Mistletoe Kisses - #Mistletoe #Kisses #HolidayRomance

Image by Susanne Jutzeler, suju-foto from Pixabay

I received my first French kiss in front of a Christmas tree, from the man who would later become my first lover. I can recall the scene surprisingly well. I was fourteen, staying with my aunt over the holidays. Although she was born Jewish and at time was a disciple of an Indian guru, she had for some reason set up a tree in the living room. I remember that the twinkle of the lights twining through the branches was the only illumination. The moment has a silvery glow in my recollection. P. encircled me with his arms and pulled me against his chest, while planting his lips firmly on mine. I had no idea how to react.

Then suddenly his tongue was in my mouth. The intimacy of that sensation shocked me. I guess I knew about French kisses, academically speaking, but the reality was like nothing I'd imagined. I felt excited and scared and very confused, not knowing what to do exactly, but really, really wanting to get it right. He held me there, exploring me, for what seemed like hours. Afterward, in my room, I was so high I thought I'd float right off the bed. He wanted me - me, shy and awkward as I was, with my heavy-framed glasses, plump thighs and frizzy hair... As for P., he was as beautiful as an angel, pale as snow, with hair like spun gold and sea-blue eyes. And he smelled so good... that's one thing I remember, incense and sweat and peppermint from the candy canes we'd been eating, strange, male, but so delicious...

Once I had dredged up that memory, my thoughts turned to other kisses, midnight kisses as the old year slipped away and kisses under the mistletoe.

I found myself curious about the mistletoe kissing tradition. Mistletoe, it turns out, has had spiritual or magical significance for millenia. It is associated with the divine male essence, hence potency and virility (possibly because the waxy white berries resemble drops of semen). The plant is also entangled in a resurrection myth.

An old Norse tale recounts the birth of the god Baldur, son of Frigga and Odin, the king of the gods. A prophecy regarding Baldur's premature death led Frigga to extract a promise from every plant and animal on earth, that they would never harm her son. Somehow, however, she omitted the mistletoe plant and when Baldur reached glorious manhood, Loki tricked Baldur's blind brother into slaying him with an arrow fashioned from mistletoe. Baldur was dragged into the underworld, but like Osiris and Persephone, was brought back to life by the efforts of a loving woman (in this case his mother).

After Baldur's resurrection, Frigga declared mistletoe to be thenceforth the plant of peace. None of this, of course, explains why mistletoe has become a license to kiss, although the links with the solstice season are clear. Mistletoe is evergreen, symbolizing everlasting life. Pre-Christian cultures associate midwinter with the death and rebirth of the sun. These themes continue to echo in the Christmas story itself.

Apparently American author Washington Irving wrote about the mistletoe kiss tradition as early as 1820. This suggests that it has been practiced for a good deal longer. Most of the sources I found pointed to Scandinavia as the original source of the custom.

However they originated, kisses under the mistletoe retain a sense of mischievous transgression. It doesn't matter who you are, how old you are, to whom you're married. If someone catches you beneath that sprig of emerald leaves and snowy berries, you must submit to his or her kiss. To resist is considered to bring terrible luck. And who knows what you'll discover, mouth to mouth, breath to breath? The potent magic of the Druid's sacred plant might lead to ecstasy - or even love.

I'll leave you with a literary kiss under the mistletoe, from my recently released holiday tale Almost Home. 

 

The kiss caught her off guard.

One moment Suzanne was standing in the doorway to Helena’s den, scanning the occupants and wondering if she knew anyone at all at this party. The next moment someone twirled her around and fastened a pair of firm lips on hers. Out of instinct or habit, she closed her eyes. The darkness heightened her other senses. Powerful arms circled her body and pulled her against a fuzzy male chest. Her partner’s scent rose around her, a complex mix of soap and musk, evergreen and wood smoke. His tongue teased the seam where her lips met and she let him enter, her self-protective reflexes dulled by his warmth and the glass of merlot she’d downed on her arrival. His mouth tasted of eggnog and candy canes, appropriately seasonal. He was delicious, in fact—not just his mouth but the quiet confidence of his probing tongue, the sculpted muscle she felt under his sweater, his bold hands wandering across her back to her buttocks. She hadn’t enjoyed a kiss like this in a long time.

