If humanity has had a story to tell, it has been about this peculiar entity called love. From the earliest writings of Sumerian love poems and the Song of Solomon to the latest best sellers, we have been captivated and stimulated by tales of love and passion.
Well...maybe not all of us.
Let's consider the lords of the early Middle Ages. These were burly men of battle. When not actually fighting, they wanted to hear tales of battle, they wanted to enjoy the laudations of brute force. The famous Chanson de Roland has its origins in such settings. A wandering poet needs shelter for the night, and to gain shelter, he must please the lord with a tale. The poet then spins a tale of warriors.
This was great...if you were into that sort of thing. But what of those individuals who preferred something softer?
Enter the troubadours and trouveres of the 11th-13th centuries, and the birth of courtly love. Now the lords were away on the Crusades and other wars. Their wives and ladies were left behind to tend the castle and lay the foundations of Western literature. After enduring countless tales of blood and gore, the women welcomed stories which were a bit more evocative, a bit more imaginative, a bit more...romantic.
Since the poets now had to please a new audience, they changed the nature of their tales. Yes, there were love tales, but these tales included much more than a simply love story. There were supernatural elements, magic rings and cloaks to render the wearer invisible. There were love potions and guises and mistaken identities. Through it all, the listener was asked to feel, to emote. These were not one-dimensional characters anymore, but characters into whom life had been breathed.
And so was Western romance born.
Showing posts with label Romantic Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Romantic Fiction. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
The Apology Genre
I got into an argument with the proprietor of a local used book shop the other day. My roommate and I went poking around for old romance novels--those of the bodice-ripper days. We found none. Thinking this was strange, I found the owner and asked where he was keeping them.
She shriveled her lips at me. "I don't carry those books," she sneered.
"Really." I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "Practicing censorship?"
"Not at all. I just don't read that kind of book."
"Tell me, have you ever read a romance novel?"
"Absolutely not!"
Aha. A literary bigot. They do exist. "It seems silly to me to exclude an entire genre of reading based on what may not be an accurate impression of the genre."
She shrugged. "I don't need to read them. I know what they're all about."
That's the kind of attitude which has gotten books burned on bonfires. It's also gotten people burned at the stake.
I won't go into the gory details of my ensuing dispute with the woman, save to say she displayed a bias against the genre of love which I have found to be alive and well all over. That's bad enough. What makes it worse is the apologetic attitude romance fans then think they need assume. I've seen them in B. Dalton's, I've seen them in Barnes and Noble. They approach the check-out counter with timidity in their eyes. I've seen them on the bus, hiding their books behind purses or newspapers. I've read and heard their academic credentials, as they somehow think this lends validity to their reading selections.
Let me tell you something. I read romance. I read lots of other things, too. The only justification I need is that I enjoy it. I enjoy the transport. That's why I read fiction. Know what? I've never encountered any leery stares or looks of disapproval. I've never been put down by friends and colleagues who detest the genre, simply because they know the me that does the reading. I've also never given anyone any reason for grief (save the woman at the bookstore, but I saw that more as a philosophical issue) by trying to defend my selection of reading material.
Love it or hate it, the romance genre is here to stay. It has been around for as long as man has written. Fiction is preference--it is subjective. It is meant to be enjoyed, not debated in such ways.
There are two sides to this issue: the fans and the foes. To both sides I say, lighten up.
If blind dismissal of an entire genre seems bad, try rattling off an "impressive" (to the foolish, maybe) list of academic and professional credentials as proof of not being the typical romance-reading housewife, sitting home all day with snack cakes in one hand and a novel in the other. The genre can't be justified by the credentials of its fans, and credentials alone do not justify the romance reader.
She shriveled her lips at me. "I don't carry those books," she sneered.
"Really." I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "Practicing censorship?"
"Not at all. I just don't read that kind of book."
"Tell me, have you ever read a romance novel?"
"Absolutely not!"
Aha. A literary bigot. They do exist. "It seems silly to me to exclude an entire genre of reading based on what may not be an accurate impression of the genre."
She shrugged. "I don't need to read them. I know what they're all about."
That's the kind of attitude which has gotten books burned on bonfires. It's also gotten people burned at the stake.
I won't go into the gory details of my ensuing dispute with the woman, save to say she displayed a bias against the genre of love which I have found to be alive and well all over. That's bad enough. What makes it worse is the apologetic attitude romance fans then think they need assume. I've seen them in B. Dalton's, I've seen them in Barnes and Noble. They approach the check-out counter with timidity in their eyes. I've seen them on the bus, hiding their books behind purses or newspapers. I've read and heard their academic credentials, as they somehow think this lends validity to their reading selections.
Let me tell you something. I read romance. I read lots of other things, too. The only justification I need is that I enjoy it. I enjoy the transport. That's why I read fiction. Know what? I've never encountered any leery stares or looks of disapproval. I've never been put down by friends and colleagues who detest the genre, simply because they know the me that does the reading. I've also never given anyone any reason for grief (save the woman at the bookstore, but I saw that more as a philosophical issue) by trying to defend my selection of reading material.
Love it or hate it, the romance genre is here to stay. It has been around for as long as man has written. Fiction is preference--it is subjective. It is meant to be enjoyed, not debated in such ways.
There are two sides to this issue: the fans and the foes. To both sides I say, lighten up.
If blind dismissal of an entire genre seems bad, try rattling off an "impressive" (to the foolish, maybe) list of academic and professional credentials as proof of not being the typical romance-reading housewife, sitting home all day with snack cakes in one hand and a novel in the other. The genre can't be justified by the credentials of its fans, and credentials alone do not justify the romance reader.
Friday, July 1, 2011
"True to the Trickster"
I've been working at the story of Loki and all the legend that surrounds him for a while. Lately I got the idea to weave in a "romance" with his long suffering wife Sigyn. Here's a peek.
Burning ice and biting flame.
Sigyn wielded her sword and shield for the last time, her heart packed with ice and her spirit buried under drifts of snow. Never had the walls of Sessrumnir seemed so cold, so constricting. She had stood here in Freya's great hall so many times before. Yet in those times she had been a Valkyrie, one of the sacred thirteen. Today, she would reliquish that power forever.
Kneeling before her, prepared to take her sacred oath, Brynhilde's eyes glowed bright with promise and awe. Sigyn had no doubts about this candidate. Brynhilde was one of Odin's own daughters, and had proven herself worthy in battle. She would make an exceptional Valkyrie, perhaps even the best.
What accursed fate would that day force Sigyn to resign from the circle of Valkyries and become the unwilling wife of the most despised god in Asgard? Freya herself, the great goddess, ruler of the Valkyries, had pleaded with Odin to reconsider his command. Surely someone else could be found to marry Loki the Trickster, the Lord of Lies! But Odin, in his high chair above all the gods of Asgard and all of creation, could not be dissuaded. Sigyn, and only Sigyn, could be Loki's wife.
