In the Flesh (27 page)

Sweeping the thick curtain of her unbound red hair out of the way with one hand, she bent down and lowered her mouth toward him.

* * *

RITCHIE WANTED
to shout, to whoop, to cheer. He wanted to reach out, cradle Beatrice’s head, his fingers plunged into the sublime tresses of her extraordinary hair, and guide her tender mouth toward his cock. He wanted to jerk his hips upward and push into her mouth, find bliss in its heat and wetness, then thrust and thrust until he spent on her tongue.

But instead, he lay quiescent, showing nothing of his turmoil of pounding lust, not even clenching the bedsheets for fear he alarm or disquiet her.

He nearly moaned aloud though, feeling her breath upon his glans. Knowing she couldn’t see his face for the brilliant swath of her lush hair, he bit down hard on his lower lip, battling for self-control.

When her tongue touched the very tip of him, he had to shut his eyes tight and suppress a welling tear of tense emotion.

“Ooh, salty,” she whispered, her velvety lips barely brushing him yet making every last inch of his body go rigid, and the inches that were rigid already harden into heavy, aching iron. He tasted salt himself in the blood from his bitten lip.

Adjusting her position, she surveyed him this way and that, from the closest of quarters. As she did so, the cape of her Titian waves slid over her shoulders and her back, the soft ends sliding like silk along his belly and his thighs.

Forward she went again, her dainty tongue extending to caress him. Tentative, yet clearly a natural sensualist of phenomenal intuition, she flicked and flirted around the crown of his cock, exploring and tantalizing him, then parted her lips and let the swollen tip enter her mouth.

So warm, so wet, she engulfed him, still playing his flesh with her tongue as she sucked and bobbed.

He couldn’t hide his pleasure now, even though for a moment, he clawed at the sheets, clinging to a last scrap of self-control. Then, with a darting thrust of her furled tongue, she sought the tender groove beneath his glans and he had to cry out loud. Questioning, she glanced up at him, her face gracious and beautiful, even with her mouth stretched around him, but when she saw him nod at her, she returned to her task.

Ritchie plunged his hands into her thick fall of hair, guiding her, holding her, yet trying not to control or constrain her. His mind was spinning as he teetered on the brink of spending long and hard.

But he mustn’t do that. He shouldn’t. Not to a young woman so recently a virgin, eager though she was. The temptation was huge, but he managed to resist and claw back the last vestiges of his reserve.

“Beatrice…Beatrice…enough!” he gasped, gently nudging her away from his aching cock.

Rising, she flung back her hair again, her expression perplexed. “What’s amiss? Was I doing it wrong? You
seemed
to be enjoying yourself.” She rocked away from him, pursing her lips and then running her tongue over them, as if still tasting him. Ritchie almost exploded there and then, it excited him so.

“I
was
enjoying it, Bea… I was enjoying it so much I can barely describe…too much…” Hauling himself up, he reached out and cradled her cheek, his thumb stroking lightly over her moist lips. “But I didn’t want to take my pleasure selfishly… I’d rather share it with you, my sweet, not come in your mouth without pleasuring you.”

Beatrice smiled, slow and creamy, like a contented little cat, her lips curving beneath the pad of his thumb. “You really shouldn’t worry, Ritchie. You’re always far more than generous in that regard. The deficit still lies with me, by a considerable margin.”

Ritchie laughed. What a spectacular and tantalizing woman she was. How uniquely she saw things. His cock throbbed as she regarded him steadily, her green eyes twinkling.

“I’m not keeping score, Miss Weatherly, and neither should you be.” He bobbed forward and kissed her on the lips, his mouth almost brushing his own thumb. “At the moment, I think we should forget all checks and tallies and simply fuck each other.”

* * *

RITCHIE’S HAPPY
LAUGH
was like a warm breeze aross Beatrice’s face, and he kissed her until she was breathless, until she couldn’t think of anything but having him inside her. Her hands traveled over his body as their lips and tongues grappled, and this time he seemed to have no qualms about letting her explore the marks of his scars with her fingertips. Even as Ritchie’s hand slipped between her legs and found her ready again, a part of her mind was wondering what had happened to him and what or who had hurt him.

