Lessons In Love Part 8

She pulls away then-far enough to touch two trembling fingertips to my right cheek. But her voice, when she speaks again, is clear and strong. "I want this." I watch, searching her eyes as a lopsided smile chases away her intent frown. "But...I don't know what to do."

I grin back and reach up to caress the hand that's still pressed against my cheek. Lacing her fingers through mine, I guide her slowly down, down the side of my neck, along the prominence of my collarbone-down until the warmth of her palm soaks through the tank top over my left breast. "I'll teach you," I whisper, struggling to speak over my body's tumultuous response. Suddenly, I want to be taken-to feel her hands on me, in me. When she squeezes lightly, I can't stop the shudder-so I take a step forward, crush my body to hers, and kiss her hard enough to distract us both.

When the kiss ends, we're on the bed. I'm half draped over her, and her s.h.i.+rt is somehow completely open, even though I don't remember undoing those last two b.u.t.tons. Her chest rises and falls in rapid succession, and it's a struggle for me to look away-to meet her eyes.

Her pupils are dark and huge, almost entirely eclipsing the blue irises.

As I watch, the tip of her tongue darts out to lick swollen lips-and I know I can't wait any longer.

"Off," I mutter hoa.r.s.ely, tugging at her s.h.i.+rt. She sits up a little to shrug out of it, and I take advantage of the movement to hold her there, one hand splayed against her back. I push up her bra with the other. She gasps at the friction of the cotton, and then again as I begin to tease her with my tongue. Decreasing circles, spiraling closer and closer, until my tongue flicks against one nipple as I gently pinch the other. She arches above my hand, and I stroke her more firmly, thrilling to the sounds of her low, hoa.r.s.e cries.

"Ob-oh G.o.d," she whispers as I let my teeth close around her.

The long muscles of her back shudder against my hand, and I finally lower her down to the bed, s.h.i.+fting so that I'm kneeling between her thighs. Her eyes are closed, her body taut. Sweat glistens in the hollow of her throat, in the narrow valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She is need incarnate, vulnerable and open.

"Take off your bra," I order. My voice sounds thick and low, even to my own ears. As she stretches in obedience, I curl my fingers under the hem of her shorts and pull, taking her underwear along for the ride.

She lets out a startled little cry, the swatch of gray cotton hanging forgotten from the fingers of her left hand. She's exposed now, completely-tight brown-gold curls swirling around swollen, red lips.

Glistening-for me.

She whispers my name, her voice saturated with desire and something that sounds like fear. Or hesitation. It's so very, very hard to move my eyes up her body, but when I do, the vulnerability of her expression slams into me-an unexpected wave.

"You're beautiful," I whisper. Fiercely. I hold her gaze for another long moment before finally allowing my eyes to feast again-to linger over the strong lines and gentle curves of her figure. I want her, need her to understand-to know just how desirable she is. To feel my appreciation, to absorb it into her skin. I undress quickly, feeling a rush of pleasure at her low intake of breath when I kick off my jeans and reveal my body.

"He's such a fool," I murmur as I stretch out on the bed beside her.

But words and glances are never, will never be enough; there is no way to speak the message she needs. There is only my finger, trailing slowly down the center of her body, moving in teasing fits and starts. She relaxes and tenses simultaneously-thighs opening even as her stomach muscles clench. I return my mouth to her breast as I let my finger zigzag through the crisp maze of her hair, tracing both lips before finally settling against the slight ridge of her c.l.i.toris. Her body surges up as I touch her, and my finger slides down, into the waiting pool of moisture.

I can't help but groan, before slipping gently inside. "You're so wet."

"Oh-" she breathes, then lets out a tiny whimper as my left hand tracks down her body to join its partner. As I part her swollen lips with my thumb and middle finger, she s.h.i.+fts restlessly, one hand clutching a fistful of blanket for purchase. "Is-is that...okay?"

"Okay?" I manage to choke out a laugh, somehow, as my index finger presses down hard, then eases off in a barely perceptible circle. I watch her heels dig into the blanket, feel her hips and torso lift in a desperate attempt to get closer. Her urgency is infectious, and I stroke her gently but firmly, up and back, until her head is thras.h.i.+ng against the pillow and I can feel the antic.i.p.atory contractions of her internal muscles. "Oh, yeah. More than okay."