Meeting the goddess's glistening eyes, Sigyn knew Freya felt no great joy in this day, either. They had served long together, and Sigyn was as much of a friend to Freya as anyone. But both knew the divine law. One could not be married and serve as Freya's warrior priestess. Odin's decree that Sigyn would wed the horrible Loki was the beginning of her torture and the end of her days as a Valkyrie. Perhaps this Sigyn resented more than the forced union.
But all was not lost. On this day, Sigyn would join the Aesir and become a goddess in her own right. That had been Odin's reward to her for suffering these marriage arrangements. Even if Loki were worse than reputed, Sigyn would never get the chance to become a full goddess again. And so, she had agreed to marry Loki.
Sigyn looped the shield onto Brynhilde's arm and pressed the hilt of the sword into her hand. Now it was done. Brynhilde had become a Valkyrie by the grace of Freya.
They left Freya's hall in procession, with Freya herself at the head. Sigyn, veiled and bowing her head, followed the goddess, and the Valkyries followed her. In this way did they come into a larger hall, a hall which joined Freya's Sessrumnir to Odin's Gladsheim. There the goddesses Idunna, Sif, and Frigga waited to greet the bride.
Sigyn raised her head and looked around at the goddesses and Valkyries around her. All wore faces of stone, dismal expressions belying their inner forboding. She almost laughed as she thought these proceedings were more like a funeral than a marriage celebration. "Where is the funeral ship?" she said, her voice forced to be light. "When will you load my corpse onto the ship and set it ablaze?"
Running her fingers through her cropped hair, the goddess Sif sighed. Her suffering at Loki's hands had brought about this marriage in the first place. Loki had crept with the night into the palace Sif shared with her husband Thor and cut away all of her beautiful golden hair. As punishment for his mischief, Loki would now be forced to marry. "You can hardly expect us to be happy on this day," Sif said. "I would that Odin had simply killed the beast outright than try to tame him through marriage."
"But there is reason to celebrate, for on this day Sigyn joins the Aesir and becomes a goddess," Freyja said. "To celebrate, we each have a gift for you. No woman shall ever receive wedding gifts such as these."
"Indeed." The tiny Sif smiled at Sigyn. "You are a goddess now, my sister, and among the Aesir. As such, you will need to keep watch over Midgard from your own hall. Therefore, my present to you is your own World Eye, through which you will be able to see the happenings in the mortal realm. May you be blessed."
Sigyn believed she would burst with the thrill she felt. Her own World Eye! She would have her own window on the world of man. Her new status as a goddess of the Aesir became more of a reality. "Sif, my deepest thanks," she said, hugging the little goddess. "I will use the World Eye and serve the mortal as best I may."
Smiling, Sif nodded, and then stepped back to let Frigga embrace Sigyn. "Lovely lady, your marriage will not be an easy one. You know well that you are marrying the most difficult of bridegrooms. For that reason, I make patience and temperance my gifts to you. I enable you to cope with the trials of Loki with love and tenderness, and I pray that by being the best of wives, you might come to tame the Trickster."
Such a gift was a blessing, indeed. Sigyn had been unable to reckon how she could live with the monster Loki and keep peace. Frigga would make that possible. "My thanks to you, Mother," she said, enfolded in Frigga's arms. "I will do as best I may."
Now Idunna, the Lady of Youth, stepped forward. She cradled a small golden chest in her arms, with the world tree Ygradrisil engraved on the lid. "As my gift, I give to you the Apples of Youth," she said, patting the chest. "Of these you and the Aesir will eat, and you remain young and strong forever."
Her hands trembling, Sigyn took the golden chest from Idunna. "How am I worthy of such a gift?"
Idunna's full lips turned in a smirk. "You are marrying Loki. You need all the power you can get."
Sigyn looked down at the chest in her arms as Idunna continued. "At the end of a feast in Asgard, your duty will be to feed an apple to each of the Aesir. And worry not, for no matter how many apples you give away, you will always have more in store." Idunna's face turned stern. "However, it is a great responsibility. The evil Giants will be anxious to steal these apples from you for themselves, and your husband is half of giant blood. Keep your wits, Sigyn, and guard these apples as you would guard your life."
"And so I shall." Sigyn exchanged a tender embrace with the goddess, wondering in Idunna's warmth and beauty.
Finally, Freya approached Sigyn, with tears of solid gold falling from her eyes. Freya's eyes focused on the charm which hung between Sigyn's breasts. The simple disc, inscibed with a seven-pointed star, protected each Valkyrie from the lusts of men. So long as she wore the amulet, and none but the goddess Freya could remove it, a Valkyrie need never lie with a man she did not desire.
Sigyn feared her heart would break. To part with the amulet was to part with her life as Freya's maiden forever. But she supposed there was no hope for it. A woman could not be a wife and a Valkyrie. Sigyn lifted her hair and turned her back to Freya, intending to return the amulet.
But Freya shook her head, and her tears stopped. "You may keep your amulet, Sigyn. Call it my wedding gift to you."
Burning ice and biting flame.
Sigyn wielded her sword and shield for the last time, her heart packed with ice and her spirit buried under drifts of snow. Never had the walls of Sessrumnir seemed so cold, so constricting. She had stood here in Freya's great hall so many times before. Yet in those times she had been a Valkyrie, one of the sacred thirteen. Today, she would reliquish that power forever.
Kneeling before her, prepared to take her sacred oath, Brynhilde's eyes glowed bright with promise and awe. Sigyn had no doubts about this candidate. Brynhilde was one of Odin's own daughters, and had proven herself worthy in battle. She would make an exceptional Valkyrie, perhaps even the best.
What accursed fate would that day force Sigyn to resign from the circle of Valkyries and become the unwilling wife of the most despised god in Asgard? Freya herself, the great goddess, ruler of the Valkyries, had pleaded with Odin to reconsider his command. Surely someone else could be found to marry Loki the Trickster, the Lord of Lies! But Odin, in his high chair above all the gods of Asgard and all of creation, could not be dissuaded. Sigyn, and only Sigyn, could be Loki's wife.
Meeting the goddess's glistening eyes, Sigyn knew Freya felt no great joy in this day, either. They had served long together, and Sigyn was as much of a friend to Freya as anyone. But both knew the divine law. One could not be married and serve as Freya's warrior priestess. Odin's decree that Sigyn would wed the horrible Loki was the beginning of her torture and the end of her days as a Valkyrie. Perhaps this Sigyn resented more than the forced union.
But all was not lost. On this day, Sigyn would join the Aesir and become a goddess in her own right. That had been Odin's reward to her for suffering these marriage arrangements. Even if Loki were worse than reputed, Sigyn would never get the chance to become a full goddess again. And so, she had agreed to marry Loki.
Sigyn looped the shield onto Brynhilde's arm and pressed the hilt of the sword into her hand. Now it was done. Brynhilde had become a Valkyrie by the grace of Freya.
