With legs weak as little Eddie’s, I sat back down.
“Well,” she demanded, with playful authority, “Are you just going to leave me hanging here?” I thought of the fantasy I created before our first time together when she burned uncontrollably through me and I couldn’t function until we made love. It seemed an eon ago.
I came to her. She turned running warm fingers through my hair. “Milton is right. Women would kill for this.” She uttered in my ear while pressing her femininity against a hip. “Oh my, where did he come from?” She put a firm hold on the new erection that inflated to life between us. After twelve weeks my desire for her was ravenous. A single orgasm satisfied for only minutes.
As I said, she brought out the best in me.
I picked her up carrying her to the padded chaise lounge at poolside, a tiny and light bundle containing the source of everything important and loved in my life.
Reclining on the cushions she gazed at me from under orange eyelashes, with lips curled in a provocative half smile. In the lighting her hair appeared almost scarlet as it fanned across a pillow. Small erect breasts capped by slightly darker nipples haughtily presented themselves. The curve of her pelvic cradle and the juncture where her legs came together at a small shaved mound with only a copper colored exclamation point of hair called to me with an irresistible promise of paradise, like sirens to the enthralled and hapless Homeric sailor. My gaze burned with lust at the sight of the minuscule pink seam guarded by tightly joined soft petals. She reached out and slid fingertips down the corrugation of my abdomen leaving a hot trail.
“Nice abs, my boy,” she commented.
“They ought to be. You ran my ass off in getting them.”
A wicked grin crossed her face as a small hand reached for the rigid dark shaft standing straight out between us. Coaxed by gentle tugging I lowered myself onto her, while she guided me toward the turgidity of her eager female core.
Her legs enveloped my hips and she adjusted to receive me as we did thousands of times before. Our faces met hotly. My tongue like a battering ram penetrated Sam’s mouth, with lips inseparable as if welded together. A shiver reverberated through me when Sam snaked small fingers across my backside. I drove deeply into the slippery insatiable cavern that now didn’t feel to be as compact and tight as before but consumed with avid facility all I had, holding and milking the frantically reciprocating member it hosted.
The sound of our hot and rapid breaths filled the silent room. A sheen of perspiration gathered on Sam’s titillated brow. I felt a climax gather in the cloistered depths of her loins. Pressing fingers hard against my back she cried out when the surging contractions overwhelmed her womanhood and spread through the rest of her being. In response I exploded hotly and wetly calling her name with each emission.
This climax meant more than any previous one. It reached beyond a whole body thrill of synaptic and seminal release to a deeper sublimity. It is as if for a moment the soul frees itself from the body. At climax we clutched one another tightly. We could not get close enough. The embrace, the penetration, and the envelopment were not sufficient. We wanted to blend together; to mingle our detached souls as if by doing so we became a single perfect being.
And for one precious instant we were.
We clung together in pleasant exhaustion. After a minute Sam stirred and turned toward me. “You know, once I told you David had finally made me complete, but with you, Jim White, with your love and our family, I am fulfilled.” She drifted off to sleep.
I lay motionless beside her listening to the sounds of the spa pump and watching the unchanging desert landscape. I held the small hand tenderly as if it were a fragile and valuable gift from her.
But the gift wasn’t her hand in mine.
It was the knowledge my name was the one written in her secret diary.
About the Author
Raised in New Orleans, Louisiana, Mike completed careers in the United States Navy Submarine Force and the Transportation Security Administration. He lives in Orlando, Florida with wife, Cynthia, daughter, Jennifer, six-year-old granddaughter, Larrna, and partner-in-crime, Thumper, a Yorkshire terrier.
Mike’s extensive travels in the Navy took him to throughout the US, Canada, Europe, the Caribbean, and the Middle East, providing accurate and vivid settings for his stories.
Look for:
Progeny of Evolution, Book Two: The Corporation
Dedication
Dedicated to my Greek goddess wife, Cynthia, with whom I fell in love all over again while writing this book.
Acknowledgements
To my publisher, Lea, for her faith in me, and to my editors, Charlotte and Greta, whose dedication made a better book.
Progeny of Evolution: The Other Kind © 2011 by Mike Arsuaga
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, events, is coincidental and not intended by the author
A Muse It HOT Publication
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Cover Art © 2011 by Delilah K. Stephens
Edited by Charlotte Magdelena
Copyedited by Greta Gunselman
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eBook ISBN: 978-1-77127-339-8
First eBook Edition * May 2011
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The Other Kind (The Progeny of Evolution Series) Page 23