the
room, the anticipation of his touch sparking pleasure to coil in her belly.
He cupped her tentatively, his hand warm, trembling ever so
slightly. “Sophie…so…exquisite.”
He caressed her slowly, his gentle touch discordant with her
pounding heart. He hovered over her, his hot breath teasing her tender peaks
before he dipped his head and wrapped his lips around a nipple.
Arousal shot straight to her sex. She arched up in reflex,
holding the position, trying to comprehend the glorious sensation.
He sucked the sensitive peak, teasing it with quick flicks
of his tongue then bathing the areola with the warm wetness of his entire
mouth. He massaged the other breast, pinching and stroking the tip, adding a
tortuous confusion to the assault of pleasure.
She melted back into the mattress, his mouth, his hand
tormenting her, his body pressing into hers. She relented to his command,
letting him take her on the sensual journey, new in its path but familiar in
its goal. He knew how to control the lusciousness she found so elusive. He had
already mastered its course the night before in the ballroom.
She grabbed his head, holding him against her, not letting
him sever their connection as the sensual stirrings grew, warming her core,
flushing her skin, building to her climax in such a wondrous way.
She cried out her ecstasy, bucking up, wrapping her arms
around him as he slid up to kiss her neck, her cheeks, her lips.
She laughed, surprised, exhausted but rejuvenated. “Joseph,
darling, that was wonderful.”
He rolled to her side and pulled her to him to nuzzle in the
crook of his arm. “That is to tempt you, darling. You may find other acts that
pique your curiosity in that book. When we can find time we’ll do more
exploration.”
Sophia could not wait.
* * * * *
Arthur placed the pen on the blotter and stared at the
letter before him. My darling Henny . Whenever he wrote to her he felt
nostalgia and hope all at once. And when he wrote letters such as these he
ended up incredibly hard.
He had begun writing erotic stories to her, tales of what
they had done, fantasies of what he wanted to do next time he saw her. Last
night at the Fosdyke ball she told him she loved the stories, read them in bed
at night, that they inflamed her so much she would touch herself and cry out his
name at her climax.
They had made love twice last night, the first time quickly
in his overexcited state, the second time after he had collected himself. That
second time he had drawn out the act as long as he could, savoring every
moment, watching her expression slacken with lust, feeling her throb and clench
around him, her hips rocking urgently until she gripped with such force she
sent him over the edge.
He did not regret that every time they made love he spent
inside her. One day she would carry his child. That summer, he hoped. They
would be married in June, only three months away. If she were pregnant, she
would barely show, especially with today’s exuberantly full fashions.
Joseph had scolded him about not taking precautions with
Henny after their first night, the night she had come to the library, and had
even given Arthur some advice on prophylactic measures. Joseph was surprisingly
worldly for such a young man but he had seen and experienced a great deal in
his hard life. He was full of amusing stories and ready with practical
information, conveyed with a rough directness that eschewed niceties and
pleasantries, getting right down to basics. Arthur found that very attractive
in the man.
Perhaps a little too attractive.
It had been disconcerting at first when they were together
in New York, the easy rapport that sparked a deeper chemistry, the continued
magnetic draw, the flush of attraction. But Joseph was powerfully charismatic.
Anyone would feel as such when they were in his presence.
Surely the distraction was temporary. Joseph would return to
America, then he and Henny would live in wedded bliss, awaiting the birth
room, the anticipation of his touch sparking pleasure to coil in her belly.
He cupped her tentatively, his hand warm, trembling ever so
slightly. “Sophie…so…exquisite.”
He caressed her slowly, his gentle touch discordant with her
pounding heart. He hovered over her, his hot breath teasing her tender peaks
before he dipped his head and wrapped his lips around a nipple.
Arousal shot straight to her sex. She arched up in reflex,
holding the position, trying to comprehend the glorious sensation.
He sucked the sensitive peak, teasing it with quick flicks
of his tongue then bathing the areola with the warm wetness of his entire
mouth. He massaged the other breast, pinching and stroking the tip, adding a
tortuous confusion to the assault of pleasure.
She melted back into the mattress, his mouth, his hand
tormenting her, his body pressing into hers. She relented to his command,
letting him take her on the sensual journey, new in its path but familiar in
its goal. He knew how to control the lusciousness she found so elusive. He had
already mastered its course the night before in the ballroom.
She grabbed his head, holding him against her, not letting
him sever their connection as the sensual stirrings grew, warming her core,
flushing her skin, building to her climax in such a wondrous way.
She cried out her ecstasy, bucking up, wrapping her arms
around him as he slid up to kiss her neck, her cheeks, her lips.
She laughed, surprised, exhausted but rejuvenated. “Joseph,
darling, that was wonderful.”
He rolled to her side and pulled her to him to nuzzle in the
crook of his arm. “That is to tempt you, darling. You may find other acts that
pique your curiosity in that book. When we can find time we’ll do more
exploration.”
Sophia could not wait.
* * * * *
Arthur placed the pen on the blotter and stared at the
letter before him. My darling Henny . Whenever he wrote to her he felt
nostalgia and hope all at once. And when he wrote letters such as these he
ended up incredibly hard.
He had begun writing erotic stories to her, tales of what
they had done, fantasies of what he wanted to do next time he saw her. Last
night at the Fosdyke ball she told him she loved the stories, read them in bed
at night, that they inflamed her so much she would touch herself and cry out his
name at her climax.
They had made love twice last night, the first time quickly
in his overexcited state, the second time after he had collected himself. That
second time he had drawn out the act as long as he could, savoring every
moment, watching her expression slacken with lust, feeling her throb and clench
around him, her hips rocking urgently until she gripped with such force she
sent him over the edge.
He did not regret that every time they made love he spent
inside her. One day she would carry his child. That summer, he hoped. They
would be married in June, only three months away. If she were pregnant, she
would barely show, especially with today’s exuberantly full fashions.
Joseph had scolded him about not taking precautions with
Henny after their first night, the night she had come to the library, and had
even given Arthur some advice on prophylactic measures. Joseph was surprisingly
worldly for such a young man but he had seen and experienced a great deal in
his hard life. He was full of amusing stories and ready with practical
information, conveyed with a rough directness that eschewed niceties and
pleasantries, getting right down to basics. Arthur found that very attractive
in the man.
Perhaps a little too attractive.
It had been disconcerting at first when they were together
in New York, the easy rapport that sparked a deeper chemistry, the continued
magnetic draw, the flush of attraction. But Joseph was powerfully charismatic.
Anyone would feel as such when they were in his presence.
Surely the distraction was temporary. Joseph would return to
America, then he and Henny would live in wedded bliss, awaiting the birth
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