She’d felt chilled and tense ever since her plane touched down in frigid Boston but now her muscles began to unknot. He was a miniature sun, melting her, turning her languid and dreamy. She clutched at his solid form and returned his kiss, trading heat for heat. Tropical colours paraded behind her eyelids—fuschia, lime, peach, and aqua—shimmering like the water in her pool back home. She even began to perspire, her long-sleeved velvet dress suddenly too warm for comfort.

He pulled her full hips against his lean ones. A tell-tale lump, wonderfully hard, pressed against her belly. Her panties and tights dampened, too.

Normally she would have resisted but stress and alcohol made her susceptible. She allowed the kiss to lengthen and deepen, sinking into the pure pleasure of it.

Almost Home - MMF holiday erotic romance

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Almost-Home-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B004RJ3KR0

Totally Bound: https://www.pride-publishing.com/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=1018
 

Wishing you a Christmas full of merriment and mischief!

Misteltoe Kisses - #Christmas #kisses #holidayromance

Is it Christmas season already? Time once again for holiday romance? Where did the year go?

I received my first French kiss in front of a Christmas tree, from the man who would later become my first lover. I can recall the scene surprisingly well. I was fourteen, staying with my aunt over the holidays. Although she was born Jewish and at time was a disciple of an Indian guru, she had for some reason set up a tree in the living room. I remember that the twinkle of the lights twining through the branches was the only illumination. The moment has a silvery glow in my recollection. P. encircled me with his arms and pulled me against his chest, while planting his lips firmly on mine. I had no idea how to react.

Then suddenly his tongue was in my mouth. The intimacy of that sensation shocked me. I guess I knew about French kisses, academically speaking, but the reality was like nothing I'd imagined. I felt excited and scared and very confused, not knowing what to do exactly, but really, really wanting to get it right. He held me there, exploring me, for what seemed like hours. Afterward, in my room, I was so high I thought I'd float right off the bed. He wanted me - me, shy and awkward as I was, with my heavy-framed glasses, plump thighs and frizzy hair... As for P., he was as beautiful as an angel, pale as snow, with hair like spun gold and sea-blue eyes. And he smelled so good... that's one thing I remember, incense and sweat and peppermint from the candy canes we'd been eating, strange, male, but so delicious...

Once I had dredged up that memory, my thoughts turned to other kisses, midnight kisses as the old year slipped away and kisses under the mistletoe.

I found myself curious about the mistletoe kissing tradition. Mistletoe, it turns out, has had spiritual or magical significance for millenia. It is associated with the divine male essence, hence potency and virility (possibly because the waxy white berries resemble drops of semen). The plant is also entangled in a resurrection myth.

An old Norse tale recounts the birth of the god Baldur, son of Frigga and Odin, the king of the gods. A prophecy regarding Baldur's premature death led Frigga to extract a promise from every plant and animal on earth, that they would never harm her son. Somehow, however, she omitted the mistletoe plant and when Baldur reached glorious manhood, Loki tricked Baldur's blind brother into slaying him with an arrow fashioned from mistletoe. Baldur was dragged into the underworld, but like Osiris and Persephone, was brought back to life by the efforts of a loving woman (in this case his mother).

After Baldur's resurrection, Frigga declared mistletoe to be thenceforth the plant of peace. None of this, of course, explains why mistletoe has become a license to kiss, although the links with the solstice season are clear. Mistletoe is evergreen, symbolizing everlasting life. Pre-Christian cultures associate midwinter with the death and rebirth of the sun. These themes continue to echo in the Christmas story itself.

Apparently American author Washington Irving wrote about the mistletoe kiss tradition as early as 1820. This suggests that it has been practiced for a good deal longer. Most of the sources I found pointed to Scandinavia as the original source of the custom.

However they originated, kisses under the mistletoe retain a sense of mischievous transgression. It doesn't matter who you are, how old you are, to whom you're married. If someone catches you beneath that sprig of emerald leaves and snowy berries, you must submit to his or her kiss. To resist is considered to bring terrible luck. And who knows what you'll discover, mouth to mouth, breath to breath? The potent magic of the Druid's sacred plant might lead to ecstasy - or even love.

