Got MILF? by Laura Lovecraft Page A

hungry mouth descended on his.
    And her mouth was hot. So hot. The cold flesh of her body was matched only by the exquisite heat of her passion. Her tongue darted into his mouth, the narrow tip seeking out his, wrapping around it with almost frightening strength. Her hands plunged into his hair as they kissed furiously, the dams of their unwilling chastity breaking before the onslaught of their love. His hands were busy at the hem of her dress, pulling it up, the garment bunching around her waist. Finally. Finally . Finally he had what he sought and his hands cupped the sweet curves of her buttocks, strong fingers squeezing her firm flesh as she ground her groin into his.
    Supported now by his hands, she relaxed her grip, hands free to run over the strong muscles of his back, delighting in their lean strength through the thick cloth of his shirt and vest.
    Too thick. It had to come off. It all has to come off, she thought through the fog of lust which had descended upon her. Drawing back the merest amount, her quick, clever fingers undid the buttons of his vest and shirt. She tried to pull them off, but was defeated when she discovered that he could not hold her up and take them off at the same time.
    Mewling softly in frustration, she wiggled in his hands impatiently until he set her down on the floor, her dress falling in ragged folds below her waist. He shrugged off the vest and shirt, now wearing only his breeches and soft leather boots.
    Her eyes drank him in. He was as splendid as a hunter in his prime, his arms ropy with muscle. His brown hair was long and fell in deep waves to the line of his strong shoulders. His chest, by contrast, was all but hairless, clean pale skin drawing the eye downward to the dimple of his navel, which was surrounded by a thick patch of down, narrowing as it disappeared under the band of his trousers.
    He has no idea how beautiful he is to me, she thought. No idea at all.
    This time, he came to her, his hands gentle on her waist as he bent down to taste her mouth. The first desperate rush of passion gone, she lifted her face to his and met his lips, smiling as her tongue caused him utter a low moan of need. He stroked her sides, rumpled cloth under his fingers, until his hands found the swells of her breasts. He cupped them in his palms lovingly, testing their firm weight in his hands.
    “Take it off. Take my dress off, my love,” she breathed.
    He tried. Honestly, he did. But his searching fingers found no zipper or tie or anything else that made any sense to him. Finally, with an irritated huff of breath, she turned around and held her hair away from her back. “Do you see it now?”
    “Yes,” he said ruefully. A line of tiny buttons ran from the small of her back to just below her shoulder blades. Quickly he worked to undo them. Soon the wings of the garment gaped wide, and he planted delicate kisses on the line of her spine, his tongue tracing loving patterns on her skin.
    Oh, he is skilled! She shuddered with longing under his touch. The front of the dress fell away from her chest, and her breasts were finally exposed, firm round globes with the nipples gloriously erect, thrusting proudly into the chill air.
    The last button was loosened and the dress puddled around her feet. She crouched quickly and stepped out of her shoes, then turned around to face him, blessing him with the sight of her nudity.
    Everything which he had known unwillingly was now exposed to him as a wonder and a delight. Her calves were more slender than he had imagined; her thighs, more deftly carved. The gold hair of her pubis drew the eye to the glory of her sex. Her stomach was flat and firm with muscle, and he could just see the outlines of her ribs under her pale skin. Her breasts were a revelation, challenging his gaze, demanding that he worship them. They stood almost straight out from the wall of her chest, pale globes capped with areolae that began as the palest shade of blue and deepened until they