Disclaimers and Warnings: The following is a work of fan fiction based on the TV series "The Magnificent Seven." Please do not post to any website without author's permission. Feedback is welcome at jodyretro@aol.com. I've tried (as close as I could) to write this so it could be read as either an original or alternate universe story - the choice is yours!
Author's Note: We've all been told that Buck is a "ladies' man" but I felt it was time one of the ladies weighed in with her endorsement of what makes him so desirable. (My vote is that he's simply Buckalicious!)
ladies' man also lady's man. noun: a man who shows a marked fondness for the company of women or is esp. attentive to women ~~ Webster's Dictionary, Merriam & Co.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Daybreak glowed through the bedroom's drawn shutters, glancing off the honey-colored wood floor. The long tendrils of golden light gilded the crisp cotton sheets of the large brass bed in a fan of soft rays around the sleeping couple.
They lay on their sides, spooned in a gentle embrace, his muscular arms wrapped around her like a cloak of angel's wings. The heat of the sunrise kindled upon her face and she woke, but remained as still as the morning's lull, reluctant to break the serenity of her sweet cocoon.
Light, even breaths from the man behind her sent licks of flame skittering across the back of her neck. She flushed at the smoldering sensation of his naked skin pressed against her own, his long limbs curled around hers in soft sanctuary. He shifted slightly, and the slight furring of his chest tickled her shoulder blades. She burrowed into his warmth, idly stroking the callused pads of his fingers as his hands clasped hers.
Suddenly she felt a kiss behind one ear and his hands released hers to draw away the tendrils of hair that obscured his target. More kisses followed the first -- moist drowsy daubs -- that heated her blood, and she trembled at the bolt of fire that shot down her spine.
His lips plaited a lazy path, the full moustache above them weaving its own velvety pattern into the braid as they moved downwards across one shoulder. Then his mouth returned to tarry over her shell-like ear and he inhaled, the cool draft sending a teasing shiver through her chest.
Airy trills from the morning's first birds provided a melodic counterpoint to the squeaks of the bed as he coiled over her and turned her face to his. His lips found hers quickly, bidding them open with a hungry need. He tasted tart and salty and when they finally broke apart, the light of his smile eclipsed the dawn.
Then he dipped behind her sight, scooped her in his arms and pulled her to him tightly. She could feel his body drawn out like a tautly stretched bow, his stirring erection the shaft she hoped would soon find its mark. He held her close, nibbling at the hollow between throat and shoulder with restless love bites. Her breath hitched when the long tapered fingers of his hands gently cupped her breasts, his thumbs dragging sensuously across her hardening nipples.
The warmth of his embrace intoxicated her like the finest liqueur and she relaxed in his arms, replaying the events of the previous evening in her mind like a favorite song.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
She had been sitting at the saloon for nearly an hour, discreetly studying his reflection in the long mahogany bar's rear mirror as she nursed a brandy. He had been sitting with a pair of youngish friends at a back table when she arrived and now it appeared that they were parting ways. Packed leather bags and riding provisions were scooped up from the floor and a salute was exchanged between the men. Then the shaggy-haired duo disappeared outside the batwing doors.
He stood and stretched indulgently, lacing his slim fingers and flexing his strong arms behind his neck. Lean hips swiveled guilelessly as he arched his broad back for relief. She could see the sculpted outline of well-developed pectoral muscles strain against his shirtfront as he took a deep breath, rolling his neck as a finale.
Shaggy hair swept his collar and he attempted to gain some command of it, combing one hand through the dark brown curls, as his other hand dipped into a trouser pocket and placed several bills on the table. Then he stroked the sides of his moustache, glancing surreptitiously around the lively bar room.
His reputation preceded him, of course, known to anyone who had spent any time in the small town. He was quite the rogue, she'd heard. A scoundrel whose passion-hooded eyes appeared to focus only on the soft pillow of a woman's breast or the sway of her skirt. A libertine whose appetite for the fairer sex was not only healthy, but well satiated.
