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Acutely aware of the rapid swelling of his dick, tight jeans hugging his throbbing bulge, Mike’s excitement soared.
Jen’s get-up was better than the last time, he noted. Very imaginative, as with a slow smile he swept his gaze over his curvy little wife. She was wearing black jackboots, those alone sufficient to stir a man to the heights of ecstasy. A silver thong that covered not a thing, and small red circles balanced on her nipples. And a bright red smile.
“Je-sus!” If only she had started her erotic writings years ago during all those relatively lean years. Those times their lovemaking had become routine, and he’d been every bit as bored as Jen appeared to be, but now – now, she had a ferocious appetite. And he had that babe Jackie Collins to thank.
“Where’s the whip?” Mike joked, dying to jump out of his jeans and get on with it.
For a moment, Jen’s smile slipped. “I don’t resort to such crude props in my scenes, Mike,” she rebuked him.
Oh, yeah? What do you call those boots? But he wasn’t about to argue. Far more important things on his mind.
Before he had time to remove his shirt, Jen was bearing down on him. Her feathery touch slid along his arms and he shivered. Being a shorty, she got on tippy-toes to place her luscious wet mouth on his. As her tongue slipped decisively between his lips, he nearly came in his pants. Crikey! None of that, mate. He wanted to bury himself inside his wife’s lovely snatch before he let loose. Having to wait was getting a helluva lot more difficult as her tongue slid in and out of his mouth. He inhaled a spicy mix of cinnamon and fresh nutmeg, her legacy from tonight’s dinner, he assumed, as Jen drew away.
With a smirk she popped the remaining shirt buttons, placed a fingertip on the rapid pulse at his throat. Tossed him a smile like the temptress she was. Then she bent her head and licked away the film of sweat that was already coating his skin. He tensed; trembled again when she placed her hot little palms over the nipples hiding in his chest hair. When she pressed her thumbs against the pebble-hard disks, he jerked back, sucking in his breath, and prayed that she would hurry up and get to the main course.
His wife stilled, adopted a look of fierce concentration, which was disconcertingly clinical. Mike growled and grabbed her hand, guiding it lower down his body.
“Mike! You’re breaking my concentration. I’m trying to write a book here.”
“I call it torturing your husband.” As he caught the smile that twitched and radiated from her eyes, he blustered, “Hey – nothing too weird, mind!”
“Would I do that to you, sweetie?” Jen purred. “But it’s given me the most marvellous idea. All we need do is play it out. See if it works.”
Sinking onto the carpet, Jen dragged her man along with her. Her tongue zinged with the taste of ale from Mike’s mouth. As Mike stretched out alongside her, she took hold of his zip, sliding it open, then tugged at his jeans. Slowly, seductively, down, purring like a contented kitten.
“My, what a big boy you are,” Jen said huskily, as she released his erection from his briefs. She snatched a cheeky kiss on the tip of his cock, then jumped to her feet. “Be back in a minute.”