First installment of IT MAY BE LOVE erotic excerpt:
PLAUDITS OF THAT UNLETTERED MOMENT -- #1
Streams of
moonbeams slanted through the blinds, turning everything to muted and
contrasting shadows of grayish lavender.
The window had been left open and a late night breeze tormented those
blinds, causing the colors to bend and twist, likening everything to aged film,
flowing upon a tattered movie screen.
It's sepia outward show fully fit the dreamlike surrealism of the
moment, a moment Cyndy had envisioned and craved for so long.
The perimeter
beyond the gentle moon glow was lost to any perception. The only reality she garnered was the pool of
fantasy tones, that hinted the probability of
uninhibited exaltation, so she floated. This night, this moment, with
this man, she was not going to quell any rapture.
In some ways she
couldn’t believe it was finally happening; that James’ strong arms encompassed
her, his body heat melded through her, and passion surged with the momentum of
water bursting through a weakened dam. And
she was weak, weak from his wooing with the humanity of a caring soul, allure
drenched words, rapturously intense poetry, tempered interludes of simple chat,
innocent storytelling that held her as spellbound as those he entertained, yes,
yes, wooed totally and completely.
Every wall was about to be collapsed, and rightfully so. He was the place she needed, no wanted to
fall into. At this moment, the walls
required only the breeze created by the hummingbird's wings to tumble.
Even the cut of
him, the sway of his walk, the slightly crooked tilt of his smile, the striking
cut of his five o’clock shadow, and his stimulating glances as furtive as hers,
wooed. Yet, those exchanges were often
caught and held, enticing her for a sliver of an instant. Like a pied piper’s lute heard upon the air,
first only a come-hither hum but soon lulling, seducing, and then mesmerizing
beyond resistance. Her heart pulsed with
the power of lust, felt in firm breathing, tightening nipples, an engorged
vagina, and enhanced sensitivity.
Still lifted in
his strapping arms, he slowly turned her in a spiral, the dim lighting
splintering around them like paparazzi snapshots. His head descended, her breathing halted even
as her pulse quickened. James dipped his
head further, swabbing her neck. His breath was felt on short-hair exploding in
flashes of sensations that ricocheted beneath her skin, ending by chasing the
butterflies of her belly.
She felt his
grip tighten as his head rose. Tense
muscles nudged soft flesh, her fingers slipped into his hair, urging his head
downward with urgency, but James refused to be rushed. He stripped her with his adoring look as if
not just seeing every curve and dip of her flesh but memorizing the depths and
clarity of her soul. He swelled with
great power as his discovery reinforced the model, she was a desired woman and
he was a lustful, strong man. His bonds
were breeched and he was claiming control, wielding it from her. She yielded.
“I adore your
face. The god, Eros, has blessed you
with humbling beauty.” His voice, quiet and gentle cuddled a sigh. It was more just a stirring breath than
actual sound, as he caressed her mouth.
“And you, my heart tug, possess the sweetest face I’ve ever encountered. It enslaves me.” Again, his gaze explored. This time it seemed to finger-paint her
features as if memorizing every delicate line and perfect imperfections.
She studied him
as if he wasn't real, as if this wasn’t the culmination of forever foreplay that meandered through the months, tantalizing
strokes of sensuality. “Don’t,” she said
with sudden shyness. Swollen with
embarrassment, “You’ll see too much.” No
man had grazed on her as he was. And
that constant nibbling was feeding the insecurity monster that held residency
in the a dark corner of her mind. Could
she be worthy of his absorption of her?
Just a shadow of
a grin emerged. “Exactly, I want to see
everything, every freckle, every contour, every furrow and lineation. Why?
They are you. And I want to own
it all, every bit. These are the
memories I have to write for me. Recalled every tomorrow, as if succinctly
fresh just as they are right now. You
are my future, and this moment is our real beginning.”
It wasn't the
quixotic words as much as the intent behind the words that caused a quick
intake of air. She didn't realize she
had the doe eyes of an innocent, quivering in the puddle of their flash of
time, rippling the waters of adoring, washing them onto the edges of lust
damping its eventuality. For she might
have experienced sex but she never experienced romance, and tonight was all
about caring, tenderness, loving. He had
stroked every part of her being but had yet to physically touch her. Their foreplay had its apt genesis in the
mind, the largest sex organ. Feeling she
needed to explain, "Your eyes make me shy."
"You are
everything I have to be witness to.
Chase your shyness with one thought, I need you. So I must stare."
“Then look,” she
whispered, finding a renewed confidence, “own me...” then adding with an abrupt
boldness as seductive and blunt as his own expression had been, "every
bit." She melted. Every wall vanished. She exposed her soul. Opened up to him. Invited his invasion into her. Any resistance turned into the soft sweet pudding of one who
had been gooey-wooed.
At that instant,
the passion didn’t seem deep enough for what he experienced. Holding her like this, knowing this was just
the inception of what was to come, his confidence noted, and cum they would. It took every fiber of restrain to not just
toss her down and fuck her like might a bull who had been held in the coral all
too long.
However was the
definitive demarcation. It wrote a
greater truth. So however, this wasn’t
just sex, it was making love, and he never wanted either of them to forget
their first time together. It wasn’t a
backseat tumble or a quickie blow job, given just beyond the front door. It was forever. He knew and knew she knew, she would soon
immerse herself in sharing loving sex.
Was it duty? Yes, to the greater
genuineness of who they were to each.
