘Freckles. You have freckles on your chest.’
Instantly self-conscious, Beth went to fold her arms over her breasts, but Harrison batted them away. ‘Oh no you don’t, doll. I’ve waited ages to see how far those little beauties go, and you aren’t going to cover up a single one.’ Bringing his face in for a detailed examination of her skin, which was beginning to add goosepimples to its dotty collection, he began to lick Beth’s flesh, the very tip of his tongue joining the generally spattered freckles together.
‘Oh my God … I …’ Liquid gathered at Beth’s nub as her chest received the most loving worship it had ever experienced. Her hands held Harrison’s shoulders as he lowered himself to his knees so his tongue could meander around the underside of her chest.
Dropping a hand, Harrison undid Beth’s belt, clumsily shoving her trousers past her hips. When he lifted a hand to cup the crotch of her panties, she couldn’t hold back. Ever since she’d tasted his length in the olive groves she’d been fantasising about how it would feel if he caressed her between the legs. Now his hand was there, with only a thin strip of fabric separating his flesh from her mound. Beth cried out, ‘Harrison, oh fuck …’ She spoke through clenched teeth, ‘I-if you don’t stop I’m going to come … I … Oh God …’
Instead of slowing, Harrison clenched his hand open and closed, his tongue waltzing up over the round of her right breast.
Beth shuffled nearer, craving more pressure as he fixed his teeth around her nipple, flicking his tongue over the end so rapidly that the sensations engendered tipped her towards a climax. Dragging her knickers down, Harrison dug a single finger deep inside her, while his
Her head swam as Harrison, his methodical pace both gorgeously sensual and frustratingly slow, extracted the layers of cotton from her belted waist. As the first graze of a fingertip met Beth’s hips, she began to give as well as she got. Gripping the bottom of his shirt, Beth yanked it up over his head. Her palms swept over his torso, the rush of pleasure at feeling his taut flesh, gritty with sand, like a supercharged aphrodisiac.
Harrison, his breathing rapid, his lungs feeling as if they were only capable of coping with tiny amounts of air at a time, took hold of Beth’s long-sleeved shirts, and returned the favour.
The chilled evening air that played around their semi-naked bodies went unheeded as the two archaeologists devoured each other with their eyes, their hands moving with equal enquiry over each other. Harrison only stopped the progress of his fingers when he reached the outskirts of Beth’s faded green bra.
Beth’s throat snagged as her partner placed the flats of his hands over each cotton-covered globe. The pressure was far less than during the tense moments of listening outside the hut, yet a million times more arousing. A mewl escaped her mouth, but otherwise she found it impossible to speak as her nipples fought back, the swell of her chest filling every millimetre of her underwear.
She found herself thinking she ought to do something, say something, move faster, but nothing existed in that second but the feel of his hands. When Harrison finally reached around and undid the clasp of her bra, Beth let out a massive exhalation of oxygen she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in.
Harrison’s pupils dilated wider than ever. ‘They’re even on your tits!’
‘I’m sorry?’ Beth peered downwards, expecting to see trapped sand or dirt or, worse, day-old spilt couscous smeared against her chest, but there was nothing there.
‘Freckles. You have freckles on your chest.’
Instantly self-conscious, Beth went to fold her arms over her breasts, but Harrison batted them away. ‘Oh no you don’t, doll. I’ve waited ages to see how far those little beauties go, and you aren’t going to cover up a single one.’ Bringing his face in for a detailed examination of her skin, which was beginning to add goosepimples to its dotty collection, he began to lick Beth’s flesh, the very tip of his tongue joining the generally spattered freckles together.
‘Oh my God … I …’ Liquid gathered at Beth’s nub as her chest received the most loving worship it had ever experienced. Her hands held Harrison’s shoulders as he lowered himself to his knees so his tongue could meander around the underside of her chest.
Dropping a hand, Harrison undid Beth’s belt, clumsily shoving her trousers past her hips. When he lifted a hand to cup the crotch of her panties, she couldn’t hold back. Ever since she’d tasted his length in the olive groves she’d been fantasising about how it would feel if he caressed her between the legs. Now his hand was there, with only a thin strip of fabric separating his flesh from her mound. Beth cried out, ‘Harrison, oh fuck …’ She spoke through clenched teeth, ‘I-if you don’t stop I’m going to come … I … Oh God …’
Instead of slowing, Harrison clenched his hand open and closed, his tongue waltzing up over the round of her right breast.
Beth shuffled nearer, craving more pressure as he fixed his teeth around her nipple, flicking his tongue over the end so rapidly that the sensations engendered tipped her towards a climax. Dragging her knickers down, Harrison dug a single finger deep inside her, while his
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