And then her eyes snap open, boring into me sightlessly as her body convulses, over and over and over. I hold still inside her, letting her clench around the length of my finger, drawing out her pleasure by continuing to ma.s.sage the swollen knot of nerves with my other hand.

She is so very beautiful. Unrestrained, responsive, pa.s.sionate. Perfect.

When her body finally stills, I move my left hand up to rub the soft skin of her stomach. Gradually, I feel the muscles beneath start to relax.

Her eyes, when she opens them, are bruises-equal parts black and blue.

Still gloriously hazy from her o.r.g.a.s.m.

I smile down at her, never stopping the soothing motion of my palm. She lets out a long breath, her eyes flicking back and forth between my own. "I've-" she begins hoa.r.s.ely, then clears her throat.

"It's never been like that. Before."

My smile grows, and I let one eyebrow quirk up, mischievously.

"I'm not finished, yet." Her eyes go wide again, and I laugh-just before kissing her gently, teasingly, on the lips. My mouth gradually tracks its way down her body on almost me same path that my finger took earlier-except that it lingers for just a while longer on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s- biting and licking and sucking.

It's only when I feel her inner muscles begin to tighten once more that I move all the way down, so that the width of my shoulders forces her to open to me even farther. Her eyes-pitch black, now-meet mine just before my tongue darts out to taste her. She cries out and shudders, and I can't help but grin. When I taste her for the second time-the barest brush of my tongue against her dark red skin-she clenches hard around my finger. I withdraw it slowly, then push back in, all the while delicately flicking her c.l.i.toris with the tip of my tongue. She groans, loudly-then again as I slip another finger inside.

"More," she breathes, clutching blindly at my right shoulder, her fingers tangling in the curls along my hairline. "Oh G.o.d, I need-"

I lean forward and take her fully between my lips, hollowing my cheeks as I f.u.c.k her with my fingers. Her body stills for a long, perfect moment as she rears off the bed, back arched. And then she explodes again, hips trembling as the waves of ecstasy pull her under.

I don't realize that I've been holding my breath until it's all over and my cheeks are tingling from lack of oxygen. I release a deep, shuddering sigh as I move up the bed...and cry out when her right hand slips between my thighs.

"What?" I manage to choke, before my eyes close involuntarily at the feeling of her callused fingertips swirling against me. "Oh, yes-"

"Tell me how to touch you," she urges, her voice still thick with the memory of pa.s.sion. Her fingers move back and forth, slip-sliding through my wetness, searching...

"There!" I gasp as she brushes one side of my swollen ridge. I can't stop my hips from bucking at the slight contact, and I know it won't be long when her single finger is joined by another in its gentle ma.s.sage.

"Yeah," she mutters when I groan at her persistent touch. "Come on-let me feel you." She circles up and around, torturing me with glancing strokes against where I need her most. The harsh gasps of my labored breaths echo throughout the room.

"Please," I manage. "Oh, please-"

And then she is touching me firmly, pressing down hard on my c.l.i.toris with those exquisitely rough fingers, drawing out my pleasure until I am weak and heavy and drained. I can barely muster enough energy to slide closer-to pillow my head above her right breast and hold her close with one arm slung over her waist.

We lie entwined for a long time, in silence. As my heartbeat slows, I realize that I am breathing in tandem with her-that we have found a rhythm all our own. I smile at the thought and pull her a little closer. But finally she stirs, drawing away enough to prop herself up on one elbow and look down at me. Her expression is serious, nose wrinkled in a frown.

"What happens now?" The question is soft, hesitant. Her eyes squint as she asks it.

"We go to sleep," I reply, combing my fingers through the unruly strands of her disheveled hair. I do not frown-I smile. Somewhat mischievously. "And when we wake up, we do this all over again."

It's not the answer she was looking for, of course-but maybe, just maybe, it's sufficient. And sure enough, she grins back at me before settling herself more firmly in my embrace-her back flush against my torso and hips. I hold her close, treasuring that last image of her face in my mind's eye. Rosy-cheeked, eyes bright and expressive. Alive.

PEARLS OF WISDOM.

ROUGE.

watch Carly order port for herself. Our waiter gives her a quick nod of approval, removes her winegla.s.s, now tainted with I lipstick, and darts off. Her features are soft in the candlelight and I see the woman I married twenty years ago as if no time has pa.s.sed.