With movements that personified the grace and deliberation of a big cat on the hunt, he padded away from the table and across the floor. When she realized that the seemingly aimless trail of his snub-booted steps through the packed room would end beside her at the bar, she flushed with equal amounts of apprehension and intrigue. And presumption, she chided herself. She certainly wasn't the prettiest or the youngest woman there, her conscience scolded. And there was the undeniable fact that the empty barstool beside her provided the only accessible approach to the bartender. So she reasoned that it was simple convenience which brought him to her side.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him motion for a beer, then casually lean against the hard edge of the bar. She swore she could almost feel the very air vibrate when the sides of his lips curled up under his moustache in a beguiling smile. And she struggled to suppress a laugh when she noticed that the laid-back curl in the long length of his body resembled a question mark. His entire manner effected a query as to her availability and an expectation of her interest.
He was waiting for her attention, she realized, and her cheeks heated at his audacity. Her eyes flickered upwards to meet his, responding to his wordless invitation with a fiery countenance. Once again, she was overcome with presumption -- on his part, this time -- and gave him a rude once-over, affecting a dismissive air.
Then she glanced away from his seductive presence, hard though it was, and watched as a quartet of musicians assembled on a raised platform. They tuned their instruments, then lit into a lilting country air. Unconsciously, her fingertips tapped upon the bar.
A voice as smooth as twelve-year-old whiskey reverberated over the tune. "Have you heard them before?"
Startled, she spun around quickly on the stool and was only stopped from a complete revolution by a pair of strong hands on her shoulders.
"Whoa there, darlin'." His throaty laugh bubbled over as he halted her momentum and held her fast as she smoothed down the flare of her skirt. "You're likely ta spin yourself into another galaxy if you take off like that."
His beer arrived and he gave it only a glance as his fingers slid down her arms and briefly held her hands in his before letting go. He nodded towards the band. "Are they the reason you're here?..."
The small and dangerous word that might have ended his sentence sounded in her head. "Are they the reason you're here...alone?" She shook her head and took a small sip of her drink, hoping it would either conceal or halt the tremor of her fingers. She knew why she was sitting there unescorted. She knew what had led her to rail against her own well-bred gentility. And she felt certain that any explanation on her part would allow him the opening to take advantage of her vulnerability.
There it was again. Presumption.
And when she had watched him in the saloon for all that time, her heart fluttering up to her throat as he approached, she remembered guiltily that the first presumption had been hers.
Well, she had been right, hadn't she?
Of course, she had to admit the temptation was overwhelming. He was physically arousing, lithe and confident, with a captivating smile. And he was the only man that night to pay her any mind. She wasn't all that surprised when he hadn't been spurned by her disdainful snub; she appreciated that he recognized there was a ritual to be observed when a woman of her manner was addressed by a man of his reputation.
Oh, she knew all about his reputation. Most especially that she shouldn't get tangled in it.
But the tender attention of his gaze was unraveling all her presumptions about the man.
What had she heard about him? She took another sip and tried to recall the unfavorable gossip discussed in giggled whispers by her friends.
That his mother's disgraceful profession and his upbringing therein were to be disapproved in proper circles. (Though one certainly couldn't select one's own parents, she rationalized.)
That he'd never chosen to settle down and raise a family, which was decidedly unbecoming as a personality trait. (Though she supposed there was an unfortunate reason behind this deficit.)
But that only served to add weight to the most damning of all the characterizations about him.
He was a ladies' man who stepped out with a lot of women. A lot of women.
Which, when all the above were combined, should have negated the fact that he was also known for being fiercely loyal to his friends, compassionate to his adversaries, and generally fun to be around. That he had such a sense of responsibility towards community, he committed himself to the defense of the very people who prattled behind his back. And that she'd never heard a single hint of regret from any woman he'd been known to seduce.
She smiled shyly at the last thought. Why was that so, she pondered.
