This is the first time in nearly thirty-five years that I've offered something I wrote to a public forum. I didn't want to bother the site editors with this submission, so if it's not up to speed, that's all on me. I just wanted to get it out there before I lost my nerve, again.
I'm writing a larger story for submission. My wife asked if there were going to be any love scenes. I said I probably wouldn't include one. She said "Why not?!?" So I wrote one. This is a chapter taken out of the larger story. When I do submit the whole story, then I will bother the editors. Til then, enjoy this sample.
I closed and locked the doors, and checked the windows. My wife came up behind me and wrapped her hands around my waist. I could tell that she had to reach around a little more waist then she used to. It's for sure that her arms hadn't gotten any shorter. I felt her breasts press into my back, and I could feel her nipples harden against my skin through our clothing. Her hands slipped lower, and her fingers began to play with my belt buckle.
It looked like tonight was going to be a good night.
My wife toyed with my belt buckle for a moment, then she moved her hands back up my torso to my chest. She pulled at the collar of my t-shirt and started to twirl her fingernails through the hair she had exposed on my chest. I lowered my arms and reached back with my hands. I took hold of her hips and pulled her more firmly against me. She turned her head and laid her cheek against the nape of my neck, rubbing against on my skin like a cat marking her territory. She pulled back and started nibbling at my neck with her lips and teeth. She knows how much I like that, and I got gooseflesh all up and down my arms.
I figured turnabout was fair play, so I twisted in her arms, put my hands around her waist, and pulled her tight against me. I leaned down and gently kissed her soft, full lips. I started out by nibbling at her lips with mine, putting small, light kisses from one corner of her mouth to the other. Then I gently sucked on her bottom lip, drawing at it, and trying to bring the blood closer to the surface. I could feel her lips swelling against mine, getting softer and fuller and warmer ... I nearly lost myself in our kiss, when I remembered that I'd had a plan.
Getting back on track, I moved my kisses across her lips, and laid butterfly kisses on her cheek. I kissed a line up to her temple and back down in front of her ear. I puffed a light breath into the shell of her ear, and then used my tongue to trace the contours of the delicate sworls within. I felt her shiver and wriggle, and I smiled, knowing that my plan was on course. I kissed down off of her cheek and onto her neck; I nibbled at the soft skin there with my lips and teeth. When I closed my lips on the skin and began to suck, she squealed and pushed against me, throwing me off her, but not out of her arms.
"Michael Cranson, don't you dare give me a hickey on my neck! I'll not be explaining that to your daughters, you-you-you bounder, you!" She acted like she was seriously affronted by my attack, but I could tell; she was secretly pleased by my assault. The pebbles trying to bore their way through her bra and blouse pointed that out quite nicely. I could always tell when she was getting turned on, aside from the immediately obvious. A little bit of her childhood brogue would begin to color her speech as she got more excited.
"Well, then, maybe we need to find a place more to your liking, my dear. Like maybe, right about ... here!" With that, I pulled open the front of her blouse, and tried to suck at the skin on the swell of her breast that I had exposed. This time, she pulled back her arms and started lightly slapping at me. Not enough to hurt, but enough to interfere with my attempt.
"I'll not have it!" she exclaimed. "I'll not be wearing my blouses buttoned to my throat because you canna contain yourself. It's getting too warm out for that."
Since she had disengaged from me, my hands were now free to roam over new territory. I quickly moved my hands from her waist, dragging them up her sides, until I reached the lower swells of her breasts. I cupped my hands beneath her breasts and lifted them up, weighing their heft in my fingers, and gently caressing them. I let my thumbs wander up the front until they came to rest against her firm nipples. Having firmly taken the higher ground, I stroked her nipples through the layers of cloth, trying my best to bring them even further out from her breasts. She groaned in appreciation, and then seemed to recollect herself.
"You are a bad, bad man, Michael," she scolded. "And it's a bad man I be needing right now." She took my hand and turned to the doorway that led out from the kitchen into the rest of the house.
I turned off lights as we walked along, getting the house ready for the night. When we passed Nick's room, I could see the light from his computer monitor shining out from under the door. I looked at my watch and saw that it was still early yet, so I just knocked on the door, and reminded him to make it an early night.
"Your mom and I are going to bed now. Good night, Nick," I yelled through the door.
"'Night, Dad," he yelled back.
I suddenly noticed that my hand was empty. I looked down the hall and saw Deirdre standing in our bedroom door, her blouse unbuttoned and loose on her shoulders. With the light behind her, I couldn't really make out any details, but what I could see was very feminine ... and very sexy. She had her left arm up, laid against the door frame, with her hand gently moving on the frame, almost as if she were caressing it. She had her right hand on her cocked hip, and her legs were crossed at the ankle. Her head was tilted to the left, and her hair flowed in soothing waves over her left shoulder and down her front.
Even after all these years, the woman still just does it for me.
I growled at her, and she giggled back. She quickly turned around and scurried into the room, giving the door a push behind her. I got to the door before it could close, and growled again when I saw her standing beside the bed, on the opposite side from me, with the width of the bed between us. I grabbed my t-shirt and started to pull it over my head.
"Wait!" she called. "I want to do that. I want to unwrap my treat."
Over the years, we had worked out signals for what kind of a night we were going to have. "Unwrapping her treat" was the signal for a slow, gentle night. Since it was all good to me, I had no problem with her calling the play. There had only been a couple of times when I called the play, and she most ably accommodated my wishes. She knew that I would give her what she needed in the end. And sometimes, no call was made and we just did what felt good. Those were comfort nights. Tonight, she needed reassurance, and I was happy to give it to her.
Although she had teased before, and played hard to get, that was just the continuation of our play in the kitchen. Now was the time she gave herself over to me, and let me show her how much I loved her. She came around the bed to my side, with her eyes turned demurely to the floor. She put her hands together and held them in front of her like a schoolgirl called to the office. This tended to call out the alpha to me, and brought out some instinct in me to protect my mate from whatever she felt threatened by.
Earlier, she'd had her hair pulled back in a ponytail, tied low on her neck, with a ribbon that she'd made herself for just that purpose. When we had started in the kitchen, she'd removed the ribbon and put it in her pants pocket; I could see the end of it sticking out. Her hair was now flowing over her neck and shoulders, the waves of it hiding and defining her shape before me. She knows I have a thing for women with long hair, and she keeps it long mostly for me. Sometimes, she gets one of her daughters to braid it for her, and the resultant braid comes down to just below her shoulder blades.
God, I love her hair!
I don't know what it is, this thing women have about candles, but I was grateful for that right then. Leaving her standing by the bed for the moment, I wandered around the room, lighting all the candles she had scattered about the place. I turned off the bedside lamps, and saw that the candles lit up the room nearly as brightly as the lamps had done. I returned to her, stopping right in front of her, and admired the soft flickering glow of candlelight in her hair. I reached out and guided my hands into her hair at the juncture of her neck and shoulders, and let my fingers gather it up and pushed it back over her shoulders. I could feel a touch of dampness in her hair from the shower she had taken before dinner. Her shirt, while still unbuttoned, had fallen closed, shyly hiding the treasures that I knew dwelt within.
She still had her head down, so I reached for her chin and lifted her face up to me. She looked at me with her smoldering green-blue eyes, her eyelids drooping lower, and her lips turning up with that gentle smile that I have truly grown to love. Mona Lisa has nothing on my girl when it comes to heart-wrenching smiles.
.... There is more of this story ...