She is still radiant; her high cheekbones have drawn her face a little thinner with the pa.s.sing years and she wears her fawn-colored hair shorter to compensate. I catch her caramel eyes and they smile at me. If I had just finished a gla.s.s of cognac I couldn't have felt warmer inside.

"I know this trip to Paris is supposed to be our anniversary gift to one another, but I couldn't resist." She smiles as she lays a box on the table in front of me.

I recognize the shallow square box as one meant for presenting jewelry, though there is no logo embossed on the top. This is not like my wife-to buy me bobbles. As a rule I don't wear any jewelry except a nice watch, earrings, and my wedding band. I rest my winegla.s.s on the white linen tablecloth and subtly shake my head in a scolding fas.h.i.+on.

"You're awful," I whisper, my feelings for her just the opposite.

"I saw these in a store window this morning on my trip to get your breakfast pastry. I couldn't wait to see them on you, against your porcelain skin, resting underneath your dark hair..." She gives me a smirk that only I can interpret: the one that completes her thought- when I'm f.u.c.king you.

A server returns with her port, the white of his gloves in sharp contrast to the dark purple potion in the small gla.s.s.

I play with the corners of the box, at first because I'm overwhelmed and then because I want to tease her, make her wait. There is no one in the world more beautiful than my wife, no one more clever; certainly no one that can make me feel so good just by looking at me.

She is my one vulnerability. I would be lost without her-me, the investment banker, the leader of the pack, top dog at one of the largest financial inst.i.tutions in the world-unwilling to live another day without her.

The black leather box is hinged at the back, and I carefully lift the lid. Before me lie, in a perfect circle, a string of black pearls on a red velvet cus.h.i.+on. I knew such a prize existed, but had only seen pictures.

"They're beautiful," I say, running the face of my fingers over them.

Carly stands behind me and fastens the strand around my neck. She takes liberties, kissing me below the ear. "I love you," she says, holding my shoulders.

We stroll hand in hand down the Champs-Elysees, the gas lamps casting weak shadows across the promenade. Cafes host small groups of young people-well, young to me-who sit around small tables set at the curb. You can't visit Paris and not think about love, romance.

Our lovemaking over the years had slowly changed: l.u.s.t was replaced with trust, urgency with tenderness, adventure with knowledge; yet I still wouldn't trade being in my lover's arms for anything. Such intimacy is not gained in a few weeks, but earned over a lifetime. "How many times have we made love?" I ask and squeeze Carly's soft hand.

"I've never thought about it. Well over one thousand. I imagine."

My number crunching mind does an involuntary calculation. ''Two thousand eighty." Carly turns to me. I can read her mind when I look into her twinkling eyes: she wants to make a smart conment about how lucky she is that I can add, and she wants to kiss me.

''Twice a week for twenty years," I explain.

"Future results cannot be based on past performance."

G.o.d, I love her wit. "I think we're about to have a windfall." I pull her to me and French kiss her, not caring about our lipstick. The kiss is so much more "French" in Paris.

Our hotel room is filled with blood-red roses, their sweet odor intoxicating. Candles have been placed throughout the room, waiting to be lit. "You did this?" I ask, frozen in the threshold, feeling the tears well in my eyes.

Carly kicks off her heels and lights the candles. "Only for you."

I feel so unprepared and thoughtless. I haven't done anything extra for my lovely mate. When I close the hotel room door behind us the familiar dance begins, only practiced at a slower pace, and the heat still races up my legs as she unzips my dress.

We take our time shedding our clothes, watching one another.

There is still something s.e.xy about watching my wife reveal herself one part at a time. Even though I've admired the canvas many times, the vision is a masterpiece, always drawing a breath out of me.

She lays me on the bed and removes my nylons; I am left with nothing on but my pearls. I raise my knees, spreading them wide.

As she moves toward me, I gently hold her at bay, pressing the sole of my foot against her hipbone. "You have to watch," I tell her.

I move my hands over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, down my trembling stomach, and rest my palms on the inside of my thighs, enjoying the smoothness of my own skin. I touch my unsheathed c.l.i.t and feel moisture pump from my hole with a slight contraction of pleasure. Carly stares, lips parted. She keeps her eyes on my hands; as they stop to fondle my b.r.e.a.s.t.s she reaches between her legs.

"Elaine...you're so lovely," she pants.