They left Freya's hall in procession, with Freya herself at the head. Sigyn, veiled and bowing her head, followed the goddess, and the Valkyries followed her. In this way did they come into a larger hall, a hall which joined Freya's Sessrumnir to Odin's Gladsheim. There the goddesses Idunna, Sif, and Frigga waited to greet the bride.
Sigyn raised her head and looked around at the goddesses and Valkyries around her. All wore faces of stone, dismal expressions belying their inner forboding. She almost laughed as she thought these proceedings were more like a funeral than a marriage celebration. "Where is the funeral ship?" she said, her voice forced to be light. "When will you load my corpse onto the ship and set it ablaze?"
Running her fingers through her cropped hair, the goddess Sif sighed. Her suffering at Loki's hands had brought about this marriage in the first place. Loki had crept with the night into the palace Sif shared with her husband Thor and cut away all of her beautiful golden hair. As punishment for his mischief, Loki would now be forced to marry. "You can hardly expect us to be happy on this day," Sif said. "I would that Odin had simply killed the beast outright than try to tame him through marriage."
"But there is reason to celebrate, for on this day Sigyn joins the Aesir and becomes a goddess," Freyja said. "To celebrate, we each have a gift for you. No woman shall ever receive wedding gifts such as these."
"Indeed." The tiny Sif smiled at Sigyn. "You are a goddess now, my sister, and among the Aesir. As such, you will need to keep watch over Midgard from your own hall. Therefore, my present to you is your own World Eye, through which you will be able to see the happenings in the mortal realm. May you be blessed."
Sigyn believed she would burst with the thrill she felt. Her own World Eye! She would have her own window on the world of man. Her new status as a goddess of the Aesir became more of a reality. "Sif, my deepest thanks," she said, hugging the little goddess. "I will use the World Eye and serve the mortal as best I may."
Smiling, Sif nodded, and then stepped back to let Frigga embrace Sigyn. "Lovely lady, your marriage will not be an easy one. You know well that you are marrying the most difficult of bridegrooms. For that reason, I make patience and temperance my gifts to you. I enable you to cope with the trials of Loki with love and tenderness, and I pray that by being the best of wives, you might come to tame the Trickster."
Such a gift was a blessing, indeed. Sigyn had been unable to reckon how she could live with the monster Loki and keep peace. Frigga would make that possible. "My thanks to you, Mother," she said, enfolded in Frigga's arms. "I will do as best I may."
Now Idunna, the Lady of Youth, stepped forward. She cradled a small golden chest in her arms, with the world tree Ygradrisil engraved on the lid. "As my gift, I give to you the Apples of Youth," she said, patting the chest. "Of these you and the Aesir will eat, and you remain young and strong forever."
Her hands trembling, Sigyn took the golden chest from Idunna. "How am I worthy of such a gift?"
Idunna's full lips turned in a smirk. "You are marrying Loki. You need all the power you can get."
Sigyn looked down at the chest in her arms as Idunna continued. "At the end of a feast in Asgard, your duty will be to feed an apple to each of the Aesir. And worry not, for no matter how many apples you give away, you will always have more in store." Idunna's face turned stern. "However, it is a great responsibility. The evil Giants will be anxious to steal these apples from you for themselves, and your husband is half of giant blood. Keep your wits, Sigyn, and guard these apples as you would guard your life."
"And so I shall." Sigyn exchanged a tender embrace with the goddess, wondering in Idunna's warmth and beauty.
Finally, Freya approached Sigyn, with tears of solid gold falling from her eyes. Freya's eyes focused on the charm which hung between Sigyn's breasts. The simple disc, inscibed with a seven-pointed star, protected each Valkyrie from the lusts of men. So long as she wore the amulet, and none but the goddess Freya could remove it, a Valkyrie need never lie with a man she did not desire.
Sigyn feared her heart would break. To part with the amulet was to part with her life as Freya's maiden forever. But she supposed there was no hope for it. A woman could not be a wife and a Valkyrie. Sigyn lifted her hair and turned her back to Freya, intending to return the amulet.
But Freya shook her head, and her tears stopped. "You may keep your amulet, Sigyn. Call it my wedding gift to you."
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Sex Scene from 1995
Explicit, silly, or explicitly silly? You make the call.
This is a dream, she told herself. This must be a dream. This cannot be happening. Yet she nuzzled into Byron's warmth, taking comfort in his embrace. "Why are you shaking?" he asked her, stroking her hair. "Don't be nervous, Maxine. I don't stop being your friend because we kiss now. I'm not a stranger to you."
"I don't think it's nerves," she whispered huskily. Her green eyes blazed with her desire, and she ached to have this man. Maxine tried to get a grip on her drive, but this time, it would not be denied. Her passions were so strong that they coursed through her, making her body tremble in Byron's arms. Then, bravely, she added, "I want you."
"Oh, Maxine," Byron let out a shaking sigh of delirious anticipation. "You don't know what those words from your mouth do to me."
Maxine widened her eyes quickly, lustfully. "Words cannot compare with actions, Byron."
Byron was torn between devouring Maxine right there, where they stood--such a temptation!--and being in a more relaxing position to show her those pleasures of physical love which would be hers alone. He intended to take all night getting to know Maxine's body, if she would let him. "I don't mind standing here, but would you want to get more comfortable?" He blushed as he quickly lowered his eyes, then raised them again to meet her fervent green pools. Slowly, Maxine wet her lips, nodding.
"For lack of a more creative idea at this moment," he said, "will the bedroom do?"
"Bedroom is fine," she whispered.
"May I carry you?" he asked, glowing in his desire. "I'd like to."
Smirking, Maxine said, "Byron, I am not light. I don't want you to break your back."
Byron, with an amused smile on his lips, brushed his nose against hers playfully. "Nor am I weak, Maxine." And Maxine giggled in surprise when Byron easily swept her into his firm, muscled arms, as if she were weightless. "See? You belong here in my arms," he said, grinning at her.
"Your arms were made to carry me?" she asked coyly, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"I have no doubt," he answered to her pleasure as he slowly carried her into his spacious bedroom. Byron gently lay Maxine on the bed, on top of the comforter. The bed easily three times the width of her own, and she looked around her in amazement. "It's pretty big," he offered, laughing softly at her amazement. "You become a celebrity and suddenly they think you prefer huge beds. I don't even want to think why."
"Not very snug, that's for sure," she said. "Don't you get lonely?"
Her green eyes focused on him as he crawled onto the red sheets beside her, sleek as a panther. "I get very lonely," he said softly. "Always lonely. I hate being alone in the night, Maxine. I'm hoping you can fix that."
Experimentally, she pressed her body firmly against his, allowing the contours of her body to fit with his. She watched in delight as his blue eyes widened in shocked pleasure. She continued to move against his muscular body, subtly, in small, writhing motions, and he tightened his hold on her. "We fit so well together," she breathed.