But she knew now was not the time to ask. And as he fondled her clitoris, the questions dissolved like smoke.

Excitement gathered beneath his fingertip, now familiar, but ever new and fresh. She could just have let him diddle her to her peak again. It would have been easy and sweet and without effort. But that wasn’t quite what she wanted.

“Please, Ritchie,” she gasped as they broke apart, even while he was still touching her. “Please, Ritchie, I want you inside me.”

Ritchie muttered an oath in response, but he was laughing, smiling. “And you shall have me, beautiful Bea. Indeed you shall.” He kissed her again, hard, and carried on stimulating her. Sensation tilted on the edge, like a vessel filled to the brim, almost welling.

Beatrice pulled back. “No! With you! I want us to spend together.” She rolled onto her back, spreading her legs.

“A delicious offer, Bea, but let’s try it another way.” He reached for her shoulder, and drew her up again, then reclined back on the mattress himself. “You can plow me instead.”

Beatrice blinked.

Oh! He wants me to ride him!

Glancing at his cock, where it reared up as hard and eager as it had been when she’d mouthed him, she tried to imagine that sturdy engine pushing up into her. Her puss quivered in a long silky ripple, but whether in anticipation or apprehension, she couldn’t tell.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You’ll be in charge…you’ll have control…the upper hand.”

“Indeed,” she murmured, still eyeing his cock.

“But first we need to clothe this monster.” He gave himself a cheerful shake, which made Beatrice want to giggle, both at the way he swayed and the fact that even a man such as Ritchie seemed prone to an inflated masculine pride in his own anatomy. Although in his case, she deemed it well justified. “You’ll find a tin of French Letters in the drawer of the cabinet beside the bed.”

Beatrice quickly found the prophylactics, and prized one out. It was slippery and tricky and seemed determined to wiggle in her hand, and yet Ritchie, with his hands now behind his blond head and a smug look on his handsome face, seemed equally determined that she should do the honors.

She tried. And tried. But the wretched thing would not behave, and Ritchie’s splendid cock was a terrible distraction. Afraid of hurting him, Beatrice fumbled even more.

Eventually, she gave up the battle. “Look here, I’m a beginner at all this, remember.” She tossed the rubber sheath onto Ritchie’s bare belly. “I think you’d better deal with this device or we’ll both die of frustration.”

“You’re probably right,” murmured Ritchie, catching up the troublesome rubber sheath and in a matter of moments, deftly enrobing himself. Beatrice frowned. He’d made it look laughably simple.

“I’m sure I’d get better with practice.” She reached out, touched a fingertip to his shaft in its fine protective coat and smiled inside as Ritchie gasped, baring his teeth. “But I’m afraid that requires you to be on hand.”

Ritchie clasped her wrist, easing her hand from him, his finger resting against the spot where her pulse thudded. “I’ll have a box of the finest imported West Indies bananas delivered to you, and you can hone your skills with those.” He dropped a momentary wink. “They’re rather tasty too, I think you’ll find.”

Not as tasty as you, no matter how fine and costly an import.

She winked back at him and he laughed, as if he’d heard the thought as clear as day.

“Now…how the dickens do we do this?” Beatrice peered at Ritchie’s member, no less imposing for being sheathed, and pointing up at a fierce, rampant angle.

“You’ll have to kneel over me…position me against your puss…and then bear down.”

“But…um…you’re pointing up too much.” She eyed his rigid cock dubiously.

“Don’t worry…you can manhandle me a bit…it won’t break.” He squeezed her hand encouragingly where he still held it.

What followed was quite a performance, and Beatrice was convinced that her role in it was somewhat less than graceful. But Ritchie didn’t seem to mind her maneuvering and crouching and huffing and, yes, manhandling him. In fact his eyes blazed bluer with hunger at the sight of her, and with his strong hands at her waist, he helped her find the perfect pose.