I'll leave you with a literary kiss under the mistletoe, from my MMF holiday tale Almost Home.

The kiss caught her off guard.

One moment Suzanne was standing in the doorway to Helena’s den, scanning the occupants and wondering if she knew anyone at all at this party. The next moment someone twirled her around and fastened a pair of firm lips on hers. Out of instinct or habit, she closed her eyes. The darkness heightened her other senses. Powerful arms circled her body and pulled her against a fuzzy male chest. Her partner’s scent rose around her, a complex mix of soap and musk, evergreen and wood smoke. His tongue teased the seam where her lips met and she let him enter, her self-protective reflexes dulled by his warmth and the glass of merlot she’d downed on her arrival. His mouth tasted of eggnog and candy canes, appropriately seasonal. He was delicious, in fact—not just his mouth but the quiet confidence of his probing tongue, the sculpted muscle she felt under his sweater, his bold hands wandering across her back to her buttocks. She hadn’t enjoyed a kiss like this in a long time.

She’d felt chilled and tense ever since her plane touched down in frigid Boston but now her muscles began to unknot. He was a miniature sun, melting her, turning her languid and dreamy. She clutched at his solid form and returned his kiss, trading heat for heat. Tropical colours paraded behind her eyelids—fuschia, lime, peach, and aqua—shimmering like the water in her pool back home. She even began to perspire, her long-sleeved velvet dress suddenly too warm for comfort.

He pulled her full hips against his lean ones. A tell-tale lump, wonderfully hard, pressed against her belly. Her panties and tights dampened, too.

Normally she would have resisted but stress and alcohol made her susceptible. She allowed the kiss to lengthen and deepen, sinking into the pure pleasure of it.

Sunday Snog 263: Spank Me Again, Stranger (#kink #kiss #bdsm)

It’s Sunday already! That means it’s time for another Sunday Snog.

My kiss excerpt today comes from “Spank Me Again, Stranger”, one of the stories in my romantic kink collection Hearts & Handcuffs. I’ve cut this excerpt to remove most of the kink and focus on the kiss, but I think you’ll be able to tell what’s been going on earlier in the story.

When you’re done with my snog, head back to Victoria’s Sunday Snogpage for more delicious kisses!

“Forty nine. Fifty.” He pulled her panties back up, snapping the elastic against her lacerated skin and making her gasp. “There you go! That wasn't so bad, was it?”

He flipped her back into a standing position as deftly as he'd splayed her across his thighs. She stood there blinking in the spotlight, wearing a single shoe, her ass and her clit both burning. She didn't dare meet his eyes.

Jake retrieved her shoe. She remained there, unresisting, while he slipped her foot back into the sandal and tightened the strap. “Happy Birthday, Audra! You took that like a trouper.” His lips brushed hers for a moment, but were gone so swiftly she thought she might have imagined the gesture. “Everyone, let's give our birthday girl a big hand...”

Audra stumbled off the stage and pushed her way through the cheering crowd. The pressure in her swollen pussy and the ache in her punished ass were her only realities. She had to get away, find some privacy, give herself some relief.

The ladies' room was outside, behind the building. Audra followed the signs. She practically burst into tears when she found the one-person facility was occupied.

She couldn't wait. Slipping into the shadows, she crumpled her skirt to her waist and yanked her panties down to her knees. The fabric scraped over her pummeled ass. Damn him! She wouldn't be able to sit down for days. The perverse thought just made her hornier.

Spreading her thighs wide, she plunged two fingers into her slick hole while settling her thumb against her clit. Pleasure arced up her spine. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Yes...” she hissed. “Oh, yeah...”

She was on the brink already—right where that bastard had left her. Her clit spiked up, engorged and hungry. She worried it back and forth, rubbing furiously. No time for teasing. She needed to come, right now.

Her climax gathered, winding tighter, drawing closer but still out of reach. The wail of a bass guitar leaked into the night as someone opened the door of bar. He was in there, playing his music as if nothing had happened, while she pinched her clit and ground her fist into her cunt like a maniac. Damn him, she'd make him pay, she'd make him...