"Maxine," he gasped, "what are you doing?"
"Getting to know you," she answered as she ran her fingers through his magnificent brown tresses. "Don't you like it?"
"I love it," he whispered. "But when you have desired a woman as long as I have desired you, every touch she gives you sends you into a frenzy."
"You're in a frenzy?"
"I'm getting there," he said, sweating profusely.
"Then what can I do for you?"
Maxine heard him swallow; tiny beads of perspiration appeared on his face. "I am at your command, Maxine. I want what you want."
"Do you want to make love to me?" she asked huskily, replete with intention.
"God, yes!" he exclaimed, pouncing on her, kissing her lips, her neck, her ears.
Maxine squealed in delight at the sensation of Byron's lips against her skin. "I figured as much," she said, with a giggle in her voice.
As she touched his handsome, well-defined face, outlining it with her gentle fingers, Byron grabbed her hand, kissing her palm, her fingers. The feel of his lips on her hand filled her with a desire she had never before experienced--so all-encompassing, taking over her body and spirit. Byron moved his lips along her arm, pushing up the sleeve of her brown sweater, savoring her ivory flesh. Maxine watched in a mixture of amazement and bliss--she had never been aware of how sensitive the skin of her arm was to the touch. A magical surge of pleasure spread throughout her body from the point where Byron's lips touched her skin.
After a bit he stopped, looking up at her hungrily. "Maxine," he said, "I can't go any further up your arm--your sweater is in the way."
Sweating, understanding his prelude, longing for Byron to disrobe her, Maxine whispered, "What do you recommend we do, then?"
Gently, carefully, he brought his hands against her body. He eagerly felt for her breasts over her thin sweater, never once taking his eyes off of hers. "I cannot resist," he said softly, slipping his hands underneath the soft wool to caress her skin. She widened her eyes at his touch, at the incredible heat flowing out from his hands. "Maxine, I have dreamed of looking upon you," he murmured, moving his hands across her belly, along her ribs and over the well-defined swells. "Would you let me see you, my sweet one?"
Obligingly, she sat up slightly, and together they pulled her sweater over her head. He threw the sweater onto the floor, and returned to her in a passionate haste. "God, Maxine, please tell me I don't have to control myself," he rasped, staring at her flesh in naked hunger.
"On the contrary," she sighed, "I want you to lose control."
Byron feasted his admiring eyes on the swell of her ample bosom, hidden by enticing red lace, on her supple belly, on her bare, soft shoulders. He was stunned by the beauty of Maxine's feminine, white hips, which curved out from her tiny waist. Byron's eyes betrayed his delight as they traced her curvaceous body, and Maxine smiled, feeling herself blush a little as she anticipated his touch. Bending down to her, he kissed her softly against the supple flesh of her belly. He brought his mouth against her navel, exploring the cavity with his curious tongue. An undeniable rapture spread through Maxine's body where Byron's lips touched her, conquering her flesh and her mind. He slowly moved his lips over her body, tasting and savoring the naked flesh of her belly, her waist, over her ribs, until he was madly kissing the tops of her breasts, pushing his tongue under the red lace in voracious, erotic hunger.
"Byron, don't tease me," Maxine said lasciviously. She raised herself slightly, and Byron was quick to oblige her, moving his hands around to her back. "No no no," she said softly, bringing his hands to the clasp in the front, between her heaving breasts. He reddened a little, but she said "Yes, bras are confusing," and he laughed as he gently undid the clasp.
In a moment, after a little wriggle, Maxine was completely bare from her hips upwards, and Byron was devoting his full, ardent attention to her sensuous white breasts. After Samantha's scarred, silicone-filled excuses for breasts, Byron jubillated in the taste and touch and feel of Maxine's natural abundance. It had not been difficult for him to notice Maxine's breasts from the moment he had met her; practically everything she wore fit snugly around her chest, whether she tried to hide her endowment or not. He imagined he was like any man in that Maxine's bosom was a great part of her physical and sexual allure. Yet he never could have imagined the euphoria of touching her, kissing her, that he had now, as she squirmed beneath him, groaning. Maxine was full and firm, and the very skin of his palm tingled in delight as he fondled her soft, feminine flesh. As he held her, grasping her, bringing her into his hot mouth, Byron shivered in the sensations of possession--his possession of Maxine.
"Do you like this?" he asked eagerly, fervently kissing the swollen pink tips of her breasts. "Does it feel good for you?"
"It feels wonderful," she sighed, basking in the ecstatic sweetness Byron aroused within her. She writhed against the red satin, excited gasps escaping her moist lips.
"Good, good," Byron murmured, gently teasing her nipples with his ardent lips. "When you've been starving for the real thing as long as I have, it's very hard to stop. You're magnificent, Maxine. I could make love to your breasts all night long."
Maxine groaned happily, laying back as Byron worked his magic on her sensitive, responsive swells. She was not accustomed to such devotional foreplay, although she had always desired it. Byron, however, was slowly, intently coaxing the woman out of her. He was maddening, his fingers caressing her, his soft mouth on her nipples, the thick mane of his hair falling over her body. He was so very hungry for her, to touch her, and this increased her own appetite tremendously. Maxine surrendered to him wholly, letting him fill her with pleasure and longing for him. She contemplated that this must be what it was like to truly want a man inside her, to want to become one flesh with a man. Byron so excited and aroused her that a hunger had been awakened in her loins, for him alone, and grew the more he touched her. Maxine loved every exhilrating bit.
"I promise I'll come back to them," Byron laughed softly, barely able to pull himself away from her breasts. He raised himself on his knees, coming astride her, and brought her hands to the bottom of his tight black shirt in an invitation to explore. "I need you to touch me, Maxine--I need you to touch me everywhere."
"I can do that," she agreed happily.
Deliriously, she pushed her hands up under the fabric, lightly stroking his chest with her trembling hands. She helped him remove his shirt, and Maxine jerked in desire at the sight of his lean, muscled chest--so infamous, and at her fingertips. Maxine caressed his firm belly, his shoulders, taking pleasure in the feel of his flesh under her hands. Adoringly, as if worshipping him, she reached up to touch him, and Byron moaned blissfully as her fingers caressed him, luxuriating in her touch. He threw his head back, his lush hair cascading behind him. "Ah Maxine, you don't know how much I want you!"
"This much?" she asked as she sat up and began to lick the flesh of his torso in broad, tantalizing sweeps of her tongue.
Byron gasped, losing himself in the playful strokes of Maxine's warm tongue. "Please consume me," he moaned as her hands and tongue worked on him in unison. Delighting in her and these incredible, hot sensations, he brought himself down on the bed next to her, rolling onto his side. Maxine slowly moved her fingers all over his torso, stimulating every inch of his skin with her skillfull fingertips. Byron's body was hard and muscular, but his skin was smooth and practically hairless, which made Maxine even more desirous of him. Sweat beaded on his skin, brought forth by the energy of his great arousal, as his sparkling blue eyes looked at her from the depths of his love.