He smiled back, and the teasing crinkles around his eyes added to her interest in his grin.
He sat down beside her and they talked of trivialities, of his work and her work, contributing exaggerated stories of humor and heart-breaking stories of sadness. And all the while his gaze never left her face, as if hypnotized by the flicker of her eyes or the tremor of her mouth. When he leaned in close to her ear, in order to be heard over the music's roar, her skin tingled as the soft velvet of his moustache brushed against her cheek. A pang of excitement flip-flopped in her chest when he unexpectedly inhaled the sweet-scented dew moistening her brow before he drew back.
A chill crept over her shoulders as he pulled away and she glanced distractedly at the dance floor. Then she felt his fingers entwine with hers and gently tug her attention back to him. He cocked his head towards the dancers, confirming her desire. Her answering smile was all he needed to lift her off the barstool and guide her into the promenade of couples.
She twirled lightly in his arms, enjoying the indulgent touch of his hands as he urged her through the intricate patterns of the dance. His gait was easy but deliberate, with a sureness of step that spoke not of hours of study but of a natural inborn grace. She felt like she was floating as they skipped across the wooden-planked floor. She felt as if one unexpected lift could send her flying.
Then the country polonaises ended and a ballad began. She began to back away with a faltering step but his eyes pleaded with puppy-dog solemnity, entreating her to return, and she returned freely into the circle of his embrace. He tucked her in close, folding her hand into the well of his breastbone, gently stroking her back with his other hand in time to the music as they swayed together. She rested her head on his chest and felt the pounding of his heart, not surprised that it beat in cadence with the seductive song. He smelled of soap and sweat and the wild juniper that blew down off the hills and she buried her head in deeper, to cloak herself with his essence.
She felt his hand leave her back, only to gently draw the tangles of her hair around the curve behind her ear, skimming his fingers over the soft flesh in the process. She shuddered, and he pulled away, eyes wide with curiosity at her response. Reassuring him with a demure smile, she placed her head back upon his chest, not inclined to let him know that he had inadvertently discovered one of the most sensitive spots on her body.
But he must have recognized something in her reaction because his hand returned to stray among her curls and carelessly allow the rough pads of his fingers to brush again and again over her sensual weakness.
When the song ended, he kissed her fingertips, then clasped her hand in his as he protectively escorted her back to the bar. As they passed through the crowd, she felt as if she was being observed by several other women and wondered if they were part of the significantly-sized sorority the gossipmongers alluded to. But she noticed that they seemed to watch her with wistful smiles, not a hint of jealousy in their eyes. Rather, their demeanor was more of gladness. Bolstered by their encouragement, she smiled back.
Invigorated (and hungered) by their dancing, he invited her to join him for a late dinner and she agreed, dutifully impressed when he spoke with the tavern's beautiful owner and ordered off the menu. The food was plentiful and difficult to manage, prompting him to nonchalantly take her hand in his and wipe it clean of crumbs with his napkin, or casually use his thumb to brush away a stray spot of sauce from beside her mouth. She enjoyed his charming ministrations, wondering just what would happen if she dropped something in her lap during the meal.
His discourse was lively, punctuated by heartfelt convictions, bad jokes, and a dizzying spiral of words that always turned the conversation back upon her. She had been advised that she should encourage a man to speak about himself when first acquainted. That, ironically, the man's enjoyment at this narcissistic conversation would translate into an affection for the listener. But that didn't seem to apply to the man sitting across from her. She sensed a sincere interest on his part for her opinions and a genuine fascination with her thoughts. If the lights hadn't brightened suddenly, indicating the imminent closure of the establishment, she felt sure they could have talked well into the dawn.
But she also felt sure that talking wasn't the way she wanted the evening to end.
Placing his hand lightly around her waist, he squired her outside. The early autumn air was unseasonably chilly and he bristled at the cold, graciously draping his coat around her shoulders. She curtseyed at the gesture and he bowed back, grinning at the formality in their manner. They hesitated beside a crudely constructed wooden fence and she looked up at him, then beyond, to the field of stars glistening in the dark sky.