“Let me do that.” A massive man-shaped silhouette blocked out the stars. Giant hands gripped her shoulders while full lips settled on hers with a decisiveness that both enraged and excited her. She tried to resist but it was like fighting a hurricane. His tongue teased her mouth open despite her determination to keep it closed. He nibbled her lip then nuzzled her throat, his whiskers far softer than they looked.

He smelled of cheap bourbon and clean sweat, with hints of sagebrush and thyme. While her conscious mind continued to seethe with anger, her body surrendered completely. His big fingers replaced her desperate ones, delving into her juicy pussy and driving her up the slope to orgasm. He seemed to know what she needed—just as he'd known how she'd react to his blows on her ass. 

 

Sunday Snog 220: Quarantine (#mm #erotic #romance #sundaysnog)

It’s Sunday once again, time for another sexy kiss excerpt. I decided to stick with my M/M scifi romance Quarantine. It’s a pretty hard core book, but it also includes a lot of kisses.

When you’re finished with my excerpt, I hope you’ll head back to Victoria's, to sample more of the snogs on offer this week.

This post counts as part of my Back List Blast contest. What's that? Check my post from last Friday for details!

“What do you think?”

Rafe glanced up from his book—a real paper book, like he hadn’t seen in decades—at the sound of his lover’s voice. He nearly dropped the precious volume when he saw what Dylan had done.

“What the fuck? You look like a damn Marine or something…!” Dylan flinched as though he’d been slapped. Rafe hastened to blunt the effects of his gut reaction. He forced out a chuckle. “I hardly recognised you—but that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Well, that’s the intention, anyway.” Dylan had dyed his fiery hair a mousy brown, then clipped it to a buzz cut that gave him a definite military appearance. He’d also applied some sort of chemical tanning compound to his normally pale face, which hid his freckles. He looked older and more rugged—more masculine, in fact. He didn’t look like Rafe’s lover, not at all. He certainly didn’t look queer.

Come on, Rafe mentally corrected himself. That’s just prejudice. Do you think you look queer? “It’s such a difference, Dyl. Sorry to give you grief. I just wasn’t expecting such a big change.”

“Is it awful? Can you stand to look at me?” Dylan perched on the arm of Rafe’s chair, stroking his cheek. “I’m definitely not interested in getting caught, but it’s not worth it if you don’t want me anymore…”

Rafe grabbed Dylan by the waist and tumbled the other man into his lap. “I want you, boy!” he growled with mock ferocity, slipping a hand down the back of Dylan’s trousers and giving the firm buns a squeeze. “You can do anything you like to your face, as long as you’ve still got this ass!”

Dylan squirmed against the rising bulk of Rafe’s cock. “My ass is yours. You know that.” His arms circled Rafe’s neck. His mouth fastened on Rafe’s in hungry glee. Dylan might look like a stranger, but he still tasted the same, still had the same teasing, energetic tongue.

Rafe basked in the sense of comfort Dylan’s kisses always produced. Their situation could hardly have been more precarious, yet with his arms around his lover, devouring that lush, sassy mouth, Rafe somehow felt safe. The connection was so strong. Rafe could practically read the other man’s mind. He knew the exact moment when Dylan’s hand would snake down between his legs to palm his erection, then start working at the fastenings of his fly.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Dylan breathed in his ear. “I’ll prove that nothing’s changed.” He captured Rafe’s engorged prick and manhandled it out into the open air, then peered up at Rafe’s face to gauge his reaction. Even the most extreme disguise couldn’t hide those mischievous emerald eyes. “Actually,” he continued with a grin, “I can do that right here…” He slid to his knees without releasing his grip. 

Check out my stunning trailer for Quarantine! 

Get your own copy!

Amazon

B&N

ARE

Pride Publishing  

Sunday Snog #214: Raw Silk -- #newrelease #excerpt #sundaysnog

Happy Sunday!

I’ve been really busy promoting TheGazillionaire and the Virgin, but actually I have another release I should be flogging (so to speak!) The new, expanded edition of Raw Silk is available now for early download from Totally Bound. It will go live on Amazon and other sites on March 1^st.