Byron rested his head between her breasts, kissing the white softness, his mere presence tantalizing Maxine, and looked up at her adoringly. He breathed heavily as he searched for and found her hand and clasped it tightly. Gazing at her, he said nothing, luxuriating in the experience of her flesh next to his, realizing that no other woman in existence could bring him to feel what he felt at that moment. He had been fully aroused for a very long time, Maxine noticed, but Byron refused to rush this. He intended to prove his devotion to Maxine, and it would begin with making her feel wonderful.
"Maxine, do I go on? Is there a point to going on? You have already provided me with more joy than I have ever felt," he murmured into her bosom.
"Please go on," she rasped. "I need you."
Byron's face illuminated further. "I want you, Maxine," he whispered. "I will be gentle."
"It doesn't matter. Just be what you are."
His lips moved down from her breasts very slowly, not allowing any part of her bare skin to go unkissed, down to where a clasp held her tight black pants shut. He again kissed the soft flesh of her belly as he undid the clasp and carefully moved his hand under the cloth, slowly pulling the black fabric down from her shapely hips and over her rounded thighs. Tasting her exposed flesh, he stared at her body in naked longing. "God, Maxine, I knew you were beautiful," he exclaimed in disbelief. "But this! I love so much more about you, but your body is beyond compare."
Now Maxine reddened completely. "You aren't so bad yourself," she said slyly, running her hands along his strong shoulders.
Byron brushed his lips against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, gently nibbling at the beckoning softness. He rested his head between those white, sensual pillows, muscular yet rounded and feminine, and raised his eyes. "Can I explore you?" he asked, flicking his tongue over her skin, and she quickly nodded her consent. Kissing her tiny red curls, he brought his hand between her thighs and delicately stroked her moist cleft. As she spread her legs, relaxing in Byron's careful touch, he moved his kisses along her inner thigh until his tongue replaced his fingers in his exploration of her. She arched her back at his thrilling touch, gentle but determined, crying out in exhiliration.
After a bit she sat up, and Byron pouted playfully. "I wasn't finished," he said, raising an eyebrow at her.
"You'll have plenty of opportunity, I promise," she rasped. "But I need to feel you." She brought her hands to him and hastily removed the black denim from his firm legs, squeezing her own body against his. Their bodies melted into each other, and Byron and Maxine were fully aware of the incredible scorching sensations of their bare bodies, finally entwined, finally touching.
Byron gazed at her, examining her unclad body voraciously. "I love to touch you," he said softly, running his fingers along her arm, leaving tingling trails on her skin. "You would not believe how pent-up I have felt." He slid his hands over her breasts, down her belly, searing her ivory flesh. "I have never touched a woman like this before. No one has ever let me."
"Their loss," she whispered.
"I don't care," he murmured, runing his fingertips along the insides of her quivering thighs. He brought his fingers up to her well-defined hips, lightly brushing them against her belly as he intently moved his eager hands towards her breasts. "I can't stop myself," he whispered into her hair. "Your breasts are beautiful, Maxine."
At the touch of his fingertips, Maxine could feel her mind skyrocketing, spiraling upwards towards the stars in pure ecstasy. "Now I'll tell you," she gasped breathily as he traced his fingers in circles around her left breast, "how pent up I have been--no one has touched me like this, like I want to be touched. I love you touching me, Byron."
"I find that incredible," he commented, gently tickling her nipples. "Any man who could be intimate with you and not touch you is a masochist." With that, he brought his lips to her breasts, kissing them tenderly. He brought one, full peak into his mouth, sucking softly as Maxine squirmed beneath him. Byron, wanting to know how to best pleasure the woman he loved, experimented, running his tongue against her erect nipple, slowly at first but with incresing frenzy. Maxine breathed heavily, clutching at the sheets as Byron adeptly moved from one breast to the other, teasing her to ecstasy.
Byron slowly brought his face up from her tingling breasts to meet her irresisitible lips. Naked and enchanted, he clung to her, kissing her hungrily, zealously exploring her body with his avid fingers. "I'll never get enough of you," he whispered. "You're too beautiful to be for real."
Maxine deliriously lay in Byron's strong arms, aware of nothing but the electric touch of his fingers as they traced over her yearning flesh. In spirited curiousity, she discreetly glanced at the virile flesh between his legs. She quickly evaluated that Byron was absolutely stiff and wasn't, she noticed happily, too big for her. But he seemed in no hurry to advance to that stage of their lovemaking, and Maxine had the luxury of wondering, what if he did indeed love her? What if this was the love of her life that everyone kept talking about?
She allowed her probing fingers to meander along his body, reaching between his legs. Her soft caresses against his hardness drove Byron to writhe in building ecstasy, breathing in a hot, deep panting. "I want you to have a little ecstasy yourself," she whispered. Tenderly, she explored him, feeling him with her aware fingertips, moving her fingers all around, running them against the flesh of his inner thighs and out onto his firm buttocks. She wanted to explore him with her tongue, driving him to those unique points of ecstasy that such would provide, but Byron held her too firmly to him, cherishing her closeness, and Maxine elected to leave that for another time.
Byron was sweating heavily now, his breath reduced to a heavy pant, a lustful whimpering escaping his lips. Maxine decided that Byron had endured his erection long enough, and, reaching the extent of her own restraint, she made a quick decision to take the initiative. She mounted him easily, smiling at his surprised, imparadised expression as her wealth of copper curls fell around both of their bodies. "Do you mind?" she asked, bringing him in contact with her hot, wet flesh.
He gasped, closing his eyes as a pleasurable sensation washed over him. "Please take me!"
Maxine rolled the condom onto him, tantalizing him with her fingers as she checked the tip for adequate space. Byron's eyes widened enormously as she slowly brought him into her, holding him inside of her as she bent down to kiss him. She felt him shiver as she worked her secret, feminine muscles, massaging him within her. She squeezed him, then loosened again, repeating the cycle. "How do you do that?" he asked breathlessly, amazed and overwhelmed.
"Practice," she said as she slowly began to move her body.
Byron followed her slow rhythm at first, enjoying the sensations which flooded his being. But quickly, his need to speed up the motion increased, and Maxine joyfully obliged him. For a brief moment Maxine thought how nice it would be if they could reach climax together, but that thought was soon lost as that ultimate ecstasy which had been building within her took her completely. Overcome with the pleasure of the moment, Maxine nevertheless noticed Byron's sweaty smile, his loud, sensual groans, his repeating her name, as he approached the peak, and then his louder, screamed moan as he clutched her body to him and went beyond the highest pleasure.