“That’s it, my darling. Ease down…ease down,” he urged huskily, still guiding her.

Her thighs burning with gathered tension, Beatrice obliged him.

Down she slid, as Ritchie reared up, holding her firm. His cock pushed upward, in, in, into her, filling her up, possessing her body, almost too much.

“Ooh,” she gasped. “I…I’m not sure…”

The sensation was stunning. It took her breath. Even from his supine position, Ritchie still seemed to master her. His penetration encompassed more than just her sex. It was as if his spirit were rising up into her also, and flowing from his cock to touch her heart, her mind, her soul.

“Breathe, Bea, breathe,” he urged. “Relax…let me in…let us be one.”

His words were rough yet strangely sweet, like spiced honey melting her fears and doubts. As he whispered “Relax” again, her body yielded, admitting him further.

With a shuddering sigh, she settled down upon his pelvis.

“I…I…”

The sensations rendered her speechless. Feeling his cock inside her, lodged so deep, was more dazzling even than when he’d lain on top of her and possessed her. The might of his flesh imposed itself totally on her senses. But even if her mind wouldn’t work, her body knew what to do. She squeezed down on him, caressing his flesh from within.

Ritchie let out low ragged sound, halfway between a groan and a laugh. His face contorted in a grimace, his eyes fluttering closed. “Oh yes, my dearest Beatrice…oh yes…” Rearing up from the pillows, he slung an arm around her and hugged her where she sat, astride his hips, perched on the prow of his sex.

Their bodies haphazardly aligned yet profoundly joined, they rocked and wriggled against each other, Beatrice’s eyes almost popping at the impact of each movement. Every time Ritchie adjusted his hold, or bucked upward with his hips, the action dragged tellingly, tugging at her clitoris from within her own body and inducing ripples and flutters of intense delight. Flinging an arm around his neck, she embraced him, her fingertips digging into scars and pristine skin alike as exquisite feelings racked her.

His chest heaving with hard gasps, Ritchie held her tight for a moment with one arm whilst his free hand cast around behind him to heap the bolster and the pillows at his back. Then he rested against them, smiling back at her from his position of greater comfort.

“You’re remarkable, Bea,” he breathed, still gasping, his face flushed, eyes alight as he slid his hands back to her waist and held her firm, hard, down on his cock. “A pearl beyond price…I never realized how precious, even when I desired you from your image.”

Beatrice didn’t know what to say. When he spoke like that, it touched too closely on her secret, hidden, never-to-be-voiced desires. The longing she nurtured to herself because she couldn’t reveal it to Ritchie, not ever. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back, arched her body and bore down on him, squeezing his rigid flesh again with her inner muscles. If she couldn’t tell him that she loved him, she could at least pleasure him to the best of her ability. And make their limited time together as supreme as she was able.

“Oh God…oh God in heaven,” Ritchie snarled, arching just as she did, and rolling his head on his shoulders. “You feel too good…too wonderful…I’m too close…” He hauled in a great breath. “Stay still a moment, dearest…very still. I don’t want to spend too soon and not grant you pleasure first.”

I don’t care! I don’t care!

Her pleasure would come any instant whether or not Ritchie spent. She was balanced on the finest of hair triggers. His care for her pushed her closer and closer.

But she stayed still. Because he wanted her to.

“Yes, dear, yes,” he breathed. One hand on her waist held her steady, while the other, with a deft twist of the wrist, slid down between their bodies to find her clitoris.

How good to her he was. How giving.

Beatrice gasped and whimpered as he found the very focus of her pleasure, flicking and stroking her bud with breathtaking accuracy. How focused and clever he was, considering that he too was probably only a heartbeat from his crisis.

Holding on to his shoulders, she tossed her head, her hair flying around both of them as the intense, gathering sensations pooled in her belly and circled and spiraled ever inward toward the juncture of his fingertip and her aching clitoris.

It was too much, too sublime, she could hold back no longer. Her body moved of its own volition and with a groan like a wild animal, she bore down, pressing on him, and on his strong, igniting finger.