Today I’m participating in Victoria Blisse’s Sunday Snog for the first time and, of course, I wanted to pick a snog from Neighbours (my story in Smut in the City, co-edited by Victoria), but then I realised that the shower (sex) scene in that story is more focused on other (more advanced) activities than kissing. (Do read it to find out what I mean.)
So, instead, I chose an excerpt from my next release Younger Than Yesterday. This story gives us the point of view of Rose, the hot cougar from Summer Heat. Younger Than Yesterday is scheduled for release on 19 September, and here is a very exclusive preview (in which the act of kissing is interpreted very liberally.) Enjoy.
While before I was always a mere—but happy—recipient of it, I now consider the pleasure of performing cunnilingus as one of the great discoveries of my late-forties. The power I can exercise over Cat just by licking her is intoxicating.
“I rest my case.” She plants a kiss on my hair. “I want to get lost in your curls,” she hums and her words set off that weak feeling in my stomach again. That hint at something more that instantly gets squashed by our circumstances. This isn’t just about physicality, about getting my sexual needs met. Perhaps it’s easy to confuse the tenderness between us for love, or something akin, but, ultimately, that’s what it feels like. But I’m nowhere near ready to broach that subject with Cat. Mostly because she’s still suffering from a broken heart, even though the name Jenny hasn’t been spoken in days. But I realise that, for her, this can’t be much more than a rebound affair.
“I want to get lost somewhere else.” I tilt my head up and find her eyes. Three tiny laughter lines crinkle around her temples. She knows what I mean by now. I’ve all but licked her raw.
I kiss her breasts, spreading hot saliva over her nipples. Her body already feels familiar, as if it belongs here with me and nowhere else. Before making my way down, to my final destination, I search for her gaze once more. I want to witness her desire for me before I satisfy it. I want her to say it.
“Fuck me,” she says, because she knows, and her words ignite tiny explosions in my blood. She slides her body down and opens her legs for me, a gesture so trivial but at the same time so intimate.
I smell my soap on her, the same one I’ve used for years, blending with the aroma of her juices. I trail a path of moist kisses along her inner thighs. Her hands are in my hair—she seems really fond of my hair—and tug at my curls.
Before zoning in on her pussy I lick along her pubes, the coarse texture of them tickling my tongue. Then I can’t hold it in any longer and I wonder if she knows how much I want this, how much of a slave I’ve become to her. I take in the length of her pussy, her glistening lips, so blood-shot and swollen for me, and tuck in.
The first contact always overwhelms me, because, despite the familiarity of all of her by now, this is still new to me. Her softness on my tongue and how she gasps for air that first instant. It makes my own clit pulse for attention and I feel myself heating up, a moist glow radiating between my legs.
I lick her up and down with long tentative strokes and her hands grip my hair firmer, as if she’s never letting go again. When I part her lips with my tongue and gently flick the tip over her clit, her muscles contract and she pushes herself upwards, closer to my eager mouth. She’s mine now, which is all I want.
I revel in her moans as I suck her clit between my lips and nibble it gently. And then pure passion takes over. I need her to tremble for me, shake and writhe underneath me like no one else ever has. I unleash a tongue-dancing frenzy on her, feeling her pleasure on my soaking wet lips. It shivers through me as her muscles clench and release, a bit more intensely with every stroke of my tongue.
“Fuck me,” she says again and this time she doesn’t say it to please me. She says it to please herself. I bring two fingers to the rim of her pussy and lightly circle them around the opening before slowly letting them enter. I love being inside of her. It’s the closest I can get.
With every thrust I drive my fingers deeper into her, coaxing louder groans from her throat. A few strands of my hair are curled around her fingers. It doesn’t hurt the way it should. Instead, it engorges my clit because I know it means she’s close. As much as I like to fuck her, and lick her, there’s nothing like having her come all over my fingers, her juices spilling over my lips.
And do stop by Victoria’s blog for more lip (and other) locking!