Byron and Maxine lay completely entwined, colapsed. Maxine tried to bring her breathing back into some normal pattern, but Byron continued to breath deeply and throatily. Maxine carefully helped Byron withdraw from her, holding the rim of the condom. She dropped it onto the floor, and settled into Byron's waiting arms. Byron breathed heavily, gazing at her with a bliss mixture of satisfaction and love. Happily, Maxine rested upon his well-muscled chest, letting his rapid heart beat soothe and calm her. His body, warm and wet, seemed to melt into her own as he kissed her tenderly, clasping her to him. "Maxine," he rasped, "I love you. I will do anything you want me to." He paused. "And I don't just mean in bed. Please, please, tell me, do you have any feelings for me?"
"You know I do," she whispered. "You know how much you mean to me."
"Do I?"
Maxine smiled, stroking his wet hair comfortingly. How could he seriously be asking this? Here he lay, naked in her arms after they had shared the greatest intimacy and pleasure, his eyes betraying his vulnerability. She knew that this creature, this perfect masculine creature, truly needed to be loved, and that he needed her, for whatever reason, to love him. She absolutely would not hide her own emotions from him, not when he had exposed his own heart to her.
"There's an emotion in me now that I have never felt before, Byron, and you have put it there," she told him. "Know now that I fell in love with you the first time I looked into your eyes. Yes, I love you, too."
And as she said it, she again realized how true it was. She did not love him for his body--although she loved that in and of itself--but for his whole, complete self--for his compassion, for his decency, for his emotions, for his depth. Maxine might have been only twenty-two, but she was no fool. She knew what she wanted, what was good for her, what she loved. And she loved Byron Thorn.
Byron hugged her tighter, bursting in his joy, experiencing an ecstasy even greater than the one he had just enjoyed. He kissed her madly, tears brimming in his eyes. "You do love me?" he asked, confirming that he had heard her correctly.
"With all my heart," she said truthfully.
He laughed and cried at the same time as he cradled her against him. "Let me make your life wonderful! Ah, God! You sweet thing, I never thought I would love like this!" And he took her body and kissed her everywhere, mumuring his love and devotion into her supple flesh. "I love you, Maxine. I will never let you go," he whispered. "I swear."
Maxine said nothing--words seemed irrelevant right then--but nuzzled closer to him. Byron pulled the red comforter around them protectively, shutting out everything and everyone but he and Maxine and this paradise they shared together.
This is a dream, she told herself. This must be a dream. This cannot be happening. Yet she nuzzled into Byron's warmth, taking comfort in his embrace. "Why are you shaking?" he asked her, stroking her hair. "Don't be nervous, Maxine. I don't stop being your friend because we kiss now. I'm not a stranger to you."
"I don't think it's nerves," she whispered huskily. Her green eyes blazed with her desire, and she ached to have this man. Maxine tried to get a grip on her drive, but this time, it would not be denied. Her passions were so strong that they coursed through her, making her body tremble in Byron's arms. Then, bravely, she added, "I want you."
"Oh, Maxine," Byron let out a shaking sigh of delirious anticipation. "You don't know what those words from your mouth do to me."
Maxine widened her eyes quickly, lustfully. "Words cannot compare with actions, Byron."
Byron was torn between devouring Maxine right there, where they stood--such a temptation!--and being in a more relaxing position to show her those pleasures of physical love which would be hers alone. He intended to take all night getting to know Maxine's body, if she would let him. "I don't mind standing here, but would you want to get more comfortable?" He blushed as he quickly lowered his eyes, then raised them again to meet her fervent green pools. Slowly, Maxine wet her lips, nodding.
"For lack of a more creative idea at this moment," he said, "will the bedroom do?"
"Bedroom is fine," she whispered.
"May I carry you?" he asked, glowing in his desire. "I'd like to."
Smirking, Maxine said, "Byron, I am not light. I don't want you to break your back."
Byron, with an amused smile on his lips, brushed his nose against hers playfully. "Nor am I weak, Maxine." And Maxine giggled in surprise when Byron easily swept her into his firm, muscled arms, as if she were weightless. "See? You belong here in my arms," he said, grinning at her.
"Your arms were made to carry me?" she asked coyly, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"I have no doubt," he answered to her pleasure as he slowly carried her into his spacious bedroom. Byron gently lay Maxine on the bed, on top of the comforter. The bed easily three times the width of her own, and she looked around her in amazement. "It's pretty big," he offered, laughing softly at her amazement. "You become a celebrity and suddenly they think you prefer huge beds. I don't even want to think why."
"Not very snug, that's for sure," she said. "Don't you get lonely?"
Her green eyes focused on him as he crawled onto the red sheets beside her, sleek as a panther. "I get very lonely," he said softly. "Always lonely. I hate being alone in the night, Maxine. I'm hoping you can fix that."
Experimentally, she pressed her body firmly against his, allowing the contours of her body to fit with his. She watched in delight as his blue eyes widened in shocked pleasure. She continued to move against his muscular body, subtly, in small, writhing motions, and he tightened his hold on her. "We fit so well together," she breathed.
"Maxine," he gasped, "what are you doing?"
"Getting to know you," she answered as she ran her fingers through his magnificent brown tresses. "Don't you like it?"
"I love it," he whispered. "But when you have desired a woman as long as I have desired you, every touch she gives you sends you into a frenzy."
"You're in a frenzy?"
"I'm getting there," he said, sweating profusely.
"Then what can I do for you?"
Maxine heard him swallow; tiny beads of perspiration appeared on his face. "I am at your command, Maxine. I want what you want."
"Do you want to make love to me?" she asked huskily, replete with intention.
"God, yes!" he exclaimed, pouncing on her, kissing her lips, her neck, her ears.
Maxine squealed in delight at the sensation of Byron's lips against her skin. "I figured as much," she said, with a giggle in her voice.
As she touched his handsome, well-defined face, outlining it with her gentle fingers, Byron grabbed her hand, kissing her palm, her fingers. The feel of his lips on her hand filled her with a desire she had never before experienced--so all-encompassing, taking over her body and spirit. Byron moved his lips along her arm, pushing up the sleeve of her brown sweater, savoring her ivory flesh. Maxine watched in a mixture of amazement and bliss--she had never been aware of how sensitive the skin of her arm was to the touch. A magical surge of pleasure spread throughout her body from the point where Byron's lips touched her skin.
After a bit he stopped, looking up at her hungrily. "Maxine," he said, "I can't go any further up your arm--your sweater is in the way."
Sweating, understanding his prelude, longing for Byron to disrobe her, Maxine whispered, "What do you recommend we do, then?"
Gently, carefully, he brought his hands against her body. He eagerly felt for her breasts over her thin sweater, never once taking his eyes off of hers. "I cannot resist," he said softly, slipping his hands underneath the soft wool to caress her skin. She widened her eyes at his touch, at the incredible heat flowing out from his hands. "Maxine, I have dreamed of looking upon you," he murmured, moving his hands across her belly, along her ribs and over the well-defined swells. "Would you let me see you, my sweet one?"
Obligingly, she sat up slightly, and together they pulled her sweater over her head. He threw the sweater onto the floor, and returned to her in a passionate haste. "God, Maxine, please tell me I don't have to control myself," he rasped, staring at her flesh in naked hunger.
