Afternoon Delight Read online

  I’d already gotten started in my dream, and I tried to recapture the sensations, the level of arousal. But as all dreams do, this one was already fading, skittering away as if burned by the morning sun.

  I snuggled back against Cal. His half-hard cock pressed into the crack of my ass, and it twitched in response to my encouraging wiggles.

  Cal stroked my hip, moved his hand to my breast and caressed my nipple, lightly pinching. Thirteen years of marriage, and he knew what I liked.

  Problem was, it was too much knowledge. Too much comfort. “Button-pushing,” a friend of mine had called it. At the time I’d thought she was jaded, but now I understood what she was trying to say. Cal knew my body, knew how I reacted. Push this button, push that button, entry, completion. A few kisses, a few minutes of medium-grade nipple play, hands or tongue ensuring I was wet enough, then intercourse, which included one orgasm of mine before he came. A few final minutes of cuddling, and then time to put on a robe and check on the kids and pack lunches for the next day and maybe pay a bill or two before collapsing in exhaustion.

  I’m not saying it wasn’t fun. I’m saying it was tipping the scales toward boredom.

  We were too familiar with each other, too knowledgeable about each other’s likes and dislikes. There was nothing else to learn or explore.

  Now there would be no distractions, though, and the dream remnants helped the mood. A delicious ache built again in my cunt, swelling my pussy lips. On schedule, Cal dipped his hand between my thighs. I spread my legs to give him better access. I gasped when his fingers slid across my clit.

  “Wow, you’re so wet this morning,” he murmured.

  I tried to turn over, to change the routine, but he was already sliding inside me, his wide cock a pleasurable fit, stretching and filling me.

  He set up a steady rhythm. His breath puffed by my ear in time with his strokes. The pleasure built again, as it had in the dream, as he rubbed against my G-spot. Still, in this position, he never got quite deep enough to tip me over the edge. His hand between my legs helped fill in the blanks.

  But the steady caresses on my clit changed to irregular ones as he got closer to his own orgasm. My free hand fluttered as if of its own accord, and I vaguely tried to decide if I should play with my own nipples or push his hand away and help myself, but then he let out a long, low groan and made a series of short, jerking thrusts that signaled his release.

  Um. Wow. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d come before making sure I’d come. I started to say something, but after thirteen years of marriage, it was still difficult. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. If there was a gracious way to destroy a man’s afterglow by announcing you hadn’t come yet…well, I didn’t know what it was.

  He kissed my shoulder in a contented, loving, but nonsexy kind of way, and slipped out of me. I bit back a sigh. I started to throw back the covers, but he caught them in his hand.

  “Enjoy a quiet morning without the kids,” he said. “I’ll throw something together for breakfast.”

  Through heavily lidded eyes, I watched him bend over to pick up a pair of shorts. Sturdily built, of Scottish descent, he had a great pair of thighs, muscular and dusted with blond hair, and curving up at the top to join with his fine, tight ass. He pulled up the shorts, blocking my view of his butt, and turned to blow me a kiss.

  I smiled and snuggled deeper into the cocoon of pillows and blankets. I didn’t even bother to get up and go to the bathroom to clean up. I always laundered the bedding on Saturday anyway…

  I must have been backlogged on needing sleep, because I didn’t fall back into the dream, even though I’d hoped to. Nope, I slid right down into the total blackness of exhaustion.

  I knew this because, when I slowly ascended through layers of consciousness, I discovered Cal had been very busy and I’d slept right through all of it.

  Delicious aromas tickled my nose. Aw, he’d brought me breakfast in bed! Before I even opened my eyes, I started to sit up.

  That’s when I discovered that he’d also managed to tie my hands to the brass headboard.

  Even when we were younger, pre-kids, we hadn’t been terribly experimental. Oh, the occasional public quickie in a parked car, once in a while in the shower, that sort of thing. But over the years we’d settled on three or four standard positions, with oral sex every other encounter and a full-on oral orgasm for birthdays. The last few years we hadn’t even been able to get away for our anniversary. The fact that the kids were spending last night and most of today away was a rare luxury.

