(Being the fifth of occasional extracts from my novel)
It’s my turn to lead. I play with him, teasing him, letting the excitement build slowly. I am the hunter. He is the prey. He lies on his back and closes his eyes as my fingers prowl his body. I kneel at his side, running my fingertips up and down his chest, dancing them lower, drumming on the taut muscles of his stomach, teasing the blond curls below, stalking the pearl-black quarry. I don’t touch it. He moans softly, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Then suddenly I reach for it, squeeze it, stroke it and feel it spasm. A single white pearl appears at the tip and hungrily I swallow it, tasting its sweet saltiness. He cries out and covers my hand with his. Then abruptly he sits up, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me across his lap. In an instant, the hunter becomes the hunted. I feel a stab of pleasure between my legs. Gently, he strokes my thighs and buttocks. I thrust them up, feeling an old familiar longing. And then he spanked me. It was the sweetest, most erotic, most sensuous yet, administered at length until I knew I couldn’t last another moment. I spun away, showing him his handiwork, how pretty in pink it looks. Then I took him, swallowing his black beauty between my burning cheeks.
Afterwards we lay silently together totally spent, not doing anything really. Then Steed gets up and makes me tea. He is still naked when he slides back into bed beside me.
“What is it?”