He nodded. “I liked the kissing, too.”
Still on her side, she leaned up over him so that her breasts rested on his chest. And wasn’t that an amazing sensation… her nipples brushing against his chest hairs. She thought she heard Toste groan, but when it wasn’t repeated, she figured she’d been mistaken. First she kissed the cleft in his chin… she just couldn’t resist the temptation. Then she burrowed her fingers in his silky hair to hold him in place—not that he was moving at all—shifted her lips over his and tried to find the right position. At one point, she admitted, “Your breath doesn’t really smell like goat.”
He smiled against her mouth. “I know.” Then, “You smell like roses.”
And she said, “I know.”
Quite the conversationalists, they were. More like two dunderheads.
Mostly he let her fumble her way through the kissing process till she slid her tongue inside his mouth. He opened wider for her, sucked on her tongue and made low masculine sounds of appreciation in his throat. When he reciprocated with his tongue in her mouth, she did the same. Esme ever was a good pupil. And she made low feminine sounds of appreciation in her throat.
She wasn’t sure what to do next, except she realized belatedly that she’d been unconsciously rubbing her breasts back and forth across his chest, abrading the nipples into hard pebbles which ached for… something.
He noticed the direction of her gaze and took her by the waist, lifting her so that she lay on top of him, her belly on his abdomen, her thighs spread on either side of his hips, her breasts hanging over his face. “Give it to me,” he asked huskily.
At first, she did not understand his meaning, but he looked pointedly at her breasts, and she knew. It was an oddly surrendering thing to do, but Esme lifted her breast from underneath, then lowered herself till the nipple pressed against his mouth. Without warning, he began to suckle her, wet and hard in an unending rhythm. She tried to jerk back at the incredible ripples of torturous pleasure he set off in her body, but he had one hand on the back of her waist and the other on her nape, holding her firmly in position. While he continued to alternately lave and suckle her, he moved the hand at her waist to the other breast, which he fondled unmercifully. Then he switched breasts. There seemed to be a direct erotic thread between the tips of her breasts and her nether region. Without thinking, she began to buck her hips against him, trying instinctively to rub that place between her legs which throbbed and throbbed.
Esme had felt much the same way that time when Toste had put his mouth there. So she knew what her body was yearning for… that wonderful, awful peaking business.
Once again, he lifted her by the waist and arranged her body over his… this time with her sitting on his belly, her female folds forming a perfect channel for his hard, hard manpart. She glanced up at him in question. He half reclined now, his upper body braced on his elbows, as he looked at the place where their bodies met. His blue eyes were misty with arousal. His full lips were parted as he panted slightly. Esme felt oddly exhilarated that she could bring such pleasure to a man, especially an experienced one like Toste.
“Move,” he said in a raw voice.
“How?”
“Any way that feels good to you.”
Hmmm. She undulated her hips forward, her slick folds moving with surprising ease.
He groaned.
She smiled.
“Witch,” he said.
“Wretch,” she said.
This time she undulated back and forth and noticed that the knob at the end of his manpart hit a particular bump in her channel, causing her eyeballs to practically roll back in her head with bliss. She did it more slowly this time, just to experiment. By the saints! What was this marvelous spot?
When she repeated the process twice more, Toste asked her, “Does that feel good?”
“Nay.”
“Liar,” he laughed.
Then Esme decided to experiment with other moves. Side to side. Bouncing. Circles. But always she came back to the undulations which had her riding the ridge of his staff, then bumping her bud.