So I thought I should treat you to a brand new excerpt from that opus. In case you’re a newcomer to my work, here’s the blurb:

In a foreign land, a woman discovers exotic new realms of the senses…

When software engineer Kate O’Neill leaves her lover David to take a job in Thailand, she becomes sexually involved with two very different men—a handsome and debauched member of the Thai aristocracy, and the charismatic proprietor of a sex bar.

Each touches her in a different way, each teaches her different things about her body and her heart.

Then David comes to Bangkok, and Kate realizes that, finally, she must choose one of the three men who all desire her. 

The scene below is the beginning of the chapter “Showdown”, in which each of Kate’s lovers tries to convince her that he’s the man she should choose!

When you’re done here, by the way, hop back to Victoria’s for links to more sexy Sunday kisses.

The suite was spacious, lavish, gorgeously appointed with rare textiles and antiques. Plush oriental carpets soothed her feet. Couches of carved teak, brocade upholstered, invited her to recline. On a low table in the center of the room, someone had provided a porcelain vase of orchids, an assortment of succulent-looking fruit, several bottles of wine, crystal goblets and a corkscrew. Kate sipped her chilled Pinot Grigio as she contemplated the twists that had brought her to this point in her life.

She had always viewed herself as sober, responsible, practical, someone who considered the alternatives and weighed the consequences before making any decision. Yet she had come to Bangkok, half a world from home, essentially on a whim, veering wildly off the course she had plotted for her life. She had allowed herself to be seduced, used, abused, fingered, fondled, and fucked. She had plunged willingly into a sea of debauchery and depravity.

She did not regret it, any of it. As dusk settled over the City of Angels, she knew finally that the controlled, pragmatic, sensible self she recalled was just a mask. She had found her true self here, in the embraces and the bonds of those who had possessed her.

And now, the final act in this passion play was about to start. Kate refilled her glass and drank deep, trying to relax.

There was a soft knock. “Come in,” she said without rising from the couch. Somtow had the key, and he had promised that they would all arrive together, to avoid any awkwardness. The door swung open soundlessly. Her three lovers filed in.

David came first, a spring in his step and a twinkle in his eye, a remarkable contrast to the weary, rumpled young man she had met at the airport only a few days before. He wore blue jeans and a shirt of multicolored batik that set off his rich brown hair and tan skin. Before she could stop him, he knelt beside her and took her in his arms, his tongue probing her mouth, his hands wandering over her breasts.

“David!” she said, laughing despite herself as she pushed him away. “That’s not fair. We’re supposed to draw lots.”

“I can’t help myself,” he said, grinning. “After all, it has been ages since I’ve seen you.”

Somtow entered next, elegant in a teal silk shirt and linen trousers. He too knelt beside her, opposite David. He took her hand and kissed it gracefully. Then, just as she was admiring his gallantry, he took her middle finger into his mouth and began to suck it. He ran his tongue in the sensitive groove between her fingers. The warm, wet touch sent electric sparks through her.

“Somtow, you have no excuse,” she said. “Play by the rules.”

Finally, Gregory entered, and stood towering over them all. Kate was interested to see that, in contrast to his usual dark garb, he had dressed all in white. His clothing looked vaguely nautical, a softly flowing shirt open at the neck and tight pants of white duck. His jet hair was pulled back from his broad forehead and a silver hoop gleamed in his earlobe. He reminded Kate of some eighteenth century pirate. His expression fit the role. With his eyes blazing and his sensual lips pressed together, he look fierce, desperate, dangerous.

His voice, however, was as melodious and controlled as ever. “Good evening, my little Kate,” he said. He held out his hand to her, and she could not help rising to take it. Heat traveled from his fevered skin, up her arm, through her nipples, down to her sex. He didn’t make any further advances. For a long moment they simply stood together, as the flames flickered through her body.

Somtow spoke, finally, breaking the spell. “So, here we are, Katherine, at your service, yours to command.”

Get your copy of this sizzling erotic classic here!

