his back.
From its position he could tell that Sarah was barefoot. And from the warmth flowing through to him he guessed that nakedness was her overall condition.
'Hi.’ Her voice was muffled slightly by his shirt.
As she spoke, he felt her right hand at work. In a few seconds, she had loosened the buckle of his belt and unzipped his denims.
At the same time, with her other hand she unfastened, quickly and skilfully, the buttons of his shirt. When she had finished, he turned into her embrace, facing her, shrugging off his shirt in the same movement. She threw her left arm round his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers. As they kissed, her right hand moved lower down, quickly finding and releasing the object of its search.
He gripped the top of her thighs and lifted her clear of the floor, feeling both her strength and her softness as she wrapped her legs around him, not really needing her guiding hand as she lowered herself, to draw him deep into her. He found her mouth as she gyrated against him, tasting slight saltiness. Gradually her movement grew faster, her body bucking and heaving, her legs gripping him tighter than he would have believed possible.
She cried out aloud, once, twice, three times, and then suddenly, so did he, as he felt himself erupt inside her – coming and coming until he thought he would never stop. But at last
Sarah’s movements began to slow, until she settled gently against him, and he became aware for the first time of her weight, on his hands, arms and shoulders.
He whispered in her ear. 'See, if the window cleaner came now . . .’
Bob felt her laughter well up, from inside her. She hugged him, gripping him tight once more with her thighs.
He walked them, still locked together, through to their bedroom and laid her on the bed. He settled on top of her but she rolled him over and sat up, keeping him still hard and inside her, as she reached down to strip off the rest of his clothes. Then, slowly, she began to move again, her eyes misty and her body glowing with a light sheen of sweat. Her fingers ploughed their way into the hair on his chest until he drew her down close to him again and rolled
her over, thrusting deeper and hearing her gasp with what he thought for a moment was pain, until it stretched into a long sigh of pleasure. She arched her back and swung her legs up, gripping him yet again, and pushing with her thighs in perfect time with his thrusts. Her head was flung back. her chin upturned, her neck as if offered to the wolf. Strands of her auburn hair clung to her damp face. She began to climax again, throwing back her arms, using only her legs to pull her centre tight to him, and once more they came together, gasping and crying, and finally laughing at the skill and energy of their love-making, and glorying in the sheer pleasure of being one together.
Eventually he rolled away, to lie on his side, propped up on his left elbow. With his right index finger he traced the line of her nose, while smoothing back her damp hair, where it had stuck to her forehead and to the sides of her face.
'Love you, doctor.’
'Yeah. And I you, copper.’ She reached up and rubbed his cheek. 'You’re on the edge of needing a shave.’
Since their engagement on New Year’s Day – and their subsequent April marriage – theirs had become the deepest, closest and most powerfully physical relationship that either had
ever known. In their intimacy Sarah had been cautious at first, holding herself back, still with the memory of her earlier, failed engagement in New York. But as a wife, she had developed a sexual frankness and an appetite for congress which often astonished her and always delighted Bob. With his daughter Alex now independent of them, living in her Glasgow flat during university term-time and for most of the summer, they had full freedom to enjoy each other, and eagerly they took advantage of it.
Bob, despite being in his mid-forties, had evolved sexually, too.
He often thought of
From its position he could tell that Sarah was barefoot. And from the warmth flowing through to him he guessed that nakedness was her overall condition.
'Hi.’ Her voice was muffled slightly by his shirt.
As she spoke, he felt her right hand at work. In a few seconds, she had loosened the buckle of his belt and unzipped his denims.
At the same time, with her other hand she unfastened, quickly and skilfully, the buttons of his shirt. When she had finished, he turned into her embrace, facing her, shrugging off his shirt in the same movement. She threw her left arm round his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers. As they kissed, her right hand moved lower down, quickly finding and releasing the object of its search.
He gripped the top of her thighs and lifted her clear of the floor, feeling both her strength and her softness as she wrapped her legs around him, not really needing her guiding hand as she lowered herself, to draw him deep into her. He found her mouth as she gyrated against him, tasting slight saltiness. Gradually her movement grew faster, her body bucking and heaving, her legs gripping him tighter than he would have believed possible.
She cried out aloud, once, twice, three times, and then suddenly, so did he, as he felt himself erupt inside her – coming and coming until he thought he would never stop. But at last
Sarah’s movements began to slow, until she settled gently against him, and he became aware for the first time of her weight, on his hands, arms and shoulders.
He whispered in her ear. 'See, if the window cleaner came now . . .’
Bob felt her laughter well up, from inside her. She hugged him, gripping him tight once more with her thighs.
He walked them, still locked together, through to their bedroom and laid her on the bed. He settled on top of her but she rolled him over and sat up, keeping him still hard and inside her, as she reached down to strip off the rest of his clothes. Then, slowly, she began to move again, her eyes misty and her body glowing with a light sheen of sweat. Her fingers ploughed their way into the hair on his chest until he drew her down close to him again and rolled
her over, thrusting deeper and hearing her gasp with what he thought for a moment was pain, until it stretched into a long sigh of pleasure. She arched her back and swung her legs up, gripping him yet again, and pushing with her thighs in perfect time with his thrusts. Her head was flung back. her chin upturned, her neck as if offered to the wolf. Strands of her auburn hair clung to her damp face. She began to climax again, throwing back her arms, using only her legs to pull her centre tight to him, and once more they came together, gasping and crying, and finally laughing at the skill and energy of their love-making, and glorying in the sheer pleasure of being one together.
Eventually he rolled away, to lie on his side, propped up on his left elbow. With his right index finger he traced the line of her nose, while smoothing back her damp hair, where it had stuck to her forehead and to the sides of her face.
'Love you, doctor.’
'Yeah. And I you, copper.’ She reached up and rubbed his cheek. 'You’re on the edge of needing a shave.’
Since their engagement on New Year’s Day – and their subsequent April marriage – theirs had become the deepest, closest and most powerfully physical relationship that either had
ever known. In their intimacy Sarah had been cautious at first, holding herself back, still with the memory of her earlier, failed engagement in New York. But as a wife, she had developed a sexual frankness and an appetite for congress which often astonished her and always delighted Bob. With his daughter Alex now independent of them, living in her Glasgow flat during university term-time and for most of the summer, they had full freedom to enjoy each other, and eagerly they took advantage of it.
Bob, despite being in his mid-forties, had evolved sexually, too.
He often thought of
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