Chapter 8
As soon as Marshall
had let go of his control, the air crackled incessantly as sparks flew from
the intermingling heat of their bodies.
Their lips collided furiously, as hands attacked and helped shred the
clothing that separated them from achieving fulfillment.
He stopped as her hands attempted to rid him of his
boxers. “Not yet, honey,” he
whispered.
Slowly,
Marshall let his hand glide against the flushed flesh
of her inner thigh so that he could touch her in the most intimate of
manners; his digits fingered her soft, womanly folds.
Gingerly, he tested her depths, as he enacted a torturous pleasure as his
fingers delved further, deeper into her warmth.
She cried out, her hips bucking against his hand; low moans bubbled out from
her mouth as he increased the speed of his hand’s movements within her.
He watched her intensely, saw her eyes
flicker close as she approached that heavenly pinnacle of absolute
satisfaction; felt her shudder and shake as she fell from the precipice of
gratification, languidly returning to earth and reality.
In his eyes, there had never been a more beautiful
sight: her eyes glazed, mouth
swollen and plush, the salty sheen of sweat that graced her naked skin, and
an expression of desire on her face.
Vanessa looked at him smartly, wondering if he’d cross the final line and
bring them both to a delicious end, or if his conscious would interfere with
their delightful interlude from the world.
With wicked intent, she brought his head to her mouth,
and she whispered seductively, “Just feel, Marshall.”
His own words were being used against
him, egging him to put them out of their misery.
To give into the raw, naked desire that rocked his soul and wreaked havoc on
his mind; everything was blurred and hazy with the fog of lust lingering
over his intelligence.
Shyly, she hooked
her fingers in the edges of his boxers and tugged.
He didn’t resist—he couldn’t; he was too far gone, too unsatisfied to oppose
anything she wanted. With a
sudden urgency, Marshall
helped to remove the final garment separating their bodies.
He balanced his weight above her, while his hands cupped her buttocks in
order to position her to receive him; in a magnificent display of patience,
he slid honey slow into her depths, past her slick folds that eased his
intrusion.
Impatient, Vanessa lifted her
hips in an effort to take him deeper, consume the very part which made him
male. He marveled at the hot
spiral of pleasure shocked through his system, as her tightness teased him
into deliberate, purposeful thrusts.
“Marshall,”
she moaned.
Her cries urged him on, said
what words couldn’t; he drove faster, harder.
The smell of sweat and lust hung in the air, lazy and sweltering hot;
touching them and taunting them as it brought them closer to each other and
higher into a land of fantasy, a land where desire dominated.
Slender legs wrapped around him, caused him to bury himself deeper within
her. Everything was wound tight
in her body, she felt coiled and absurdly taut as she met him stroke for
stroke, desperately fueling the strength of that starburst of satisfaction
that exploded behind her eyes, blinded her momentarily as she cried and
moaned in his arms.
As her cries tapered
off, Marshall
felt his own body’s frantic need to find that blissful release in which
their passions at forced him to unearth.
Vanessa’s hips continued to receive and tease him, squeezing him from the
inside out as he buried himself to new depths and growled her name as her
tormenting teasing overwhelmed his senses, captured his intrigue, and forced
his body into a willing submission to the subtle messages of her body and
his.
They clung to each other in the
aftermath of their whirlwind passion; he struggled for air as he gasped for
breath by the lungful.
Marshall
kissed her roughly after he had caught his breath, she responded in kind
with such intensity that she rendered him breathless, shook him to the very
molten core that his body was being submitted to.
She was reducing him to mere sensations, to liquid hot
lust that compromised his ideals and his mindset; she was temptation
incarnated.
Curiously, she caressed his
cheek as he stared at her with an odd combination of fear, desire, and awe.
She spoke one quiet word that said more
than a thousand could have in that miniscule moment where consciences were
silenced and language of erotic movement expressed a multitude of questions
and answers. “More.”
And he did nothing but oblige her tiny request; their
breathing labored and shallow as they began that divine trek to above and
beyond.
They aimed for perfection;
sought it vehemently, with a vile necessity that defied them.
That aim was high and low, deep and slow, far and wide, stretching and
tightening as they moved in an endless rhythm of the melding and meshing of
bodies. Their movements
timeless, their passion matchless.