My chest heaves with growing desire. I repeat this languid process, stopping this time to draw my breast to my mouth and trace my areola with my tongue. When our eyes meet, I am reminded how much I love her, how much I want to please her. I can feel her eyes take me in and I want to please her even more.

"Show me some more," Carly says, the catch of desire in her voice.

Her thighs s.h.i.+ning wet.

Reaching under each b.u.t.tock, I hold myself open for her. She strokes herself faster, each upward motion exposing her c.l.i.t. She wants to close her eyes-to give in-but can't take my dripping p.u.s.s.y from her sight.

"You should see how wet you are, baby," she coos in a heavy breath.

I dip a finger in my slippery hole and then suck on it up to the second knuckle, twisting it between my pursed lips. Carly rests a knee on the edge of the mattress. Her chest is as flushed as the roses. She exposes herself with one hand, allowing me to see her two fingers disappear into pink-purple flesh.

Wanting her, I pull my knees to my chest and f.u.c.k myself at a furious pace. I hear Carly's breath snag in her throat, then she groans.

"Don't make me come without you," she says, her voice deep with desperation.

Her words reach my ears with the heat of a branding iron against my flesh. "Oh, I want to hear you come..." I whisper.

Her fingers increase their cadence as she rests the palm of her other hand over her mound, taking her c.l.i.t between her fore- and index fingers, holding it hostage. Her hands move in unison now, her breath labored. I close my eyes and, keeping time with her panting, plunge my fingers into my tight p.u.s.s.y.

"Ah! Oh Jesus...watch me come," Carly commands.

Her nipples are the hardest I've ever seen them, her areolae the color of antique brick. She holds my eyes until her body convulses in small spasms; when the air escapes her open mouth in forceful gusts, her o.r.g.a.s.m reaches my ears like a percussion grenade.

Carly's cry makes me so hot I can't wait any longer for her touch.

"I need you to f.u.c.k me! Please!" I beg her. She wastes no time in complying, forcing her hips between my legs, her long fingers hard inside me. I wrap my arms tightly under hers. She knows what I want, taking my breast in her mouth and f.u.c.king me with such force our bodies inch toward the headboard, my heels dancing on her a.s.s. Flashes of light race through my mind. Oh G.o.d! f.u.c.k me, Carly! I'm gonna come so hard, are only thoughts-I can't manage to get the vowels I'm shouting to form words.

When our muscles go limp, I rock us gently, holding her between my thighs until she raises her head and looks at me. Her sparkling eyes tell me what words would destroy with their inadequacy: I love you, I'm so lucky, I feel the sun deep in the middle of my chest.

I roll over, putting myself on top of Carly, closer to the nightstand, and reach behind my head to take off my necklace.

She watches me in silence as I fold the string of pearls in half and dip the clasp into the wax that pools beneath the candle flame. The dark orbs are iridescent, like the inside of an abalone sh.e.l.l. I submerge the clasp several times until the small gold fittings are encased in a protective bulb of paraffin.

"Mmm...what are you doing?" Carly asks me in her "I've just been f.u.c.ked senseless" voice.

"You'll see," I say, balling the pearls in my hand as I go down on her, first nipping and licking her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, then around her mound before moving into deeper folds. She smells of sweet, overripe fruit.

When she arches her pelvis against me, I work the strand inside her v.a.g.i.n.a, all the while keeping her hard bud exposed to the wandering tip of my tongue.

"Are we going to get those back?" Carly pants through a faint smile. I leave two pearls dangling from her. "One at a time."

Kissing the inside of her knees and thighs, I let the tension build.

"Did you find your treasure, Sultan?" Carly spoke as her tight stomach heaved with antic.i.p.ation, the delicate muscles rippling like snakeskin.

I smile in recognition of her wanting to play and grow serious with my response. "I have looked everywhere in my harem; I have not." My mouth took in as much of her breast as it could hold. She threw her hands above her head, pressing her palms against the headboard.

"When I find the thief I will take his hand, or worse." I run my desperate mouth down Carly's writhing side and up again, licking her underarm.

"Is there a reward for the return of your precious gems?" She sucks on my earlobe.

"I will share my bed with her forever." I kiss each rib. "Are you sure you do not know where my pearls might have gone?"

"I confess, Sultan, I've had them in safekeeping."

Reaching between her swollen l.a.b.i.a, I take the first pearl between my index and middle fingers. "You shall be rewarded." I begin to tug on the string.