He bided beside her, watching the night breeze billow through her hair. When she ceded her gaze back to his, he drew an errant curl from her face with a tender concern. His long fingers tarried in her hair, combing through the wind-tangled locks, curling the ends around his fingertips. He brought his other hand up and skimmed his work-roughened knuckles over the cove of her cheek and continued their descent down her neck, removing the contact only when his fingers strayed above the swell of her breast.
He leaned in and whispered that his roommate would be out until the next day at a training session of night-tracking in the mountains with a co-worker. Then he waited, watching her with heavy-lidded indigo eyes as he insouciantly massaged the fold of soft flesh behind her ear.
She smiled at his patience as she considered her next action.
The decision was entirely hers. No pressure. No presumption.
And a legacy of no regrets.
Why was that so?
Her decision made, she brought her own fingers up to trace the arch of his moustache, dragging her thumb back along the curve of his mouth. His head tilted at the expectation in her consent.
He repeated his previous actions, this time with his lips, shamelessly scattering an airy trail of delicate kisses from her cheek to her neck, once again removing his touch at the last possible moment. Languidly, he cradled her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers but held back his favor, indulging in the last electric moment before consummation.
Her hands slid up to embrace his shoulders, not only to feel their strong plateau of muscle, but also to keep herself from falling off the edge of that same plateau as her limbs weakened at the power of his uncompromising sensuality.
His lips brushed over hers, glancing off the soft curves of her mouth, and she savored the sweetness of his caress. She also suppressed a giggle at the tickle of his moustache below her nose. His warm breath smoldered against her cheek, sending a sultry current of desire swirling around her ear.
Still, he held back.
Impatiently, she pulled his face to hers and attacked his lips with her tongue. Surrendering unconditionally, he deepened the kiss, entwining his tongue with hers in an ages-old battle of wills. His honeyed taste vanquished all her defenses and she melted in his arms.
She had very little memory of traveling to his home. She would never forget what happened after they arrived.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He sat behind her on the large bed, settling her upon the juncture of his thighs. The fingertips of one hand traced the curves of her breasts with a touch as silken as his voice while his other hand stroked the sumptuous curves of her hips. His lips pressed tender promises against the nape of her neck as his hands continued their exploration, and she shivered at the sensuous caress.
Sweet-scented candles lit the walls, casting a shadowy enchantment over the unpretentious room. Upon their entrance, she had noticed a low Federal dresser, whose battered claw-and-ball feet evidenced better days, topped by a matching mirror, its surface fogged by time. A spool-legged table rested underneath the shuttered window, nearly concealed by a pair of overly long linen curtains that draped over an assortment of tatter-edged books and newspapers. A whatnot completed the decor, its shelves cluttered with mementos and framed photographs, clearly an altar to sentimentality. The entire room spoke of affection, not affectation, in addition to reflecting the masculinity of its resident.
Their clothing lay in a pile over the curved arm of a once-elegant but now well-worn Sheraton chair that reigned in one corner. He had asked her to undress him first -- and slowly. An unrestrained smile flickered across his lips as she first carefully pulled up on his shirt, easing the rough fabric over rounded biceps and square shoulders, revealing the fine dark hairs that tapered up from his groin to swirl around his navel, then traveled over the undulating planes that splayed over his lean torso like the ripples of desert sand dunes. Her hands wandered over the soft skin that contrasted with the hard musculature beneath its golden surface.
As her heart beat thunderously, she undid his pants and lowered the tight material over his slender hips. Everything about him was long, she decided, from the supple pillars of his thighs and lanky turn of his calf and ankle, to the lengthening erection that swayed heavily between them.
He had unfastened her simple white cotton shirt with a sober consideration, leaving a lingering trail of kisses upon the pliant skin revealed beneath each button. Then, removing her skirt and shift, he had dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her with a solemn reverence, worshipping her within an embrace that spoke as much to faith as desire.
