by Anny Cook
“Yes, Wren!” Trav cried out as he held her still, stunned again by the incredible sensation of spilling his seed against the mouth of her womb. “Feel us making our baby, love,” he whispered and then he was ready for her again in seconds. She contracted wildly around him and he knew he wasn’t the only one feeling the insistent drive. She was moving on him in a little rotating motion that was counterpoint to his thrusts. When her climax rolled over her, she barely hesitated before taking up the enticing rhythm again and again until she collapsed on his damp chest.
She looked around her in puzzlement. The pillows and blankets were scattered all around them. “What happened to the bedding?”
“I believe that might have been when you were in the midst of nibbling my pecker to death,” he replied evenly. “I have never in my life felt anything like it. It was like being slowly nibbled to death.”
“Was it all right?”
“Oh, yeah. It was fine!” he assured her. He rolled with her until he was on top and resting between her legs. She cocked one eyebrow at him in inquiry. “This,” he informed her, “is popularly known as the missionary position. I have heard that there are people who think it’s the only way. Fortunately, we know better.”
“I see. And why are we doing this? You will hurt you back,” she admonished him tenderly.
“I tell you what. If I get too tired, I’ll just lie down on top of you. In the meantime, humor me.”
“If you wish,” she said dubiously. “It doesn’t seem very comfortable.”
“Ahhh. Well, you’ll find that it will get better if you wrap your legs around my waist and tilt your very delectable backside, like so.” He rearranged her to his satisfaction and smoothly slid in his entire length. She gasped and clamped down with her inner muscles. “Ahhh. I think you have the idea, honey,” he complimented her breathlessly. “Now just move with me like this,” he directed while demonstrating. “So what do you think, huh?”
She wriggled around excitedly. “Trav? Save your breath for the missionaries.” So he happily saved his breath for quite a while.
About the Author
Anny Cook learned to read at five years old. Learning to write was a natural extension. Through her adult years while a wife, mother, grandmother, fast food cook, warehouse book packer, Girl Scout and Cub Scout Leader, perpetual college student, executive secretary, and adult education teacher, writing served as the anchor that kept her sane.
Well, maybe not exactly sane, but close to it. Today, after thirty-five years with kids, cats, dogs, guinea pigs, and hamsters, she and her husband are empty nesters. Sigh. Finally, there's time—and quiet—to write in peace.
Anny welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Anny Cook
Chrysanthemum
Also see this author’s titles at Cerridwen Press (www.cerridwenpress.com):
Mystic Valley: Dancer’s Delight
Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.
www.ellorascave.com
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