  And I’d already been mentally filling my day with the type of housework that was hard to do with active little ones underfoot.

  Sad.

  Not so sad now, though. Panic skittered through me, but I also trusted Cal completely, so I didn’t entirely lose it. When my eyes flew open, he was standing right there, smiling reassuringly, and I immediately knew that if I asked him, he’d untie me.

  “I realized,” he said, “that’s it’s been far too long since I brought you breakfast in bed.” He set the tray down on the bedside table. Tantalizing aromas wafted over the air, almost visible, like the floaty cloud-fingers they have in cartoons to indicate strong smells.

  Good lord, I really did need to get out more. I was thinking in cartoon metaphor.

  My stomach rumbled, the sound not unlike what would be heard in a cartoon to indicate hunger. I was doomed.

  But I wasn’t going to go hungry for long.

  I couldn’t see the entire tray, but what I could make out looked delectable: Narrow slices of honeydew melon. Strawberries and a small pot of whipped cream. Paper-thin crêpes, golden-brown.

  “It’s going to be a little hard for me to eat without my hands,” I pointed out.

  Cal chuckled. “It was the only way I could think of to make sure you enjoyed your breakfast, rather than bolting it down on your way to make the shopping list.”

  Damn, but he had me pegged. The idea of being tied up wasn’t bothering me—no, what really gnawed at me was the fact that I had Things to Do. Normally I’d eat a bagel in front of the computer while I paid bills and sip coffee while doing the dishes or chopping vegetables for the Crock-Pot.

  Beneath it all, there was a tiny frisson of disappointment. This wasn’t about sex after all. I completely appreciated what he was doing, especially since he was right about me not taking the time to enjoy meals. But it had been a nice thought, for the few moments that it had lasted, that the button-pushing monotony might be superseded by something more imaginative.

  Oh, well. What I could see of breakfast looked pretty amazing, and it all smelled even better. Was that French vanilla blend? Didn’t we save that for guests?

  Cal smeared a crêpe with cream cheese, topped it with a ruby red jam, and deftly rolled it into a skinny tube. I obediently opened my mouth. The faster we got this over with, the faster I could get up and…

  …Oh. Oh, that was good. He fed the end into my mouth, and when I bit down, the savory cheese and sweet jam oozed onto my tongue. Cal continued to feed it to me in small sections, and I delighted in every morsel.

  Something about the inability to feed myself, or maybe about being fed, acted like a drug on my brain. I felt myself relax, accept, slip into the moment. All that mattered was the next morsel and how it would taste.

  Cal held a slice of ripe, sweet melon to my lips. The juices dribbled down my chin, tickling as they dripped down my neck. I flicked the corners of my mouth clean. I was helpless to clean up the rest of it, and there was something entirely decadent about letting the sticky-sweet juices dry on my skin, like I was a tanned, bare-breasted native girl, not-quite-innocent, draped with fragrant, bright-hued flowers, dancing for the famous explorer.

  Wow, where had that image come from? What had Cal put in the food, anyway?

  “Aren’t you eating?” I asked.

  I don’t think I’d ever seen such a wickedly sly smile on Cal’s face….

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He leaned over me; I expected a kiss. Instead, he flicked his tongue against the corners of my mouth, tasting the melon. Then, slowly and deliberately, he followed the trail down my chin, along my neck, to the spot where the juices had pooled in my collarbone.

  He spent a lot of time there, cleaning off my skin. Licking. Sucking. One small, gentle, playful nip.

  I think that’s when my toes started to curl. He hadn’t touched me with anything but his mouth and nowhere but my face and neck, and yet I was tingling all over.

  “Mm, that was nice,” he said.

  “Nice,” I echoed, my voice weak.

  Okay, so I’d been wrong. Maybe this was about more than breakfast after all.

  Please, let it be more than about breakfast.

  I tried to talk, but the words caught. I cleared my throat, tried again. “I’m still hungry,” I said, hoping the inflection implied something other than food. “How about you?”