He pressed his lips upon the tight ringlets which concealed the delta between her legs and inhaled her essence. She felt as if she was falling, dropping down through a black chasm only to rise up again, gasping for oxygen, dizzy with the sensation. Dutifully, he stood and took her to his bed.
Now he gently dragged the callused palms of his hands over her nipples, teasing the tips into hardness. She leaned back into him, insistent for more of his touch. Reaching behind them, he threw the bed's pillows against the brass rails of the headboard, then glided backwards upon the homespun quilt, staying in a seated position, drawing her again into his lap.
His mouth pursued the line of her jaw as his hands stroked her breasts, keeping her from turning in his arms. Anxious with arousal, she pressed her cheek against his, seeking relief in his lips. She flung her arms up and around the muscled column of his neck, refusing to yield any ground between them. The caress grew more ardent as their tongues swirled in an intricate battle and their bodies delighted in the skirmish.
His hands traced patterns over the receptive skin from her underarm to her elbow, then continued their advance upwards to capture her clasped hands. Defiantly, he broke the kiss, retreating only to return his attentions to the susceptible territory behind her ear. Her sigh of disappointment was quickly followed by a sigh of bliss, and she felt the vibration of his devilish laugh behind his embrace.
He released his hands only when he knew she would surrender control. Lowering them slowly, he traced her mouth with his thumb and she sucked on it, nipping the tip. Laughing, he lowered them further still and rubbed the wet finger over her taut nipples. A heat rose inside her, warming her blood like flames from a hearth's fire. She sighed again, netting her fingers in his thick hair, and laid her head back against his shoulder. They remained motionless for an endless moment, reveling in the sensual silence of possibility.
Then his hands began to move.
Their consideration was slow and deliberate, tracing lacy patterns on her ribcage and over the round of her stomach, drifting upon her thighs in a filigreed caress, roaming back up again to re-trace their touch. Again and again the design would repeat, changing only slightly as he stroked up and down her sensitized limbs, urging her legs apart a little more at every pass.
She heard only the steady ticking of the Regulator clock on the wall and felt the exhalations of his light warm breaths upon her ear as he completed each sensuous circuit, creating a delightful syncopation of sound and sense. The waltz of his hands continued, the dance becoming more dangerous as he gently spread her legs even wider, drawing her knees up and against his own, hooking her calves with his into a lazy tangle of long limbs.
Closer and closer his hands drew to the apex of this intricacy, until his right hand finally came to rest over the hill of her soft curls. The other hand pursued a path up her body, finding a haven upon the swell of her breasts.
Her hips arched upwards involuntarily as his fingers skittered along the folds of her labia, using the first drops of her dew to slicken the area. She nuzzled into his neck for encouragement, then coiled her arms around his biceps, her hands grasping his strong shoulders, seeking leverage on a perilous ledge of pleasure.
Leisurely, he dipped a finger into her moist chasm.
Her breath hitched and the pulsing within her spread out in ever-widening ripples from her core. He withdrew slowly, then slid his finger deeper into her lush well, making a spiraling motion with the tip. Her muscles contracted around it, daring him to pull out against her pressure but he gave no quarter, plunging in again before finally removing it with a subtle but effective twist.
He teased her with a supple finger, circling back and forth along the swelling circumference of her inner lips, darting in and out of her silken folds, using his thumb and ring finger to spread her outer lips for easier access. With a skilled artfulness, he would probe her lightly, then retreat, then push in again deeper still in a long slow series of driving penetrations.
Then he added a second finger.
Her cheek grazed against his, enjoying the roughness of the stubble from his day's growth of beard against her skin. Pressing against him again for purchase, she urged his mouth to hers and he matched the thrusts of his tongue to the rhythmic thrusts of his fingers below. Her hips rose up and down again in need, sliding over the sweat-sheened cove of his body.
