Toste was staring down at her breasts like a beggar at a feast. Now, Esme was not buxom like the females her father and brothers admired, but her breasts were full and high and apparently pleasing to the eye, if Toste’s reaction was any indication.
Braced on one arm, he pushed one breast, then the other, up from underneath. Then he touched both nipples in turn with a forefinger, just the tips, then the sides, then the pink areola, then back to the tips again.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” she exclaimed. Who knew a slight touch there could cause such exquisite pleasure?
“Praying now, are you, Sister Esme?” Toste chuckled.
“I’d better be. This is surely confession material.”
He laughed outright. “Because you bared your breasts for me?”
“Nay. Because your touch pleased me so much. I did not know… suffice it to say, I did not know.”
“Ah, Esme, it gives me pleasure to give you pleasure.”
“Does it?” she asked.
He rolled his hips off of her and lay on his side, his left elbow in the hay with a hand supporting his face. His eyes still feasted hungrily on her bosom where the traitorous nipples stood out like pink pebbles. Leaning down, he took one nipple between his lips, then licked it and the surrounding area, then suckled deep and hard. She fisted her hands and arched her back, fighting the overwhelming bolts of ecstasy that shot from her breasts through her body, down to her fingertips and toes, and especially to her private woman-place. She embarrassed herself in the end by letting out little whoof-whoof-whoofs of exhaled breath.
Toste’s response to that was a tight-lipped smile and equal ministration to her other breast. By the time he finished, her face felt hot as Hades, and she was aching in some very private parts.
“Did you like that, Esme?” he asked in a husky voice.
“Double confessions. Perchance triple,” she answered. “Are you done?”
“Not nearly.” He leaned down again, but this time toward her face. Kisses, that was what he had in mind now? Well, he’d kissed her once before, and, though pleasant, the pressing of lips upon lips had been nothing to alarm her.
He soon disabused her of that notion.
At first, he barely touched her mouth… just brushed his lips back and forth across hers, as if testing for a proper fit. When he found the arrangement that suited him, he grew more aggressive. His teeth nipped, his lips coaxed, then demanded something from her. When she realized that he wanted her to part for him, he slipped his tongue inside and began what had to be a simulation of the sex act itself. In and out, his tongue stroked her, so slowly she wanted to scream for him to hasten his pace, but what she did was whimper… which seemed to be the proper prod for him, because he moved faster now. She wanted to participate more fully in this awful/wonderful exercise, but she didn’t know how. So she put her hands on his shoulders in encouragement and opened her mouth more fully to his assault.
He groaned then—a pure masculine sound of sexual torture—which gave her an absurd feeling of gratification. For a certainty, she would be getting a big penance for these sins. And it must be a sin to feel so good.
Finally, when he drew his head back to stare at her, he panted. She probably did, too, though she tried her best to hide his effect on her. His lips were wet and kiss-swollen, his eyes misted with passion.
So this is how lust feels.
“Yea, ’tis.”
“Oh, good Lord! Did I speak aloud?”
“You did,” he said, chucking her under the chin.
“Now are we done?” she asked, putting a hand up to his hand which held her cheek with tenderness. It was difficult not to feel tender toward a person who made her feel so good. In fact, her body still tingled… all over.
“Nay, we are not.”
“But… but you promised… just a foretaste.”
“Taste being the key word.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Remember the first time we met, and I was on a sickbed at the abbey, I asked what your name was, and you said Esme, but I thought you said…” He let his words trail off deliberately so she would get his meaning.