Alice & Michael: Greeting

Damn.

The lights on the street were coming on, night was sticking its purple fingers into the stickiness of the July heat, even this close near the river, and he was late.

Alice's golden brown skin turned tawnier in the dimming light as she closed the balcony doors, leaned against the cool plaster of the doorjamb and closed her eyes. Her hands ran over the beige satin of the gown he'd bought. They were amazing, his tastes; running the gamut from this silk and the Chinese-red boned corset that barely covered her nipples, to the demure lawn gown that slipped just so off of her shoulders, the pearl necklace he'd bought from Italy -- and the matching bracelets that he'd cleverly attached to the bedposts...

The silk was rasping against her nipples now, and her back arched as if into the hands of her lover.

"Don't you look delicious."

Her eyes opened slowly. When had he come in?

"You're late."

"I'll make up for it." He smiled at himself, his grey eyes taking her in. He meant it -- with her, he could never get enough. Driving down here, to this old part of Savannah, two hours, the whole time with his erection and his better judgment tormenting him, he could think of a million reasons why he should never see her again: His sandy blonde hair, his White skin, his southern roots...but with her standing there, that caramel skin, those berry lips, those wine nipples pouting at him with all the knowledge of Eve, he couldn't imagine staying away.

Her hands were already lifting the hem of the gown when he crossed the room, her round hips jutting towards him, the satin cool and fanning the heat from the wooly mound that was as soft and hot and humid as the day itself had been. Kissing her was involuntary, his tongue slipping onto hers slowly, her sigh answering -- a lover's greeting.

"Michael..." His hand was on her thigh, kneading gently. She noted that his hand was only slightly darker than the gown.

"Let me apologize for being late, darling..." It was more of a plea than anything else. But he was on his knees before she could reply.

His palms were behind her knees, thumbs rubbing methodically back and forth, teasing her. Alice felt herself waver slightly and moaned.

"I thought of this all day," Michael said, his words coming to rest on her thigh. A soft kiss above her knee. "I thought of how you would taste tonight," Another kiss, higher. "I thought..." His hands gently nudged her legs further apart, "of how you smell when we..." A light lick, on the inside of her thigh. He could smell her now...

She shuddered. Michael's head was nestled between her thighs now, his hair tickling her, a conspirator with his tongue in making her weak. The first kiss to her wetness startled her in its reverence. His mouth pressed gently on her, hands flexing on her legs. And then he started to move, small butterfly kisses on the lips, on her clit, in her hair...he was worshipping her. He was paying homage to his goddess.

Alice's moans were never given freely. That's how he knew they were always genuine. Oh, her sighs and whispers, her soft whimpers of pleasure, the sobs and gasps of her orgasms haunted him at night and teased him into hardness the next morning. But he wanted to hear her scream tonight. He wanted to shout his release with her. One last chaste kiss and he was through worshipping. Dammit, he was starving. And he had the nectar of the goddess right upon his tongue.

Michael's hands were urgent now, gripping her ass with the desperation of the dying. His mouth opened and he began to sip her. Back to front, around the tip, circling, tasting, suckling...

"Michael..." A whisper. His tongue flicked her clitoris.

"Please..." Louder now. He grasped her knee and threw it unceremoniously over his shoulder. She leaned against the wall, spread wide. His tongue worked its way slowly, wetly, firmly into her. He could feel her hands in his hair. Had he been able to look up and see her eyes squeezed shut, lips parted, her nipples straining against the fabric of the gown, her tongue quickly flashing out and rivaling the pink of her lips -- maybe the wet, sweet, gash of her *other* lips.... the thought drove his tongue mindlessly into her. The resulting shudder urged him on.

Ohhh, this was no reverent worship, this. This was an out-and-out assault of the senses. Her body was flexing, her hips building a rhythm against his mouth and tongue. Ah God...she could hear him, feasting on her. His fingers joined his tongue, the different rhythms driving her mad. And then his lips found her clitoris, circling it, pressing, flicking, caressing, toying, suckling, nibbling.... and his fingers were moving in her... No mercy did he allow her when she tried to buck away; he held her fast. Her hips were riding his mouth, neither of them having any choice in the matter anymore, riding him hard, her thighs pressing against him, her strong, smooth calf hugging his spine, mouth and pussy undulating, swirling, tightening...

He moaned with her, smiling into her flexing pussy as she screamed hoarsely into the hot, thick night.

"Apology accepted, darling," Alice panted, still breathless. He answered with a nip on her thigh. The burnished gold of his hair was partly covered by the hem of the gown, his cheek framed by the smoothness of her thigh.

"Come to bed," he smiled.