  “Ravenous.” Cal peeled back the bedcovers and unbuttoned my bright yellow flannel nightshirt. He couldn’t remove it, obviously, because my hands were tied, but it was enough for now. He tugged at my sleep shorts, white with smiley faces on them, and I raised my hips to help him out.

  I spread my legs, a more-than-blatant hint.

  Cal shook his head. “We’ve got all morning,” he said. “Good…food should be savored.”

  With that, he selected a strawberry from the tray. Holding the green leaves between his fingers, he ran the berry along my chest, from collarbone to a spot just below my breasts. Every tiny, rough seed rasped individually against my skin.

  My nipples were hard and dimpled, kind of like the fruit, by the time he got to them. He tickled the areolas, not quite giving me enough, not quite what I wanted. I moaned, w
iggling my hips, giving him hints.

  He laughed. He knew exactly what I wanted, but I was just going to have to wait for it.

  “Open your mouth,” he said.

  I did, and he fed me the strawberry. I bit down, feeling my teeth crunch through the firm flesh, tasting the tart juice. I’d never known how sensuous eating could be.

  I was drowning in the sensations when he slid the wet half of the strawberry right across my nipple.

  My hips lifted right off the bed. The moisture on my breasts was nothing compared to the slickness growing between my legs.

  Cal took his own sweet time suckling the juices off my nipple, nibbling and licking until I thought I would scream. I mean, was that really my breath, coming out in small gasps, sometimes punctuated by little whimpers?

  He used fresh kiwi on my other breast, then kissed me again so I could taste what he’d been tasting.

  If he didn’t touch me soon…

  I was hopeful when he brought forth the whipped cream, but he dipped a strawberry into it and circled both my nipples before feeding me the fruit. Only then did he clean me off.

  And clean cream out of my belly button. I’m not sure how he managed to do that—my stomach was quivering from my need to come.

  I was ready to come, and he hadn’t even touched my clit yet. Hadn’t so much as breathed on it.

  Dammit, I wanted my hands free! As much as I was enjoying this, I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, bring his head up to mine for kisses.

  Push his head down between my legs…

  “Lick me,” I begged, amazed at the way my voice trembled.

  Cal grinned. “Already? We’ve barely gotten started.”

  I couldn’t imagine he could be serious. But he was. I couldn’t see the clock, but I was sure hours were going by as he fed me eggs Benedict with hollandaise sauce and salty ham, then managed to find all sorts of interesting spots like my hip bones to coat with sauce and then lick it away.

  Sticky jam on the insides of my thighs. More whipped cream, in the hollows of my ankles. A heavenly taste of coffee, followed by him taking a mouthful and attacking my breasts again, so I felt the heat of the coffee mingled with his tongue and lips and teeth.

  I wasn’t even coherent by the time he dribbled champagne down my pussy.

  I do know that the cold, fizzing bubbles started me over the edge seconds before Cal’s mouth found my clit.

  I do know I screamed, and the brass headboard slammed against the wall.

  When I’d barely recovered from that, Cal slid his cock into me. My inner walls clenched around him, still pulsing from my orgasm. He lowered his head and kissed me. His mouth carried all the various tastes, salty and sweet, tart and savory, and the memory of all that he’d been doing to my helpless body made me convulse again. And again.

  And more times than I could’ve counted, even if I’d been capable of thought.

  After he untied me, we cuddled—that in itself was a rarity, and something I hadn’t realized how much I missed. Not just the physical closeness, but the murmured conversation, the gentle laughter, the shared intimacy.

  Eventually we wound around to the morning’s events, and I asked him what had inspired him to such erotic creativity.

  “Art at work—found out his wife was having an affair.”

  I really wasn’t following this. I blamed the multiple, bed-shaking orgasms. “With you?”

  Cal roared with laughter. “Not hardly! Her personal trainer.”

  “Oh.” I tried to envision Art’s wife. Pretty, with short dark hair and a fondness for pink toenail polish that matched her sandals.