"On the contrary," she sighed, "I want you to lose control."
Byron feasted his admiring eyes on the swell of her ample bosom, hidden by enticing red lace, on her supple belly, on her bare, soft shoulders. He was stunned by the beauty of Maxine's feminine, white hips, which curved out from her tiny waist. Byron's eyes betrayed his delight as they traced her curvaceous body, and Maxine smiled, feeling herself blush a little as she anticipated his touch. Bending down to her, he kissed her softly against the supple flesh of her belly. He brought his mouth against her navel, exploring the cavity with his curious tongue. An undeniable rapture spread through Maxine's body where Byron's lips touched her, conquering her flesh and her mind. He slowly moved his lips over her body, tasting and savoring the naked flesh of her belly, her waist, over her ribs, until he was madly kissing the tops of her breasts, pushing his tongue under the red lace in voracious, erotic hunger.
"Byron, don't tease me," Maxine said lasciviously. She raised herself slightly, and Byron was quick to oblige her, moving his hands around to her back. "No no no," she said softly, bringing his hands to the clasp in the front, between her heaving breasts. He reddened a little, but she said "Yes, bras are confusing," and he laughed as he gently undid the clasp.
In a moment, after a little wriggle, Maxine was completely bare from her hips upwards, and Byron was devoting his full, ardent attention to her sensuous white breasts. After Samantha's scarred, silicone-filled excuses for breasts, Byron jubillated in the taste and touch and feel of Maxine's natural abundance. It had not been difficult for him to notice Maxine's breasts from the moment he had met her; practically everything she wore fit snugly around her chest, whether she tried to hide her endowment or not. He imagined he was like any man in that Maxine's bosom was a great part of her physical and sexual allure. Yet he never could have imagined the euphoria of touching her, kissing her, that he had now, as she squirmed beneath him, groaning. Maxine was full and firm, and the very skin of his palm tingled in delight as he fondled her soft, feminine flesh. As he held her, grasping her, bringing her into his hot mouth, Byron shivered in the sensations of possession--his possession of Maxine.
"Do you like this?" he asked eagerly, fervently kissing the swollen pink tips of her breasts. "Does it feel good for you?"
"It feels wonderful," she sighed, basking in the ecstatic sweetness Byron aroused within her. She writhed against the red satin, excited gasps escaping her moist lips.
"Good, good," Byron murmured, gently teasing her nipples with his ardent lips. "When you've been starving for the real thing as long as I have, it's very hard to stop. You're magnificent, Maxine. I could make love to your breasts all night long."
Maxine groaned happily, laying back as Byron worked his magic on her sensitive, responsive swells. She was not accustomed to such devotional foreplay, although she had always desired it. Byron, however, was slowly, intently coaxing the woman out of her. He was maddening, his fingers caressing her, his soft mouth on her nipples, the thick mane of his hair falling over her body. He was so very hungry for her, to touch her, and this increased her own appetite tremendously. Maxine surrendered to him wholly, letting him fill her with pleasure and longing for him. She contemplated that this must be what it was like to truly want a man inside her, to want to become one flesh with a man. Byron so excited and aroused her that a hunger had been awakened in her loins, for him alone, and grew the more he touched her. Maxine loved every exhilrating bit.
"I promise I'll come back to them," Byron laughed softly, barely able to pull himself away from her breasts. He raised himself on his knees, coming astride her, and brought her hands to the bottom of his tight black shirt in an invitation to explore. "I need you to touch me, Maxine--I need you to touch me everywhere."
"I can do that," she agreed happily.
Deliriously, she pushed her hands up under the fabric, lightly stroking his chest with her trembling hands. She helped him remove his shirt, and Maxine jerked in desire at the sight of his lean, muscled chest--so infamous, and at her fingertips. Maxine caressed his firm belly, his shoulders, taking pleasure in the feel of his flesh under her hands. Adoringly, as if worshipping him, she reached up to touch him, and Byron moaned blissfully as her fingers caressed him, luxuriating in her touch. He threw his head back, his lush hair cascading behind him. "Ah Maxine, you don't know how much I want you!"
"This much?" she asked as she sat up and began to lick the flesh of his torso in broad, tantalizing sweeps of her tongue.
Byron gasped, losing himself in the playful strokes of Maxine's warm tongue. "Please consume me," he moaned as her hands and tongue worked on him in unison. Delighting in her and these incredible, hot sensations, he brought himself down on the bed next to her, rolling onto his side. Maxine slowly moved her fingers all over his torso, stimulating every inch of his skin with her skillfull fingertips. Byron's body was hard and muscular, but his skin was smooth and practically hairless, which made Maxine even more desirous of him. Sweat beaded on his skin, brought forth by the energy of his great arousal, as his sparkling blue eyes looked at her from the depths of his love.
Byron rested his head between her breasts, kissing the white softness, his mere presence tantalizing Maxine, and looked up at her adoringly. He breathed heavily as he searched for and found her hand and clasped it tightly. Gazing at her, he said nothing, luxuriating in the experience of her flesh next to his, realizing that no other woman in existence could bring him to feel what he felt at that moment. He had been fully aroused for a very long time, Maxine noticed, but Byron refused to rush this. He intended to prove his devotion to Maxine, and it would begin with making her feel wonderful.
"Maxine, do I go on? Is there a point to going on? You have already provided me with more joy than I have ever felt," he murmured into her bosom.
"Please go on," she rasped. "I need you."
Byron's face illuminated further. "I want you, Maxine," he whispered. "I will be gentle."
"It doesn't matter. Just be what you are."
His lips moved down from her breasts very slowly, not allowing any part of her bare skin to go unkissed, down to where a clasp held her tight black pants shut. He again kissed the soft flesh of her belly as he undid the clasp and carefully moved his hand under the cloth, slowly pulling the black fabric down from her shapely hips and over her rounded thighs. Tasting her exposed flesh, he stared at her body in naked longing. "God, Maxine, I knew you were beautiful," he exclaimed in disbelief. "But this! I love so much more about you, but your body is beyond compare."
Now Maxine reddened completely. "You aren't so bad yourself," she said slyly, running her hands along his strong shoulders.
Byron brushed his lips against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, gently nibbling at the beckoning softness. He rested his head between those white, sensual pillows, muscular yet rounded and feminine, and raised his eyes. "Can I explore you?" he asked, flicking his tongue over her skin, and she quickly nodded her consent. Kissing her tiny red curls, he brought his hand between her thighs and delicately stroked her moist cleft. As she spread her legs, relaxing in Byron's careful touch, he moved his kisses along her inner thigh until his tongue replaced his fingers in his exploration of her. She arched her back at his thrilling touch, gentle but determined, crying out in exhiliration.
After a bit she sat up, and Byron pouted playfully. "I wasn't finished," he said, raising an eyebrow at her.