Rowe's Rule told
that the odds were five to six that the light at the end of the tunnel was the
headlights of an oncoming train. What
was their fate to be? Glorious or
gruesome? Neither perceived any other
outcome but the flight of a fancy breathtaking and life altering idolatry. In retrospect of all the interaction between
them, they both bent toward trusting and believing in this eventuality. They couldn't allow themselves to think any
differently. It would alter the ironic
fantasy that was once the rock-bottom fruitlessness of two shipwrecks, now,
rescued by their current reality.
Frozen in
between moments, his mouth lingered over hers, a tantalizing tormentor daring
her to sample while at the same time his teal green eyes mesmerized, absorbing
her as he drew her into the truth of him, the knight, the defender, the man who
had been in her dreams forever, the ornery cad who’d make her wet with just a
look, and wooing that would draw her into his soul and offer her his heart. She strained to lift closer, to tempt him to
give in to the meshing of lips. Her
mouth rose, just barely, still not quite connected as he retreated, teasing the
glory of an everlasting, satisfying finale.
His moxie waned
controlled by his own terms. He was
going to lead, blazing the path forward.
Why? Bound to his soul was a
strong and powerful vision of them.
Warm kisses
feathered her brow, cheeks, and chin.
Slowly, gently, with muscular arms, he shifted her weight so he could
lift her thick, cascading hair and press his lips to her neck. Flicking his tongue along her pale-soft
flesh, he kissed her softly, tasting traces of salty sweat and fragrant
lavender soap. He savored her delightful feminine flavor then as if in a frenzy
of need, he splattered her neck with nips and suckling. "Sheeze,"
wistfully escaped on quivering breath.
The jitters of jackhammered sensations reverberated riddling every
thought. She rightfully shook as if this
was her very first time. And it was,
with him.
Her fingers
tightened in his hair, clenching as his procrastination created blatant
heat. Her body pulsated with the need to
fuck and be fucked, not gentle, not sweet, but hard and demanding. His dominating persistence fed her insecurity
monster. She sensed she would be giving up
control to him. Could she? Would she?
Rattled, she
tried to nudge his lips to hers, began to wiggle in his arms, wanting her feet,
no, her knees on the floor, so she’d have the control once more. She wanted to take his cock into her mouth,
to torment his balls and force his giant member down her throat, to make him
cum with wild groans, as his cock smacked her lips swollen then doing it all
over again, no down time, not even an instant to catch his breath.
Whether he was
aware of her intent or not, he wasn’t allowing anything but his own
determination to persuade her in this new way, coax her gently, opening her
orifices with his mouth, tongue, fingers.
The savage and primal would come but his first wooing was a crescendo
building one note upon another. James
intended to alter her sensual perception, pull her out of herself into that
subspace realm, pillaged of thought, floating on mystical winds of intimate
change, and ensconced by sensations alone.
His mouth
lingered at her throat, feeding upon her hastening pulse, sucking at that spot
until whimpers emanated from her parted lips.
Finally, his lips met hers, crashing and then crushing. His own arousal momentarily untamed and
vicious, his tongue speared past her lips, and attacked hers. Frenetic, Cyndy responded in kind, her mouth
wide and inviting, her tongue tasting and exploring, the two fusing with the
other, the connection a suggestive prelude to later even more enflaming
connections.
Notorious cads
had a history of using women who were so feverish. Finding folly in that. Caring jack-squat
about her motivations and feelings, seeking one thing. His pleasure.
James had squished that imagery for Cyndy. He was a good fair man who craved to share
and be shared, thus, her heightened arousal had not reached its summit and she
was not going to stop its ascending.
What might that apex reveal? The
co-mingling of souls requiting a shared dream.
Circuitous
movements continued but faster as if aspiring to meet the momentum of that
kiss, the never ending kiss that bonded and fused, not just mouth and tongue
but that inner id that was once private and impenetrable. Would they turn over all oversight to their
ids? Allowing the raw, primal instincts
of the human beast to rule. The ids
insisted yes. Neither put up resistance.
With breaths
barely caught he let her feet find the floor, and their bodies meshed, breasts
still cupped by lace and the propaganda of a blouse's cloth, feeling
non-existent as his chest pressed fast and solid against her aroused
flesh. Ribs met, stomachs warmed against
each other. It had been so long since
she had been with someone, and shy innocence overcame her once more, forcing
her eyes closed when his mouth encompassed hers once more.
She moaned into
his mouth as the kiss continued and slid her tongue inside, to savor him even
more intimately. His possessive and
dominant response had her withering and squirming. She didn't even feel his forward momentum
until she found herself sandwiched between his hot, hard chest and the wall as
if he forbade her from wiggling from his hold.
"Oh,"
cooed from a generally precocious women who was utterly engulfed in the race of
fantasy.
"I need the
all of you." His claim was sincere
and overwhelming, holding the supremacy of a gladiator.
"Take
me!" Her words comported one very
simple understanding. She would spread
and accept.
Yearning for
more and more of him, her lithe body molded itself to him. Her grace was a gentle caress while her
limb's flexibility clutched as might a famished octopus. Cyndy experienced the plumb of a perfect
moment, relished in it and fairy-taled
their outcome. (to be continued)
****We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us at writingteamcw@yahoo.com (Write - Blog Dawn - in subject line) and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a free ebook (choose erotic or romantic thriller) and add you to any future mailings.
Angelica Hart and Zi ~ Vixen Bright and Zachary Zane
www.champagnebooks.com - www.carnalpassions.com - angelicahartandzi.com
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