Sunday Snog #145 - or #150, depending on how you count!

Today's my 145th Sunday Snog. Meanwhile it's number 150 for Ms. Victoria Blisse, the brains behind this delicious Sunday tradition. It's also just two days after her birthday.

So we're celebrating by giving you prizes! Every single author posting a snog this weekend (you can find a list at http://blissekiss.co.uk) is also doing a giveaway. Leave a comment on this post (with your email, please) and you could win a $5 Totally Bound gift voucher.

Today I'm serving up another excerpt from my erotic thriller Exposure, due out next Friday from Excessica. Enjoy!

We leave the car at the edge of the park and stroll along the paths to the crest of the hill. We seem to have the place to ourselves. New leaves whisper on the oak branches that arch over our heads. The spring air is like wine. It seems totally natural that we should be holding hands. I feel my heart quicken as we emerge from the trees and see the lights of the city spread out before us.

This place is breathtaking. The broad lawn slopes downward nearly half a mile. When I was a child, I rode my sled down this incline, screaming with excitement as we gathered speed. Past the grove at the foot, we see the lights of Oakland, violet and orange, and further to the west, nestled between the rivers, the glittering towers of downtown.

The night is moonless, so clear that even with the urban brilliance below, the stars are visible. There is some kind of perfection here. I breathe deeply and feel the knot of tension in my chest soften. Peace, for the first time in two days.

We don’t speak. Jimmy leads me to a bench where we can fully appreciate the view. His arm is around my shoulder, his fingers warm on my bare arm. I welcome his touch. For a moment, I just let go, close my eyes and lean my head against his chest. His aftershave mingles with his natural odor, a luscious masculine scent that I find amazingly comforting. Yes. This is what I need.

I am not surprised to find his lips on mine, firm but undemanding. Again, this feels natural and right. I sink into his kiss, opening myself to his tentative tongue, tasting the beer he had with dinner. “Stella,” he murmurs, his hands wandering over my body.

My nipples spring to attention as he brushes them with his fingers. My sex swells and dampens when he lays his palm across the curve of my belly. He has not stopped kissing me. Our tongues dance like familiar partners. With each twirl, I grow more aroused.

I realize that he is unfastening my dress, one slow button at a time. Part of me wants him to rip it off, to take me without any warm-up, but I also appreciate his measured, gradual approach. He’s afraid I’ll stop him, I realize. Suddenly I feel that I must reassure him.

“Just a moment, Jimmy,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. I stand and face him, continuing the work he began on my buttons. One hand unfastens them from neckline to waist, the other from waist to hem. He’s transfixed, watching me. I see the fabric between his legs stir as he grows more excited.

My timing, as always, is perfect. The delay at each button is painful and yet he savors the wait, the building suspense. I don’t try to get into Jimmy’s head. I merely watch him as he watches me. His excitement feeds mine, and mine his, in a hot loop spiraling tighter with each breath.

I shrug my dress onto the grass. “Take out your cock, Jimmy,” I murmur. “I want to see you. Touch yourself for me.”

Jimmy needs no second invitation. In a flash his fly is open and his erection is swaying in the night air. The taut skin on the shaft shines pale in the dim light. The knob is much darker. Without taking his eyes from mine, he cups the bulb in one hand, rubbing the swollen flesh against his palm. With the other hand, he grips himself near the root and begins a slow stroking.

“That’s lovely, Jimmy.” Exposed by the half-bra, my nipples throb each time he squeezes himself. I roll them between thumb and forefinger, wishing I could take them in my mouth.

There’s no point in removing the brassiere; he can see all my charms, and the black lace contrasts nicely with my dusky skin. But the thong is definitely in the way. I can feel myself blooming, unfolding in anticipation of having that hardness inside me. I suddenly lose patience with my gradual progress. Without ceremony, I push the panties down to my ankles and step out of them.

In twinkling city light, I think I must look like a goddess: breasts like globes, thighs like columns of marble flanking the dark entrance to the mystic grotto. Jimmy is hugely erect now, but he almost looks frightened, confronted as he is by the awesome mystery of womanliness. I feel a surge of affection that nicely seasons my lust.

“It’s okay, Jimmy,” I whisper in his ear as I roll a condom over his hardness and sink my pussy down onto his cock. That is the last thing that either of us says for some time.