Lance stomped up his mother’s stairs and slammed into the house. All was quiet. Heading upstairs, he went to the door of his mother’s only guest room. Raising his hand to knock, he defiantly changed his mind and threw open the door instead. His wife Erica glanced up in surprise.
‘She took her hair down,’ he thought stupidly.
Erica stood there, her feet and legs bare and her hair tumbling down over her shoulders. She was still holding the last pin she’d pulled from her upswept hair.
Lance shook himself from his stupor and strode toward her, wanting nothing more than to finish their extremely public argument. As he came near her, though, he found himself not yelling at her, but reaching for her instead. Sliding his hands through her hair, he grabbed handfuls near the base of her neck and gently tugged her head back.
Leaning close, he lowered his head, breathing in her warm, sultry scent. “I love the smell of your skin,” he rasped, “And the way you taste.” Deliberately, he touched the tip of his tongue to the pulse pounding in the base of her throat.
Erica gasped and stepped closer to Lance. He took one hand from her hair and slid it slowly down her back to splay over her bottom, pressing her closer to him. Spreading his legs, he matched their bodies from shoulder to hip.
Erica was locked in his arms, held against the body she loved. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she tried to get even closer. Lance groaned against her throat, then moved his hand from her hair. Before she could protest, he’d clamped his hand to her bottom and lifted her, spreading her legs as he lifted her so she could wrap them around his waist.
Locking them around him, Erica threw her head back, causing her most sensitive spot to settle over his already bulging fly. Lance ran one hand over her thigh and her bottom, bunching her skirt at her waist. Erica could feel the rub of his pants against her naked thighs, and the pressure of his fingers on her bottom had to be the most glorious feeling so far.
Lance lowered his head and nuzzled her throat as he strode to a straight-backed vanity chair. Sitting, he adjusted Erica more comfortably astride his lap.
“Now I’ll have my hands free,” he whispered.
The mere thought of what he could do with those hands sent a shudder through Erica. Lance grinned as he felt her quiver against him. “You like that?” he breathed.
“Oh, yes,” she answered shakily as he slid his hands over her outer thighs, rocking a little in the chair as he did so. Sliding his hands back down her legs to her ankles, Lance propped her feet on the side rungs of the chair then moved her knees further apart.
Gliding his fingers over the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, he stopped when his thumbs touched the elastic edge of her panties. Grinning, he slid fingers up and down the lace, listening to her breath deepen.
“Lance,” she finally groaned, “touch me.” Slipping his hand over her stomach and around her back and hip, he glided his other hand around to cup her bottom. Holding her, he eased one finger under her panties and slipped into her warmth.
Her breath hissed from between her teeth and she arched closer to his hand. Lance tightened his grip on her bottom and slid further into her wetness. “Oh, Lance,” Erica moaned.
“Oh, you’re so wet for me,” he gritted, rotating his thumb against her most sensitive spot.
“Oh, yes, Lance,” she groaned, “and it’s only for you. Oh, Lance.”
The rhythm of his rocking and the slippery pressure of his fingers drove Erica to a quick and shuddering release. “Oh, Lance!” she cried. “Oh, I love you.”
Lance was still. “I love you, too,” he whispered. “God, how I love you.”
Once her trembling had slowed, Erica slid from his lap. “I never did get to dance with you,” she whispered.
“No,” Lance answered, “you didn’t.”
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