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Excerpt Finding Bess
…"Turn over." His lips brushed at her ear as he spoke, but the choice was left to her because suddenly he wasn't touching her at all. Bess lay still, her drugged mind fighting to make sense of it. Then she let instinct guide her, and she rolled over onto her back and met his eyes. This was now, this was the moment, and he was going to let her choose. So she did. And positively glowed at the smile which greeted her, more than glowed as his gaze wandered from her eyes to her sunburned shins and back again, each look a touch, each touch a caress. And then he was pouring sunburn oil into his hands and reaching down to her ankles, shifting onto the bed until he knelt between her feet, holding her with his gaze as he began all over to touch her into insensibility with his fingers, his lips, his very being. Bess could only lie back and wonder as his hands worked their way upward, sometimes following his lips, sometimes tracking alone into unknown territory with the surety of a frontiersman. Once again, he managed to bypass the core of her, at least with his touch. Yet his avid gaze devoured her, and the quick flit of his tongue across his lips brought a gasp of longing to her own lips. He had no need to put sunburn oil on her breasts, but his lips revealed a need of their own, as did his slick, gentle fingers, and now Bess had to close her eyes, to let the sensations flow over her, into her, as he kissed and licked and sucked each nipple to a throbbing mound of delight. Then he shifted from his position above her, leaning over to lay down the sunburn oil as he lowered himself beside her and sought her mouth with his own, sighing her name as he kissed her, between the kisses, through the kisses. At the same time, his hand moved to explore her body. His kisses became firmer, his tongue searching now through her mouth as his slick fingers continued, teasing, tantalizing, thrilling her body into spasms that were not yet orgasm, but hovered on the edge as he brought her nearer and nearer to the edge, before retreating and giving her respite but no release. Bess couldn't hold back any more. Her hand managed to find some vestiges of sunburn oil before sliding down the muscles of his chest, searching carefully until his erection was within her grasp. "Bess," he moaned. "Don't start that, but don't stop. Don't..." The small amount of oil she'd captured lubricated as she instinctively grasped him harder, fighting his own instincts, suddenly desperate to keep him from exploding then and there. "Please, Geoff," she sighed, feeling her success and an unexpected pleasure. She released him, only to reach out again, touching him with wonder, letting her fingers trace along the strength of his erection, letting her ears delight in his ragged breathing, her eyes delight in his body. "Now... please..." "Oh... yes... now..." He came into her slowly, gently, lovingly, his eyes locked on her own as if he could read through her eyes any possible problem. Bess felt a tinge of uneasiness as some remote part of her mind floundered over the size of him, then forgot it in her body's quick, delightful surge of acceptance. She heard herself gasp, saw the fierce pleasure in his eyes, then gave herself entirely to the sensation of his movements, the running buildup to the crescendo that trilled through her entire being. Her legs locked around him and her muscles clenched and unclenched, beyond her thoughts, beyond all control as she tried to squeeze the magic, tried, it seemed, to absorb him into her piece by piece, and then, after the explosion of his climax had matched her own, drop by drop. He made no attempt to leave her when it was done, but stayed inside her, letting the fingers of one hand trace magic as he stroked the hair away from her eyes, kissed away the tears she couldn't keep back. Happy tears. "Ah, Bess," he whispered, and lapsed into silence, seemingly content just to look at her, to touch her so terribly gently, and occasionally to twitch within her. Then he kissed her, and it was such a slow, languid kiss it seemed destined to send her purring. Until there was another twitch within, and suddenly the kiss was roused and rousing, and her breath shortened as she responded, and she panted with surprise and exultation as he released her mouth to dip his lips and tongue to the peak of one breast, then the other. Bess let her own hands roam along his back, into the hair at his nape. Then she clutched at the muscles of his buttocks as she felt him growing again within her, twitching, throbbing, but growing, filling her with sensation after sensation. Without warning, he rolled over, taking her with him, keeping her with him, steadying her with his hands until she was sitting upright, now in total control, able to use her own muscles to soften or strengthen the effect of him. She closed her eyes and gave herself to that power, letting herself rise and fall slightly as she tested it. Until... She heard, clear as if someone had turned on a stereo, the "tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot," the "horse-hoofs ringing clear" from the Noyes poem, and her eyes flew open, half expecting to see Geoff's eyes behind a highwayman's mask, a cocked hat on his thick hair. But all she saw was that fierce, buccaneer's grin, and the flash of pure pleasure in his pale green eyes. Except she was more than half-sure he had heard the hoof music too, and the sheer absurdity of the thought forced laughter into her throat and a quicker, more savage rhythm into her movements. And then he was laughing with her, and she bared her teeth and let herself go, abandoning herself totally to the rhythm within her, riding him to the tune of their shared laughter until both cried out in ecstasy and she sagged to the circle of his waiting arms. "I knew you'd be a laughing lover," he said a lifetime later, as they lay in each other's arms, replete, passion-spent, both nearly asleep. "I'm glad one of us did," Bess managed to reply, suddenly shy. Not in any way ashamed…that, she thought, might come later…but no longer feeling brazen, either. It was shaping up for Cinderella time, she thought, and laughing or not, a pumpkin is a pumpkin is a pumpkin when midnight comes. "You had to be a laughing lover; it's the only kind worth having," he continued, eyes closed, thankfully not looking at her although one arm cradled her against him. "But now I have to remind you, dearest Bess, that there is a time for everything, and I suspect we're well past the time for feeding you. Your tummy's been telling me stories for the last half-hour." And he howled with joy when she pulled away from him in not-entirely phony embarrassment, and he laughed louder when she flung a pillow at his back as he grabbed up his still-sopping clothes and departed the room, shouting that he'd have his own shower now, in his own room. And if she was damned lucky, he might then condescend to fry some water. Frying water, Bess thought fondly, was
his intimate but sometimes annoying way of describing her cooking
skills, or lack thereof, as opposed to his own, which were awesome.
She knew she should move, but remained where she was, unwilling to
abandon the scene of such wondrous, unbelievable pleasure. Bad enough
that she would eventually have to leave it all behind, but for now...
From the novel Finding Bess
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