Sunday Snog #204: Necessary Madness (M/M)

Happy Sunday! My snog (or actually snogs, as there are several kisses in this excerpt) comes from my M/M paranormal erotic romance Necessary Madness. While it’s not exactly a holiday story, it does end with a wedding on a snowy Christmas Eve. And today, I’m sharing the proposal scene!

After savoring my snog, head back to Victoria’s, where you’ll find lots more delicious kisses—many, I expect, with a holiday flavor!

Kyle lay motionless in Rob’s arms for many minutes. Rob wondered if he should be alarmed. He scanned Kyle’s emotional state. No, there was no problem. Kyle was floating in an ocean of satisfied bliss. Let him rest. There was no hurry.

Finally, the young man raised his head and smiled into Rob’s eyes. “Wow! That was—well, indescribable. Indescribably good.”

Rob took possession of Kyle’s ever-tempting lips. A few drops of Rob’s cum adorned Kyle’s cheek. Rob licked them off, then plunged in for an even more intense kiss.

“Did I do all right?” Kyle asked when Rob finally let him speak. “Did you—was it good for you?”

“Do you really need to ask that, baby?” Rob rubbed the traces of his cum into Kyle’s chest. His cock stiffened.

Kyle put on a mischievous grin. “No, I guess not.” He reached between them to grasp Rob’s swelling dick. “I can see that just thinking about it turns you on.” He nibbled at Rob’s mouth while stroking him to full hardness. “Now do you think you might be able to return the favour? I’m all greased and ready…”

“Wait a minute! Let me recover.” Rob sat up and leant against the headboard.

“You look recovered to me…” Kyle cradled the fat erection poking up from Rob’s groin.

“Seriously. I need to talk to you.” Rob patted the pillow. Kyle reluctantly released Rob’s cock and settled beside him. Rob couldn’t resist pulling him into another kiss.

“I like the way you ‘talk’.” Kyle chuckled when Rob finally let him go.

“Sorry. You’re just too tempting.” Kyle raised one eyebrow in mock surprise. “And you know it, damn it!”

Kyle sat up straight and folded his hands in his lap, covering his half-hard dick. “My apologies,” he said, suppressing a giggle. “What did you want to talk about?”

Rob swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. “Kyle, we’re in Massachusetts…” Kyle looked puzzled by this obvious statement. Rob forced himself to continue. “That means… Well, what I want to say is…I want to marry you.”

“Marry me? Are you kidding?” There was scorn in Kyle’s voice, but Rob thought he caught a glimmer of excitement underneath the scepticism. “We’ve only known each other two weeks!”

“After what we’ve been through together—it feels like forever. Doesn’t it?”

Kyle gave a slow nod. “Yes, but that’s only one problem. You’re thirteen years older than me, Rob. Almost old enough to be my father.”

“That doesn’t matter to me. As we get older, the difference will seem less and less. Anyway, guys marry much younger women all the time.”

“And what about your job? I got the impression that the force had a kind of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy.”

“Fuck the force. If they can’t accept me as I am, I’ll go elsewhere. The thing that matters most to me is being with you.”

“And your kids? Your ex?”

“They’ll adapt. Gina threw me out because I was sleeping around. I think she’ll understand when she meets you…”

“Yeah? Are you sure? A twenty-year old from the streets, without even a high school diploma? With a history of psychiatric problems?”

“That’s over now. You’re in control. You can get your GED. Get a job or go to college. You’ve got a future now, Kyle. A future that I hope will be with me.” Rob searched Kyle’s face, suddenly anxious. “Why do you keep coming up with all these excuses? You don’t want marry me?”

Kyle’s face turned grim. “Rob, all I want is to be with you. For the rest of my life. But I don’t want to see you making a decision that you’ll regret later. I couldn’t stand to see you unhappy, especially because of me. I’d rather continue on alone.”

“I won’t regret it. I’m sure about this, one hundred percent.” Rob gathered Kyle into his arms and peppered his face with kisses. “You’re what makes me happy. As long as we’re together, I can handle whatever the world throws at us.” He pulled back, holding the boy at arm’s length. “Tell me. Will you marry me? Yes or no?”

