Lazy Afternoon II

Bill lied. He didn’t want to eat her. He needed to eat her.

Laura had known that the instant he’d looked up at her, blue eyes intent, pleading, with the slightest hint of fear.

His ex-wife was an idiot. The man was not only good at oral sex, he was enthusiastic about it, loved it even. In a matter of minutes, he had her on the brink, her body humming with pleasure so intense she could barely breathe. And he wasn’t stopping, his tongue lapping at her, thrashing at her clit, then pushing deep into her pussy. He moaned his own pleasure as he delighted her. His hands rose up her body to cover her breasts and just hold them, as if grounding himself.

Laura held them, wanting him to know she wanted him right where he was, that his attentions were needed as much as he needed to bestow them.

Gods, it felt good, so very good to be in the care of an ardent lover, to be desired for what she wanted and needed to give, not just what he wanted to take. This was no game of power, but an engagement of honest want and need, of genuine giving and receiving, for both of them.

She knew she could ask anything of him and he would grant it. And yet she hadn’t had to ask for this, she hadn’t needed to. He’d known of her need, how his attentions had affected her without her saying a word. And it hadn’t been arrogant assumption on his part; he just read her well.

Gods, it had been such an ordinary thing, just painting her toenails, and yet watching him do it had made her wet. It had been the steady motions of his hand, the coolness of the polish, the warmth of his other hand around her ankle, the gentleness of his breaths as they rushed over her skin. Then there’d been that adorable look of concentration. He’d looked so sweet and sexy, his attentiveness, even in something so mundane, a heady aphrodisiac that had sent her desire spiraling.

Richard had never done anything even remotely like that. His interests had extended to what she wore and how quickly he could get inside her clothes or her out of them. He would have died before he painted her toenails, likely fearful of his dick would shrink or that his manhood would be questioned.

Bill had apparently feared neither, and she was glad. She liked how he had just indulged his whim, how he’d just taken over the task and turned it into something decidedly sensual, that had made her feel appreciated and wanted.

That’s why his revelation had stunned her. How his ex-wife had denied him Laura could not fathom. How any woman could reject such generosity from a lover, she would never understand but to reject it from a husband…

Laura knew of women who would kill to have a mate who wanted to do things for her, especially the seemingly trivial, like painting her toenails … or washing the dishes … or taking out the trash.

Bill had done all those things for her today, happily, making her realize exactly how much his ex had to have denied him for him to have found so much joy in doing them for her. It explained so much about him, about what they’d shared since last night.

Almost from the start, it had been about more than sex, for both of them. She’d needed a lover who would meet her needs without question or demands, and he’d needed a lover who would let him meet her needs without restraint. That they would meet by such happenstance seemed a miracle, one Laura was immensely grateful for.

Opening her legs wider, she slid a hand through his hair and pulled him closer to her with a whisper of his name, losing herself in the rhythmic lapping of his tongue, smiling when she heard him whisper into her, “Such sweet pussy.” Then she all but melted at feeling a pair of fingers slide into her and his mouth cover her clit.

He stroked and sucked, and she came, with a keening cry of his name, hands holding him to her as she arched and shuddered in satisfaction.

“Yeah, baby, that’s it,” she heard him murmuring against her quivering flesh, continuing to kiss and lick at her until she finally had to draw him away from her oversensitive flesh. He did not go far, though, moved his attentions to her inner thighs, then to her belly, pushing her shirt up as his mouth continued ascending until it found her bra-covered breasts.

Together, they pushed the material up, freeing the soft mounds just enough. His hands went around her, lifted her as he sat back on his haunches, mouth locked around one of her nipples.

Laura stripped her shirt off, reached behind her and unfastened her bra, shed it, then sank her hands into Bill’s hair as his own twisted into hers.

“I want to frak you, Laura,” he rasped, moving from one breast to another. “I want to frak you so godsdamned much.”

Eyes shut in ecstasy at his declaration, Laura bowed and whispered against his ear, “Then frak me, Bill.”

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