Sara lay across the rumpled bed, her body as smooth and white as the icing on a wedding cake. Her nipples were roseate swirls, iced gems decorating the upper tier of her breasts. Carlo slid his hand beneath the snowy lace of her suspender belt and extracted the skimpy thong with one tug. The bustiere - a froth of silk - had long since been tossed to the carpeted floor. The dress lay in the gilt arms of the Louis Quinze chair. It fitted her so perfectly it could almost have been made for her.
‘I knew coming to this hotel was a good idea,’ she sighed. ‘If only it could always be like this.’
‘Let’s just enjoy it while we can,’ said Carlo. ‘Let’s not worry about tomorrow.’ He bent down and slipped his tongue inside her.
Outside, beyond the marble balcony, the sea sparkled and winked. A breeze fluttered the gauze draping the French windows and ruffled Sara’s hair. Carlo’s breath also ruffled her hair - the hair cushioning the mound of her pubic bone.
‘We have the whole summer ahead of us, anyway,’ Sara went on. ‘Dozens of glorious afternoons, just like this one.’
‘Can’t believe my luck,’ said Carlo, licking her clit. ‘Never thought I’d meet anyone like you.’ He blew softly, cooling the hot aperture between her legs, the volcanic vulvic fissure that seethed and threatened to erupt in a lava flow of splashing juices. He lapped at the first oleaginous seepings and Sara spread her legs wide, abandoning herself to his suckling. She was the sweetmeat; he the insatiable gourmand. The vast bed was the platter upon which she offered herself.
She shivered as Carlo stroked the smooth camber of her belly. He insinuated his long fingers around her waist and underneath her and unhooked the catch of the suspender belt. A thrill ran through her as Carlo’s warm palm cupped her right buttock.
‘I do like a good handful,’ he said, his fingers splaying out and gripping the cleft of her behind. He toyed with her there for a moment; Sara gasped and braced herself, but Carlo was only teasing. He withdrew his hand and slid it down to the tops of the ivory silk stockings. Slowly he fingered the rubber nodules of the suspenders, rolling them between his fingers like nipples. Then, with a quick flip he had the first one undone. Inserting his fingertips into the stockingtops he traversed the column of her thigh until he reached the rear suspender. Flip! And it too was loosened.
Carlo peeled the cobweb of silk slowly down her to her ankle. Sara squirmed in anticipation, impatient for him to get on with it, yet not wanting him to rush. Through half closed eyes, she watched him roll the stocking over her curling toes then raise it to his face to breathe in her perfume. ‘You’ll have to let me know the things you like,’ he said. ‘We’ve a lot of catching up to do.’
Read more of HONEYMOON HOTEL here (USA) or here UK
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