quest for pleasure andnothing more was what kept them together, enhanced life and their relationship while allowing them to remain their own independent selves.
D’Arcy said nothing. She didn’t have to, she was speaking to him with her eyes, with every curve of her body. There was an aura of sex about her, a scent. She was luscious as ripe fruit, and she was offering herself. He plucked her from his doorstep like a warm peach, an offering from the gods.
He pulled her into the coolness of his house and his arms. She dropped her jacket and he heard her beaded belt clatter on the stone floor. He stopped kissing her only long enough to pull her dress over her head. Her body was warm and damp with perspiration and her skin had the faint scent of honeysuckle. It invaded his senses, she invaded his soul.
The roundness of her breasts, the weight of them in his hands, the pale pink of their nimbus, smooth and silky, cone-shaped and tipped with short slender nipples against the tan of her skin. They were breasts that tantalised and were to his eyes the most sensuous and beautiful he had ever seen. Naked she was like fire and ice. He seemed as if mesmerised by them as he stood back from her and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, climbed out of his jeans. With every move she made – to slip out of her panties, remove her shoes – she used her body to incite his lust, and it worked, he wanted her more. She was sexually loose, free, and incredibly elegant, but lewd in her lust. He could never get enough of her when he wanted her as he did now. Secretly he liked to think of her as the corrupting factor in his sex life, that she wasthe one responsible for their depravity. He used even that to excite himself.
He draped an arm round her waist and let his hand drop to caress her smooth clean-shaven mound, to slip his fingers between those most private of lips and fondle her as they walked through the house to his bedroom. Together they sat at the foot of the bed, looking not at the spectacular view from the window in front of them but at each other. How much she wanted him could be seen in her eyes; her body seemed to scream for sex, in any form, in every way. He could deprive her of nothing. Her desire had the ability to drive him to extremes, to do anything to bring on the long and strong orgasms she revelled in. He loved her and hated her for that and because she had possession of him. Laurence had not the will nor the desire to drive her out of his heart as he did all women he thought might change his life. He merely settled for secretly resenting their love affair while happily living with it.
Such mixed emotions overtook him now. He gently pushed D’Arcy back on the bed. Her luxuriant hair spread out across the rough white cotton sheets, she threw back her arms and smiled at him. Had ever a woman looked so wanton, so open and ready for a man, sex, the taste of come? He wanted to bathe her in it, drown her in pools of luscious sperm. D’Arcy always accepted orgasm as the elixir of life itself.
He lay on the bed next to her and rolled on his side to face her. She was on edge, bursting with pent up sexuality, sensuous, hungry for him and his sex. She lowered her gaze from his eyes to his phallus, so largeand pulsating with desire for her, and then looked at him once more, deliberately licking her lips ever so slowly with pointed tongue.
There was lust and a huskiness in his voice. ‘And so it begins. A voyage to oblivion,’ he told her as he pressed a deep hungry kiss upon her mouth and continued other kisses down her body while he slipped over her, straddled her with his slim, wide-shouldered muscular body and draped his scrotum over her face, sliding the knob of his penis between her lips. The feel of her warm moist mouth, her tongue encircling him with caresses, made him close his eyes for a moment with a shiver of pleasure and push a little bit deeper, wanting more as he slid his arms under her knees and raised her legs off the
D’Arcy said nothing. She didn’t have to, she was speaking to him with her eyes, with every curve of her body. There was an aura of sex about her, a scent. She was luscious as ripe fruit, and she was offering herself. He plucked her from his doorstep like a warm peach, an offering from the gods.
He pulled her into the coolness of his house and his arms. She dropped her jacket and he heard her beaded belt clatter on the stone floor. He stopped kissing her only long enough to pull her dress over her head. Her body was warm and damp with perspiration and her skin had the faint scent of honeysuckle. It invaded his senses, she invaded his soul.
The roundness of her breasts, the weight of them in his hands, the pale pink of their nimbus, smooth and silky, cone-shaped and tipped with short slender nipples against the tan of her skin. They were breasts that tantalised and were to his eyes the most sensuous and beautiful he had ever seen. Naked she was like fire and ice. He seemed as if mesmerised by them as he stood back from her and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, climbed out of his jeans. With every move she made – to slip out of her panties, remove her shoes – she used her body to incite his lust, and it worked, he wanted her more. She was sexually loose, free, and incredibly elegant, but lewd in her lust. He could never get enough of her when he wanted her as he did now. Secretly he liked to think of her as the corrupting factor in his sex life, that she wasthe one responsible for their depravity. He used even that to excite himself.
He draped an arm round her waist and let his hand drop to caress her smooth clean-shaven mound, to slip his fingers between those most private of lips and fondle her as they walked through the house to his bedroom. Together they sat at the foot of the bed, looking not at the spectacular view from the window in front of them but at each other. How much she wanted him could be seen in her eyes; her body seemed to scream for sex, in any form, in every way. He could deprive her of nothing. Her desire had the ability to drive him to extremes, to do anything to bring on the long and strong orgasms she revelled in. He loved her and hated her for that and because she had possession of him. Laurence had not the will nor the desire to drive her out of his heart as he did all women he thought might change his life. He merely settled for secretly resenting their love affair while happily living with it.
Such mixed emotions overtook him now. He gently pushed D’Arcy back on the bed. Her luxuriant hair spread out across the rough white cotton sheets, she threw back her arms and smiled at him. Had ever a woman looked so wanton, so open and ready for a man, sex, the taste of come? He wanted to bathe her in it, drown her in pools of luscious sperm. D’Arcy always accepted orgasm as the elixir of life itself.
He lay on the bed next to her and rolled on his side to face her. She was on edge, bursting with pent up sexuality, sensuous, hungry for him and his sex. She lowered her gaze from his eyes to his phallus, so largeand pulsating with desire for her, and then looked at him once more, deliberately licking her lips ever so slowly with pointed tongue.
There was lust and a huskiness in his voice. ‘And so it begins. A voyage to oblivion,’ he told her as he pressed a deep hungry kiss upon her mouth and continued other kisses down her body while he slipped over her, straddled her with his slim, wide-shouldered muscular body and draped his scrotum over her face, sliding the knob of his penis between her lips. The feel of her warm moist mouth, her tongue encircling him with caresses, made him close his eyes for a moment with a shiver of pleasure and push a little bit deeper, wanting more as he slid his arms under her knees and raised her legs off the
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