  “But it got me thinking,” Cal said, sober now. “She’d told him things had gotten boring. She still loved him, but she’d gotten distracted by something different. I didn’t want that to happen to us, Jennie.”

  Guiltily, I remembered my earlier thoughts of how we’d gotten into a rut. Much as I adored Cal with all my heart, I could understand the temptation to find the spark somewhere else.

  Bless Cal for figuring out that we could reignite it.

  I kissed him, slipped out of his embrace. We’d been lounging so long that the kids would be home soon.

  “You made breakfast, so I’ll clean up,” I said.

  He caught my wrist. “On one condition. When we have a few minutes, let’s check the calendar and schedule another date.”

  My body tingled. I smiled. “Absolutely.”

  Before I was even out of the bedroom, I was already thinking about turning the tables on him. About drizzling honey on his hard cock. Honey’s pretty sticky…it would take a long time to clean off…

  And that would be just fine with me.

  COUNTRY PLEASURES

  Teresa Noelle Roberts

  Ray gazed out the cottage window at the rain-drenched Galway village. “So much for the gorgeous light yesterday. It’s all gray now. Not to mention pouring.” He let out a melodramatic sigh, half self-mocking, half self-pitying.

  “What do you expect? We’re in Ireland,” Jessica said. “Take wet, gray pictures today. Besides, it’s not just gray. It’s gray and green. Completely different from Santa Fe, and isn’t that why you wanted to visit Ireland?”

  He turned away from the window and nodded, although Jessica could tell he was still trying to cling to his grumpiness.

  “You could take some great pictures—the castle ruins or the Neolithic tombs would look really romantic.”

  “You would think so. You and your passion for ruins.” He smiled as he said it.

  “Hey, without the passion for ruins, we might never have met.” They’d bumped into each other while exploring an Anasazi site in the desert—Ray taking pictures, Jessica, a recent transplant from Ohio, soaking up the atmosphere. She’d been a history major in college, and while she’d never found a practical application for her studies, she enjoyed immersing herself in the past.

  That, of course, was why she’d favored doing the Santa Fe/ Galway house swap—she could explore historical sites while Ray, an avid amateur photographer, took pictures in a new and different landscape. Hell, even the house was old by American standards, a genuine thatched cottage, restored by Dublin retirees blessed with both money and historic sensitivity. But now she wanted to be out of the cottage and seeing the sights.

  Ray smiled. “I’m up for gray and misty shots—but not for underwater photography on land. How about we go back to bed until the rain lets up?” He nuzzled the back of her neck while his hands glided up to cup her T-shirt-clad breasts.

  Jessica shivered pleasantly. Her nipples, still sensitive from their early-morning lovemaking, puckered at the touch. If Ray kept doing that, she’d soon be as wet inside as it was outside, and that would make exploring the countryside less inviting than exploring Ray once again. And the bed was a comfortable antique nest, topped with a feather bed….

  Tempting. But Jessica looked out the window again. While they’d talked, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the sky was clearing. “Later!” she said, laughing. “How about we go up to the castle ruins?” She gestured in vaguely the right direction.

  Ray peered out and hmmed. “I like the way the sun’s breaking through the clouds.”

  “We can get lunch at the pub when we’re done. Then we can come back and play indoors until it’s time for sunset.” She kissed him again.

  Ray brightened at the mention of the pub. He might not be sold on Irish weather, but Irish beer was another story, and the seventeenth-century village pub promised photo opportunities in its own right. “I wonder how waterproof these boots are. Exploring won’t be nearly as fun with wet feet.”

  “You New Mexico natives are such cats. But I think Claire and Martin left us something better for wet feet.” Along with emergency numbers and directions to local sites, the home-owners had mentioned they’d left rainy-weather gear for their desert-dwelling visitors.

  Jessica darted off to the closet.

  Victory! Several pairs of tall rubber boots in different sizes were lined up in the closet and several rubber slickers hung on pegs. The closet smelled like rubber and damp. A note on the back of the closet door said, “Feel free to borrow Wellies and macs.”