Fear. Disbelief. Relief. Joy. Kyle stroked Rob’s cheek. “If you’re certain, then yes. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Super Sexy Sunday Snog (and Giveway!)

Oh, I’ve got a sexy snog for your today! This is a brand new excerpt from The Ingredients of Bliss, a naughty scene on a plane that features not one but two types of oral activities.

And to thank you for reading, I’m giving away a copy of Her Secret Ingredient, the prequel to The Ingredients of Bliss, in which Emily and Harry first meet. Just leave me a comment telling me whether you’ve ever done anything naughty on a plane—or if you’d like to! Be sure to include your email address so I can find you if you’re the winner.

After you’ve recovered from my excerpt, head back to Victoria’s Snog Central, for more Sunday kisses!

Harry wanted to thrust—I sensed the tensed muscles in his thighs and belly—but that would have made our obscene activities too obvious. So he had no choice but to let me take the lead. I bobbed up and down, taking him deep, then pulling back to swirl my tongue over his crown and flick the sensitive ridge underneath. He slumped into his seat, tilting his pelvis up to improve my angle. Every so often a shudder would seize him, when I hit a particularly good rhythm.

The vibe still pulsed against my clit. Pleasure still hummed through me. Now, though, I was focused on pleasing my lover.

I knew his body, his reactions, the patterns of his arousal. He was close to release. Come on, baby. I slid my pursed mouth up and down his slick shaft. Let go. Fuck my mouth. Make me your cum slut. I want it. I want it all.

Something snapped. Despite the risk of exposure, he started to thrash in his seat, slamming his cockhead against my palate, taking me over. I stilled, giving him control, thrilled as always by the moment of total surrender. A ripple crawled along his shaft. He clenched his thighs around me. His cock spasmed and thick, bitter cum flooded my mouth. I swallowed the first wave and was inundated again.

I didn’t think he’d turned up the level of the vibe. I doubt he was conscious enough to do so. The taste of him was enough, though, to trigger my own climax, a rich, slow surge of bliss that left me trembling and full of joy. I laid my cheek against his thigh and let pleasure sweep me away.

“Is anything wrong, sir?” I recognized the voice of the cabin attendant who’d brought the blankets.

The vibe flicked off, sparing my over-sensitized flesh. Harry rested a cautioning hand on my head.

“Um, no, thanks. I’m okay. A touch of air sickness, but I’m fine now.”

“Where’s your companion?” Did I catch a hint of suspicion in the stewardess’ voice?

“You mean my fiancée?”

Warmth welled up in me. He’d never called me that before.

“She’s in the toilet. Take-off hit her a bit harder than it did me.”

“Do you want me to check on her? We’ll be starting the dinner service soon, and she really should be in her seat.”

“No, no, I’m sure she’ll be all right. I’ll take care of her.”

‘I’ll take care of her.’ I didn’t doubt that he would.

A few minutes passed. My breathing returned to normal.

“Okay,” Harry murmured. “The coast is clear.”

I scrambled out from under the blanket and settled into my seat, grateful for the dim lighting on this night flight.

Harry tipped up my chin and planted a kiss on my cum-sticky lips. “Fasten your seat belt, love. I heard there’s some turbulence up ahead.” He fumbled under his blanket and I heard the faint sound of a zipper.

“I’d say that it had already started,” I countered with a grin. “I think I need to go clean up, though. Don’t want to arrive at my parents’ place stinking of sex.”

“Hey, there’s no hurry, Em. In fact, I think that might be premature.” Flinging the blanket aside, Harry rummaged in the carry-on he had stashed under the seat. He handed me a zippered pouch. “The next time you go to the toilet, I’d like you to insert this.”

I peeked into the bag. A neon-pink butt plug and a foil packet of lube. Oh, by the gods, what will he think of next?

“Harry, really… I don’t think…”

“Your place isn’t to think, slave, but to obey.” He leaned in for another kiss. “Right?”

“Ah…”

Surreptitiously, he cupped a breast in his palm.

I melted. “Um, right. But…”

“Emily.” The sternness in his voice stopped me cold.

“Yes, Sir?”

“It’s more than fourteen hours to Hong Kong. I have to keep you from being bored.”