She had the look.

The look that revealed her exquisite, erotic avarice.

The look that invited – and challenged him.

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Stretched across their bed, her hair mussed, seductive clothing perfectly askew, she dropped her gaze as if she couldn’t bear for him to see her hungry truth.  She had closed the drapes, and the day’s fading light was filtering through, and seeping around the sides of the thick fabric, casting the room in a shifting mass of shadows.

Ambling forward he willed her to raise her eyes, and watched in silent joy as his power took hold and her heavy lids lifted. His wordless instruction was given and heard – stay as you are.

Disappearing into their bathroom to shower, knowing her smoldering embers were beginning to burn with a hot, red heat, he disrobed, and stepping under the steaming waterfall allowed his mind to consider what would come to pass in the next hour – or two – or three, then cast thought aside, knowing such plans were superfluous.  Their dance would be dictated by the ebb and flow of their unique, tantalizing appetites.

A silhouette in the door frame, shards of light glinted against the beads of water that continued to dribble down his skin.  Gliding to the bed, he watched her mouth fall open, her tongue barely visible between her teeth, symptoms of her intoxicating desire to lick away every last droplet.

“I am…” she breathed, relishing his slow amble toward her, “…such a wicked woman.”

Tossing her head defiantly, mimicking a mare refusing to surrender to the reins, her hair flipping in the air, falling across her face as if by design, she felt the hot embers fire into flame as he stretched his powerful body behind her, effortlessly placing her to lay across his legs.

“Deliciously so,” he growled, whispering his hand across her backside, envisioning the crimson blush that would soon appear upon her sweet, succulent skin, and traveling his hand gently forward, laid it to rest just below her hip, offering a subtle promise.

When the moment made itself known, that same hand would leisurely slide the skirt up, up, up.  Panting with impatience she would roll over, dropping her head into the soft, welcoming sheets, moaning with her soft, surrendering hunger, and slowly, slowly, slowly, he would quench her parched, submissive soul, and lay to rest his own dark, hedonistic desires.

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www.MaggieCarpenter.com

MagCarpenter@yahoo.com

http://www.amazon.com/Maggie-Carpenter/e/B0034QAYIU/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

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