"Mmm, Bastien..."
Sebastien Byrne looked down in dismay, watching as his new bride lovingly faked her way through another orgasm. She was very good at it—soft and sweet, and imminently realistic. No glass-shattering screeches, or siren-like banshee wails. In fact, if he hadn't been inside of her when it happened, he would have sworn that it had been real. His pleasure greatly diminished, he rolled over onto his side, and pulled her body tightly against his. Winter wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing the length of her body to him. He could sense the tension strumming through her, so he gently stroked her smooth, curving bottom until she relaxed.
Her face was buried in his neck, his hand still tangled in her hair. He knew that Winter loved him, just as he knew that she was aroused by him. But here they were, on the last week of their three-week honeymoon and, to his knowledge, she had yet to have an orgasm. At first, he wasn't surprised. She had been a virgin when they married, so he knew that the first few times would be an adjustment for her. However, now he was starting to worry.
Winter wasn't frigid...he knew that as truly as he knew his own name. He knew that she loved being with him almost as much as he enjoyed her. Within three weeks, he had seen her blossom from shy, sweet, eager virgin, to generous, willing, sensual lover. Sebastien couldn't understand why she had yet to climax. They had done a number of things...in a number of positions...in a number of places, but within several days, he started to suspect that she wasn't reaching her peak.
Unlike Winter, Sebastien was no virgin when they wed. He had never been too wild, but he had been in a few sexual relationships—enough to know how it felt when a woman came on his cock. He remembered feeling dry-mouthed at their wedding reception just thinking about her sweet little butterfly flutters moving up and down his hard shaft while she softly breathed his name in his ear.
He sighed. He just didn't know what was wrong. Winter had yet to say no to any of his advances—in fact, several times, she had seduced him. While they were together, her body told him that she was aroused. The flush under her tawny skin, her tight little cinnamon nipples, her dilated pupils and darkened irises, her accelerated breathing, her elevated pulse, her writhing, trembling body, not to mention the delectable wetness that literally dripped--dripped--from her swollen sex, down her soft thighs, all told him that she wanted him. Sebastien was a biology professor at Duke University, whose Ph.D from the University of Dublin had been on human sexual response. He knew what arousal looked like.
Winter had been a law student when they met. They waited until she had graduated before seriously dating, in order to quell any rumours on the surprisingly small campus. The first few times that they had been in each others company, he had thought her cold and methodical. Upon seeing her more and more however, he realized that, though she was methodical, cold couldn't have been farther from the truth. Once Winter opened up, she was charming, loyal, conscientious, and...as he had learned in the last two weeks, exceedingly passionate. Sebastien kissed her warm shoulder, while she purred, and snuggled closer, breathing slowly regulating into that of sleep.
He didn't know why his wife wasn't reaching her release, but he was going to find out before the honeymoon was over, and real life came between them.
**************************************************
Sebastien awoke to the enchanting sight of his bride bent over, plump caramel buttocks, courtesy of a Kenyan grandmother, peeking insouciantly out of her cream-coloured lace boy-shorts as she reached between her legs to attach her garters to her silken stockings.
"Good morning to me," he lilted in a sleep-roughened Irish baritone. Winter glanced at him from between her legs, then slid a hand under her long, thick, wavy, warm chocolate brown hair to help flip it back over her shoulders as she straightened. Smiling invitingly, wearing nothing but a matching creamy lace bra, panty, and garter belt set, and pale golden silk fishnet stockings, she slowly crawled up the bed to him. Straddling his hips she slowly stroked her hands up and down the sides of his chest.
"Good morning to you, lover," she responded, leaning in for a kiss.
Sebastien turned his head and stilled her arms. "Ach...not before I've showered. You smell amazing," here he inhaled the warm, humid air that still held notes of her blood orange whipped bath soap, "and I'm chock full of morning breath, and fresh urine."
Winter wrinkled her nose and laughed, gracefully removing one leg and letting herself fall on her back beside him. "Oh, Dr. Byrne, you always know just what to say."
He lasciviously grabbed a handful of smooth, soft thigh, and squeezed before rolling out of bed, and sauntering to the bathroom. "A gentleman knows never to touch a lady while he's unshowered, unbrushed, and still covered in questionable substances from the previous night." He turned in the bathroom doorway to face her. "I'm filthy--"
She rolled quickly and easily to her knees, hands planted on the bed, looking for all the world like something straight out of his most fevered transition year fantasies. "I like it when you make me dirty, Dr. Byrne," she purred dulcetly, in her husky Southern drawl.
He laughed, delighted. "Behave yourself, you impertinent young chit! I'm a man, not a sex-machine!"
Winter fell back on the bed, rolling with laughter, while Sebastien affected a long-suffering expression, and went in for his shower.
When he emerged, she was fully dressed in a figure-hugging cream wool pencil skirt, five inch black leather heels, and an iridescent golden-ebony silk button-down shirt. He held the towel negligently around his narrow hips, water still dripping from his deep auburn hair, and neatly trimmed beard. "I just don't know, darling," he started, shaking his head sadly, while his black eyes twinkled. "Are you sure that I'm not overdressed?" he finished, indicating his lack of clothing.
She turned, her large hazel eyes widening at the sight of his bare torso, water trickling slowly and lovingly down his sleek frame. Giving a breathless little laugh, Winter rejoined, "I'm sure that no one would have the temerity to complain against such a well-tailored ensemble."
Sebastien grinned, letting his towel slip casually from his hips as he walked over to pull clothing from his suitcase. Tossing the towel over his shoulder into the bathroom, he savoured the feeling of her eyes on him, as he took his time dressing. Oh, no...whatever the problem, a lack of desire from Winter was not the cause.
A sudden knock at the door startled Sebastien from his thoughts. He turned to Winter and raised an eyebrow.
"Room service," she explained. "I know how much playing with me tuckers you out, old man."
He grinned. Though he was only five years older than she, it was their running joke that he had robbed the cradle while she was busy robbing the grave. He walked over to the door, and opened it to a bright young bellhop who wheeled in the brunch cart. Sebastien tipped the bellhop, who playfully saluted him and left, whistling cheerily. Lifting the silver lid from the various dishes on the cart, he looked at her in delight.
Winter shrugged. "You worked pretty hard last night, Sebastien-mine. I thought that you deserved something more than the usual croissant and coffee this morning, so I asked them to make something a bit more substantial for you."