His other hand cupped her breasts, kneading them in tempo with the meter of his fingers as they plunged deep inside her again and again. She twisted and pushed at him, straining to find release.
She felt as well as heard low feral grunts of enjoyment as the gyrations of her body rubbed against his rampant cock and she wiggled purposefully, forcing a breathy laugh from him.
He released her lips but not his hand. "Shhhh, that's all right darlin'. Ol Buck's fine for now, 'less you need that for your own release." He fluttered his fingers inside her. "But I'd rather concentrate on you."
Then he slid his fingers out and up to a new purpose, seeking the most precious of hidden jewels that is a woman's treasure. His thumb circled her swollen cleft once, twice, then dragged lightly over her clitoris, and the discovery sent a wave of quicksilver surging through her body.
Accommodating his new attentions, he lifted his left arm from her breasts and hooked it under her leg, balancing it in a sprawl over the crook of his elbow. She released her own arms and braced herself by laying a hand upon each of his long thighs. Tenderly, he refilled her sex with the fingers of his left hand while the thumb of his right continued its ministrations on her sensitive bud.
He held her in his arms, one hand relentlessly stroking her clit, the other driving long fingers into her receptive passageway. Her muscles tightened and he coiled his fingers inside her as far as he could as she urged him on with hands and hips. The pace of his clever hands varied, buffing her roughly until the riotous sensations threatened to overwhelm her, then easing the pressure with even more teasing slow slick spirals.
Delicately, he suckled her ear, the soft fringe of his moustache tickling her skin as he worried the lobe. She giggled uncontrollably at the funny feeling and he purposefully swept his cookie duster back and forth several times, inciting a riot of delicious torments within her.
Then his lips traveled down the slope of her neck and swept a circuitous route back to its origin with firm lingering kisses. His tongue dallied at the hollow between neck and ear, sending a flurry of tingles down her spine.
Looking downwards, she watched as he thrust his fingers into her with sure, deliberate strokes. She could smell only the musky fragrance of sweat and sex ... feel only the hard muscle and bristling hair of his chest as he held her tight in his arms ... hear only the moaning catches of her breath syncopated against the wet sucking sounds his long fingers made as she ground against his hands. Her body raised and lowered in total abandon.
His breath blew across her ear and onto her cheek, amplifying the cacophony of sensation that resonated within her. She felt desired and deserving. He encircled her, enveloping her in a cloak of passion and purpose.
Amidst the haze of muddled senses threatening to overwhelm her, she knew that his willful positioning of their bodies from the start, and the sexual techniques he employed, were stimulating the two most sensuous provinces of her body. And she realized that this had been a deliberate decision on his part. With a different woman, he would be serving a different menu of delights. Instinctually, he could identify their desires. Intuitively, he knew what would fulfill their hungers.
He knew women.
And he liked women.
He reveled in their pleasure and that was what pleasured him.
He offered no expectations of a future; in fact and deed, he only hinted that their night together would result in a memory for both of them of pure, unconditional enjoyment.
And that was the answer to her question of why.
He had known that was all she wanted from him and it made him happy to be able to give it to her.
That was why.
A low laugh mingled among her moans and he slowed his hands, disconcerted by an unusual reaction. Pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder, he bid her face turn to his, his eyes expressing concern.
But the eyes shining back at him answered back with the trust and truth she knew he sought. Once again she brought her fingers up to trace the arch of his moustache, dragging her thumb back along the curve of his mouth.
His left hand withdrew from her sheath and he raised his fingers to his lips, tasting the honey that flowed from her. The large hand then lowered to envelop her breasts, abrading her nipples with his moistened thumb as he held them gently in his palm. She kissed him lightly, tasting herself in the union, then turned back and braced herself inside the compass of his arms.
At the junction of her thighs, he switched his thumb for his middle finger and slowly circled her clitoris, which hardened further under his attentions, dragging his finger across the raw tip at the peak of every spiral, over and over again. She couldn't control the arching of her hips as he began to rub harder and faster, his finger fighting against the wetness that flooded her channel.
