Warning! This excerpt (from one of my novels currently on submission) is sexually explicit and includes adult language. It describes actions between consenting adults (who are using birth control, even if they don’t tell you that). If you are offended by the words breast, penis, or clit, now would be a great time to go back to reading LOLcats. Otherwise, please enjoy. (I would love to hear from you in the comments if you’d like to read more…)
As I’m brushing my teeth, he slips in behind me—shirtless—and wraps his arms around my waist, nuzzling me on the neck and watching my reaction in the mirror. He waits for me to rinse the toothpaste out of my mouth, and then turns me around, a mischievous smile on his face.
I still find it surprising how much I enjoy looking at him—his dark eyes and full lips. The hair on his chest is flecked with silver and he has laugh lines from the sun, but he works out: his belly is taut and his shoulders strong. I slide my hands leisurely up his biceps, across his chest, and onto the top button of his jeans, letting my gaze follow my touch. He’s very hard.
He pulls my hips against his erection and wiggles against me, grinning. “Sorry, I’m all sweaty. I need to take a shower. Can you wait?”
“No.” I take his wrist and pull him toward the bed.
He kisses my hand and then twists away from me, smirking. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He picks up his phone, selects some music, and then turns back to the shower. “But, I’m afraid you’ll just have to.”
I watch him languidly undo the buttons on his jeans and slide his legs out. He knows I’m watching, so he wiggles his butt as he takes off his underwear, and then twirls them around his finger and shoots them into the laundry basket.
I laugh. It’s more goofy than sexy, but he does look great naked—and hard.
He reaches in and turns the cold tap on full, adding just a touch of hot. He says he does it to conserve energy–saving the world one gallon of hot water at a time–but I think tepid showers remind him of growing up in the tropics, and we are far away from there now. He steps behind the glass door and shuts his eyes, running his fingers through his hair as the deluge splashes over his face and shoulders. I climb under the covers and enjoy the show.
When he shuts off the water, silence fills the room. Then a lonely acoustic guitar chord sounds one note at a time, and a low, gravelly voice brings home all the pain and regret that finding happiness so late in life summons up in me.
…and wept when it was all done—for being done too soon.
The one terrible thing about being in love is the realization that the person who gives life meaning—the man I would gladly die for—could be taken away from me at any moment, leaving a gaping wound in my heart that would never heal. I roll over and stare out the dark window at the distant stars twinkling in the chill night air, suddenly afraid. The universe is a cold, lonely place that we attempt to fill with the light of a single candle, all the while terrified that at any moment it might be extinguished forever and force us to go on alone in the dark.
For being done too soon.
Ten minutes later, he slips into bed and cuddles up against me, sliding his arm around my waist and pressing his chest against my back. The fresh, crisp smell of bar soap mixed with the light citrus of his aftershave fills me with lush warmth. Even in my darkest moments—and there are a lot of them these days—he is able to bring me back to the light, make me believe that his love is enough to sustain us both. The candle burns brightly tonight.
He props his head up with his hand and kisses me on the point of my shoulder, uncertain about my fluctuating mood. “Did you hear about the insomniac who swallowed a spoon?” He bumps his hips against mine. “He hasn’t stirred since.”
“Hah.” I snuggle back against his chest, his hard penis nestling against my butt. Where does he get all those bad jokes? “Did you work in a cheese-stick factory in a past life?”
“Nope. But I do feel obligated to warn you that spooning often leads to forking.” He places his mouth close to my ear, his breath tickling me, and draws lazy figures on my thigh, then my hips, and then around my breasts, changing from using his fingertips, to the back of one finger, to the palm of his hand, and then to his fingertips again. Prickles and chills radiate out from his touch, making me squirm and sigh with pleasure.
“Mmm,” he says softly. “I think you might like that.” Cupping one of my breasts in his hand, he gently compresses the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and then places his mouth over my ear and draws his tongue around the edge, inhaling slowly. It sends shudders down my back. He whispers very softly, the vibrations of his voice tickling me, “I find you ear-resistible.”
I roll over to face him, unable to hide a smile, and prop my head up on my hand. “And you’re hard-up for puns that don’t suck.” I poke him in the chest and then flick my fingernail lightly back and forth across his nipple.
He pulls my hips over against his body and gives me a wry smile. “And you love it when I suck.”
“Do I now.”
He reaches out and lifts my head, leaning in. Holding my jaw, he kisses me lightly on the chin and then the corner of my mouth. He slides his lips seductively across mine, inviting me to kiss him, and when I acquiesce, he moves his mouth away. I don’t know where he learned that trick—and he doesn’t use it often—but it never fails to stir up an irresistible passion in me. He continues teasing me, tempting me with his touch and then backing off, until I forcibly take his head in both hands and pull his mouth up to mine, my whole consciousness focused on my desire to be kissed.
Suddenly off balance, he falls against me, cracking a smile, and then reverses direction and pulls me over on top of him, entwining his legs with mine. Taking my head in both hands, he kisses me with his whole body, moving against me, breathing in my exhalations—making love to me with his mouth.
He breaks the kiss and pulls my hips up to his waist. Taking one of my breasts in his mouth, he sucks on the nipple until I wiggle out of his grip and slip back down, trying to get his erection inside me.
“What’s the hurry?”
Half annoyed and half flattered, I struggle against him, trying to capture his cock between my thighs.
He raises his head and shoulders, showing off his abdominals, his hands holding my hips still, and continues flicking his tongue across my nipples, keeping his penis just out of my reach. “Uh, uh.” He pulls his mouth away, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Ladies first. Think of it as a dessert fork.”