Getting Some Of Her Own by Gwynne Forster Page B

him off, fearing that he might see a blemish, a ridge or some other imperfection on her body. But she had never seen him in that don’t-give-a-damn mood, so she had to do something. Why, he hadn’t even opened the car door for her. She glanced at her size D breasts, standing straight out with their nipples glistening. He loved to suck them until he drove her out of her mind. She reached for a robe, thought better of it, and knocked on the bathroom door.
    â€œI’m showering. Can’t you use another bathroom?”
    She opened the door, pushed back the shower curtain and stepped into the tub.
    â€œWhat the—what are you doing?”
    She let her hands do the talking. With one arm around his waist, she pressed her jutting nipples to his back, and with her other arm, she began to massage his penis. Slowly at first and then with all the vigor she could muster.
    â€œWait a minute. As long as I’ve wanted you to do this . . . ohh . . . stop it!”
    â€œYou don’t want me to stop it. You love it, and you know it.” Water streamed down on her naked body, and every nerve came alive. He groaned aloud, and a wild wantonness beset her.
    â€œTurn around and suck my nipples,” she said.
    â€œNo. You finish what you started.”
    â€œI will if you turn around.”
    He turned to face her, and she knelt before him. Uncertain as to what to do or how to do it, she looked up at him. He bent down, lifted her and, with the water still streaming down, got out of the tub. He dried her and then dried himself. She looked down at him, fully erected and pulsating with eagerness for completion, and began to stroke him again. If men loved it so much, she’d try. Still stroking him, she knelt in front of him again and kissed the tip of his penis. His groan sent shivers through her, and she sucked him into her mouth. It wasn’t bad. He tasted sweet. She grasped his buttocks and began pulling on him, enjoying the feast.
    â€œOh my God, baby. Stop it!” He pushed her back from him. “I was a second from losing it, and you’re not that sophisticated.”
    He picked her up and carried her to bed. Flat on her back on the bed staring up at Kix, she wondered what else they’d missed as a couple because of her prudishness. Ashamed, she opened her arms to him, spreading her legs as she did so. Lying beside her, he leaned over her, and she waited for the moment when she’d feel his tongue circle her nipple. He stared down at her until she squirmed.
    â€œYou she-devil,” he said and pulled her left nipple into his mouth. Gone were the days when she lay still and prim beneath the onslaught of his mouth, fingers and penis as they tried to command her body to orgasm. Her one adulterous act had taught her to appreciate what her husband’s body offered her.
    Maybe he wanted to subdue her. She didn’t know. She didn’t care. His fingers snaked down beyond her belly, found her folds and began their talented dance.
    â€œGet in me,” she moaned, but he ignored her until, exasperated and not a little angry, she pushed him over, straddled him and rode him until they were both spent. She collapsed on him.
    When at last he separated them, she resisted going to the bathroom, as had once been her habit, and lay beside him, quiet and a little ashamed, for she had taken advantage of him and, clever man that he was, he would one day remind her of it. Still, whatever sorrow she felt didn’t go very deep, she realized, because she knew she would do it again if seducing him would take his mind off fatherhood and her shilly shallying about getting pregnant.
    â€œYou’re going to pull that trick one of these days, and it won’t work,” he said, as she was about to doze off to sleep. “I’m glad you’ve finally learned to like sex, but get it into your head that sex is not the equivalent of a guided missile; it’s been known to miss the