His actions grew faster still and he clutched her to his chest as she writhed in his arms. The heel of his palm slapped against the damp curls of her mound in a tortuous friction. Her body rose higher with each collision, and he drew his legs around her to cushion and support her need. Her breathing became shallow, her exhalations more labored as she bucked up and down, riding on the motion of his hand.
A sweet pressure began to build within and ragged gasps barely escaped from her throat. Her head rolled back against his shoulder and she begged for release.
And he laughed, shaking his head in response.
The spirals around her throbbing button suddenly diminished, suspending her upon a threshold of pleasure and pain. She breathed in sharply when he rolled it between his fingers and she tried to rock against his ministrations but he held her steadfast. His motions became slower still, until all she felt was the hard, forceful press of his finger on her clit. It was as if the entire weight of her body was balanced on that concentrated point of pleasure. The pressure intensified and she wanted to scream.
And that was what he was waiting for.
Thankfully, his finger began to move again, rubbing back and forth, over and over, faster and faster as her nerve endings exploded in raw biting spasms. His rhythm increased to match the increasing volume of her urgent cries.
"Ah...ah...ah...ah...." She gasped with each stroke, jerking upwards as he exchanged his fingers once again, the wide pad of his thumb increasing the flickers upon her swollen pearl of flesh as he drove his middle fingers back into her as deep as they would go, curling them past her pubic bones.
Suddenly she stiffened and her sex pulsed softly, sounding a silent beat against the fingers inside her that matched the pounding of her heart. Forcefully he captured her mouth with his, his kiss stealing what breath she had left as she reached her climax.
Finally, her lips released his and sought to place tender appreciation in the damp curls of hair plastered on the muscles of his neck. The sweat on his skin glistened in the candlelight. She wrapped her arms around him as best she could, but the twist of her body sent new flutters of ecstasy coursing through her blood as he kept his fingers tight inside her.
As a new wave of rapture segued through her body, she heard a soft laugh from above, and looked up at what seemed to her to be a smug smile of triumph on his lips, suggesting a goal fulfilled. She wasn't sure how to interpret this and her brows knit in confusion. She'd been tricked by presumption before in her time. Had her instincts been wrong again?
He continued to wriggle his fingertips, causing her to gasp and involuntarily raise her sweat-sheened hips up and down again in need. Then he pushed her higher still, removing his tricky hand, and she felt a flush of warmth bisect her chest unlike the heat of passion he had so recently provoked. She began to move away but he grasped both her thighs and rotated her effortlessly until she was sitting in his lap, facing him.
His smile disappeared when he regarded the look of doubt on her face, and his head slanted in question.
"Didn't you like that?" he asked.
She nodded guiltily and looked down. A slickened finger raised her chin until her eyes met his again.
"Don't you want more?"
Now it was her turn to laugh.
Presumption, again.
Presumption be damned.
Underneath the boyish tilt of his head, she saw the man who had done so much to pleasure her this night. She saw the strength and devotion and compassion and the myriad attentions that had made her feel that she was the most important woman in the universe. And that that importance would not diminish with time nor tarnish, even though this might be their only night together.
"Do I want more?" she replied. She ran her fingers down his cock and laced them through the dark nest of curly hair at the base. "I want it all," she whispered.
His cum-glazed hand rose and skimmed over the flesh behind the lobe of her ear. "You only had to ask, darlin'."
Then he leaned back and wrapped the long tapered fingers of his hands around the bars of the brass headboard behind him.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"You know, I do like to look at women. I can't deny it. I like to touch 'em, too. I love the shape and the smell of 'em, and the way their minds work, I mean -- sometimes it just surprises the socks right off of me. If I could spend the rest of my life just trying to figure out how to make 'em happy, that would be a good life indeed. That's the truth." ~~ Buck Wilmington
The End
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