"You'll have plenty of opportunity, I promise," she rasped. "But I need to feel you." She brought her hands to him and hastily removed the black denim from his firm legs, squeezing her own body against his. Their bodies melted into each other, and Byron and Maxine were fully aware of the incredible scorching sensations of their bare bodies, finally entwined, finally touching.
Byron gazed at her, examining her unclad body voraciously. "I love to touch you," he said softly, running his fingers along her arm, leaving tingling trails on her skin. "You would not believe how pent-up I have felt." He slid his hands over her breasts, down her belly, searing her ivory flesh. "I have never touched a woman like this before. No one has ever let me."
"Their loss," she whispered.
"I don't care," he murmured, runing his fingertips along the insides of her quivering thighs. He brought his fingers up to her well-defined hips, lightly brushing them against her belly as he intently moved his eager hands towards her breasts. "I can't stop myself," he whispered into her hair. "Your breasts are beautiful, Maxine."
At the touch of his fingertips, Maxine could feel her mind skyrocketing, spiraling upwards towards the stars in pure ecstasy. "Now I'll tell you," she gasped breathily as he traced his fingers in circles around her left breast, "how pent up I have been--no one has touched me like this, like I want to be touched. I love you touching me, Byron."
"I find that incredible," he commented, gently tickling her nipples. "Any man who could be intimate with you and not touch you is a masochist." With that, he brought his lips to her breasts, kissing them tenderly. He brought one, full peak into his mouth, sucking softly as Maxine squirmed beneath him. Byron, wanting to know how to best pleasure the woman he loved, experimented, running his tongue against her erect nipple, slowly at first but with incresing frenzy. Maxine breathed heavily, clutching at the sheets as Byron adeptly moved from one breast to the other, teasing her to ecstasy.
Byron slowly brought his face up from her tingling breasts to meet her irresisitible lips. Naked and enchanted, he clung to her, kissing her hungrily, zealously exploring her body with his avid fingers. "I'll never get enough of you," he whispered. "You're too beautiful to be for real."
Maxine deliriously lay in Byron's strong arms, aware of nothing but the electric touch of his fingers as they traced over her yearning flesh. In spirited curiousity, she discreetly glanced at the virile flesh between his legs. She quickly evaluated that Byron was absolutely stiff and wasn't, she noticed happily, too big for her. But he seemed in no hurry to advance to that stage of their lovemaking, and Maxine had the luxury of wondering, what if he did indeed love her? What if this was the love of her life that everyone kept talking about?
She allowed her probing fingers to meander along his body, reaching between his legs. Her soft caresses against his hardness drove Byron to writhe in building ecstasy, breathing in a hot, deep panting. "I want you to have a little ecstasy yourself," she whispered. Tenderly, she explored him, feeling him with her aware fingertips, moving her fingers all around, running them against the flesh of his inner thighs and out onto his firm buttocks. She wanted to explore him with her tongue, driving him to those unique points of ecstasy that such would provide, but Byron held her too firmly to him, cherishing her closeness, and Maxine elected to leave that for another time.
Byron was sweating heavily now, his breath reduced to a heavy pant, a lustful whimpering escaping his lips. Maxine decided that Byron had endured his erection long enough, and, reaching the extent of her own restraint, she made a quick decision to take the initiative. She mounted him easily, smiling at his surprised, imparadised expression as her wealth of copper curls fell around both of their bodies. "Do you mind?" she asked, bringing him in contact with her hot, wet flesh.
He gasped, closing his eyes as a pleasurable sensation washed over him. "Please take me!"
Maxine rolled the condom onto him, tantalizing him with her fingers as she checked the tip for adequate space. Byron's eyes widened enormously as she slowly brought him into her, holding him inside of her as she bent down to kiss him. She felt him shiver as she worked her secret, feminine muscles, massaging him within her. She squeezed him, then loosened again, repeating the cycle. "How do you do that?" he asked breathlessly, amazed and overwhelmed.
"Practice," she said as she slowly began to move her body.
Byron followed her slow rhythm at first, enjoying the sensations which flooded his being. But quickly, his need to speed up the motion increased, and Maxine joyfully obliged him. For a brief moment Maxine thought how nice it would be if they could reach climax together, but that thought was soon lost as that ultimate ecstasy which had been building within her took her completely. Overcome with the pleasure of the moment, Maxine nevertheless noticed Byron's sweaty smile, his loud, sensual groans, his repeating her name, as he approached the peak, and then his louder, screamed moan as he clutched her body to him and went beyond the highest pleasure.
Byron and Maxine lay completely entwined, colapsed. Maxine tried to bring her breathing back into some normal pattern, but Byron continued to breath deeply and throatily. Maxine carefully helped Byron withdraw from her, holding the rim of the condom. She dropped it onto the floor, and settled into Byron's waiting arms. Byron breathed heavily, gazing at her with a bliss mixture of satisfaction and love. Happily, Maxine rested upon his well-muscled chest, letting his rapid heart beat soothe and calm her. His body, warm and wet, seemed to melt into her own as he kissed her tenderly, clasping her to him. "Maxine," he rasped, "I love you. I will do anything you want me to." He paused. "And I don't just mean in bed. Please, please, tell me, do you have any feelings for me?"
"You know I do," she whispered. "You know how much you mean to me."
"Do I?"
Maxine smiled, stroking his wet hair comfortingly. How could he seriously be asking this? Here he lay, naked in her arms after they had shared the greatest intimacy and pleasure, his eyes betraying his vulnerability. She knew that this creature, this perfect masculine creature, truly needed to be loved, and that he needed her, for whatever reason, to love him. She absolutely would not hide her own emotions from him, not when he had exposed his own heart to her.
"There's an emotion in me now that I have never felt before, Byron, and you have put it there," she told him. "Know now that I fell in love with you the first time I looked into your eyes. Yes, I love you, too."
And as she said it, she again realized how true it was. She did not love him for his body--although she loved that in and of itself--but for his whole, complete self--for his compassion, for his decency, for his emotions, for his depth. Maxine might have been only twenty-two, but she was no fool. She knew what she wanted, what was good for her, what she loved. And she loved Byron Thorn.
Byron hugged her tighter, bursting in his joy, experiencing an ecstasy even greater than the one he had just enjoyed. He kissed her madly, tears brimming in his eyes. "You do love me?" he asked, confirming that he had heard her correctly.
"With all my heart," she said truthfully.
He laughed and cried at the same time as he cradled her against him. "Let me make your life wonderful! Ah, God! You sweet thing, I never thought I would love like this!" And he took her body and kissed her everywhere, mumuring his love and devotion into her supple flesh. "I love you, Maxine. I will never let you go," he whispered. "I swear."
Maxine said nothing--words seemed irrelevant right then--but nuzzled closer to him. Byron pulled the red comforter around them protectively, shutting out everything and everyone but he and Maxine and this paradise they shared together.
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