She watched him and licked her own lips.
“I love you, Charmaine.” He stretched his arms overhead, then ran his palms over his arms, from wrist to shoulder, from armpit to inner wrist, as if he were washing himself.
Her nipples bloomed under the tight T-shirt.
He touched his own nipples, and, holy hell, it felt good. Real good. “Imagine I’m doing this to you, honey,” he said softly. “And imagine how much I love you.”
She was imagining. He could tell by her parted lips and the way she arched her back slightly.
He swept his palms over his upper abdomen and his belly, his hips and buttocks, always getting close to, but not touching his cock, which liked what he was doing. A lot.
She liked it, too. A lot.
Standing, she leaned back against the opposite wall and whimpered, “Why are you torturing me?”
I’m torturing her? Whoo-ee, I’m better than I thought. “Because I want to make love to you, but since you won’t let me touch you, it’s the next best thing. Take off your clothes, baby, please.”
“No,” she said, at the same time lifting her T-shirt over her head and shoving her stretchy skirt to the floor, then kicking it aside. She wore only a white lace bra and bikini panties under panty hose, along with the red high heels.
His Longfellow showed his appreciation by growing another inch… or five.
“I love you,” he said, and began his whole touching routine all over again, starting with his lips. There was no way he could touch his penis at this point without ending the game too soon.
But the game took on a new twist as Charmaine mirrored his actions. Touching her lips. Her arms. Her breasts. Her flat belly.
“Take it all off,” he gasped out.
And she did, God bless her.
“Put the shoes back on,” he urged.
And God bless her again, she did as he’d asked. She was curved in all the right places, her breasts a visual delight, the dark curls at her groin an almost painful temptation.
“You look like one of those Vargas pictures in Playboy magazine,” he told her in a testosterone-husky voice. “The perfect pinup.”
“Is that a compliment?” she asked shyly.
“For sure.” Then, “What do you want me to do now?”
“Touch yourself.”
I thought you’d never ask. He did as she’d instructed, watching her the whole time. He would probably embarrass himself any second now, but he didn’t care. He was going to do everything she wanted. He was determined not to make any mistakes this time.
“I love you,” he said again as sweat rolled off him in waves and he felt as if his eyeballs were going to roll back in his head.
Sweat rolled off her, too. Rather, she glowed to beat the band.
“I know,” she whispered.
“What?” he asked, not sure he’d heard right.
“I love you, too. I’ll probably regret this five minutes from now, but…” She opened her arms to him.
He was across the small space separating them before she could blink. In an even shorter time frame he had her braced against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, and himself embedded deep inside her.
He could have wept for the sheer ecstasy of being inside Charmaine. He could not speak, but he did moan a long, “Aaaaaaaah!” As he pounded into her—she would probably have splinters in her backside, but he couldn’t slow down for the life of him—he kept repeating, “I love you.”
And she kept murmuring, “Shhhh.”
Outside the sauna door, the band was playing yet another rendition of “The Cajun Cowboy.” They must have moved the frickin’ parade inside the beauty spa. Did they bring the horses in, too? He couldn’t think about that now.
Wet, slapping sounds resounded in the room from their slick skins meeting and from the moist sounds of their ardent lovemaking. Sweet, sweet raw sex!
As she entered her second orgasm, milking him with mind-blowing ecstasy, he choked out, “Forever. I promise.”
“Shhhh,” she whispered again. “I love you, too. We’ll work it out.”
His strokes became shorter and harder.
“Come home with me,” he yelled out then as he came into her with hot spurts.