Flavors of Fervor

This passionate sex scene from Willing by Leslie Morris Noyes is published with permission. Age has advantages in the bedroom and Lizbeth knows what she likes and wants and is willing to be convinced it's a good idea.

Good sex story — Willing by Leslie Morris Noyes

“Oh, come on. You’re a woman, of course you want to talk about it.” Kit grins, carrying our drinks to the coffee table.

“Can you back that with statistical data?”

“Empirical.” He laughs and salutes me with his drink, having arrived an hour earlier than his weekday schedule allows, which makes sense since it is Sunday.

“Geez, aren’t guys supposed to be better at avoiding the relationship topic?” I ask, sounding peevish. I’m still not sure this is a good idea.

As for what Kit wants, if his good cheer is anything to go by, he’s all for passing Go and collecting on the promise of last night’s kiss. He hands me my whiskey, but instead of sitting in his chair, he takes a seat on the couch, his oh-so-kissable body settling a seat cushion away. I look at my drink.

“Lizzie,” Kit says, eyes lit with amusement, “guys only ignore what they don’t want to acknowledge. Even if I didn’t want to admit what happened last night—and believe me, I do—we would still have a mighty big gorilla plonked here between us.” He pats the cushion for emphasis.

I think about my monster. Whether it’s a gorilla or wolf hardly matters. Either creature has its own form of menace. “Maybe the gorilla is a sock monkey with a giant shadow,” I say hopefully. “Let’s stuff him back on the shelf where he belongs.” I take a swallow of my drink.

Kit throws his head back and that wonderful laugh, the laugh that turns my resolve to mush, rumbles up from his belly. “Delightful,” he says when he’s done chuckling. Taking a sip of his own whiskey, he salutes me. “But you’re disappointing me, dahlin’. Show some of that Jewish Yankee girl spunk.” He takes another swallow, bright eyes focused on mine. “I admit I was a little surprised—as well as entirely pleased—by how hot that kiss was. Practically blew off the top of my head; other body parts, too.” He winks. “Common, Lizzie, you know it was bound to happen. Last night impulse finally led to action, is all.”

“Impulse led you to action,” I clarify.

The brow over Kit’s right eye rises.

“Okay, okay. I participated.”

The eyebrow rises again.

I raise a hand in surrender. “Yes, I wanted you to kiss me.”

“And sent up a few smoke signals.”

So he got those after all. “I don’t want to screw up a good friendship.” I wince at how much this statement leaves unsaid as well as my word choice. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. Too bad Kit ran away last night. I was ready then.

His brow wrinkles. It isn’t exactly a frown, more like he can’t quite figure me out. I’d help him, but I can’t figure me out, either.

“First off, you know how to keep that from happening and so do I,” he says. “For good or bad, we’re two of a kind. You and me, Ms. Lizzie, are experts at this sweet dance. Second, since our gorilla has reared its big ol’ head, it ain’t goin’ nowhere until a little action is taken, and I don’t mean stuffing it back in its cage. I mean letting it loose.” He crosses his arms. The look he tosses me says, Admit you’ve been outreasoned.

Kit dispenses with the one-cushion distance between us and reaches for my hand. “Lizbeth, sweet dahlin’, you know how this goes. We’re gonna have some fun until we decide we’ve had enough, and after that we’ll go on being friends.” He begins swirling his fingertips in a slow circle around my palm. “Not that there isn’t a chance we’ll like what we’re doing so much we won’t want to stop. I think we owe it to ourselves to find out.”

I close my eyes. The highest concentration of nerve endings anywhere on our bodies is in our hands. They are our advance warning system for danger as well as our best conduit for pleasure. Kit is serving up pleasure now at an intensity that makes it hard for me to breathe. I really am a wreck, caught between relief that he sees us having a “fun” affair, and disappointment that’s all he sees, except for that last comment. I don’t know what to make of it and don’t want to hope. I pull my hand from his.

“Lizzie,” he says patiently, “we’re not getting past this without getting into it first.”

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I open my eyes.

“You could look happier,” Kit remarks, lifting my hand from my lap. “Dive in, dahlin’. The water’s warm. Why are you resisting?”

Isn’t that the thousand-dollar question? He’s right, I tell myself. We are both experts at this game. Yet to dive in . . . The warmth of the water isn’t what has me worried. It’s the depth and swiftness of the current. I dare a glance into his warm brown eyes.

He gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and leans in, brushing a lock of hair away from my cheek. “Lizzie, Liz, Lizbeth,” he breathes, touching his lips to the curve of my jaw, skimming sensitive skin to whisper into my ear. “Say yes . . .”

Oh God. “Yes,” I breathe. “Yes.” Because no matter where this goes or doesn’t go, I can’t resist him.

His lips take mine.

This time, I anticipate his sweet whiskey taste. A smile lifts one corner of his mouth as my arms encircle his neck. Ardor rises around us, as bright and mysterious as this morning’s mist. We kiss and kiss and kiss.

Without his mouth leaving mine, Kit works at the buttons of my shirt. I reach for the hem of his, sliding my palms up his muscular back. His skin is as smooth and warm as the muscles beneath it are hard and unyielding. Our hands roam, learning each other’s contours, punctuated by little moans and growls as Kit discovers a few of my sweet spots and I find his.

Beyond our touch, beyond the sofa where we lie and the room surrounding us, beyond what I want and what I fear, day fades into night without our notice, the world shrinking until it holds only the two of us.

At last, Kit breaks away. He stands and tugs me to my feet. Yet, whatever his plan, our bodies refuse to separate. His fingers tangle in my hair. He pulls me in for another of his befuddling kisses. I push into his erection. He rubs himself against me, his hands skimming down my back to shape the curve of my ass. I hum approval into his mouth. He growls in response.

The way he touches me, the way his strong body surrounds me . . . it’s as if I’ve never been desired before. Fear knifes into me. This is not how I felt with Dan, or Roland. I pull away, bowing my head, trying to understand what is going on inside me. Kit tilts my chin up so our eyes meet. He runs a thumb across my bottom lip. His eyes are tender, his voice husky as he asks, “Still yes, dahlin’?”

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I tell myself that the hotter a flame at ignition, the quicker it burns out. I tell myself this one will burn out quickly because my heart is already on fire. I nod. His mouth turns up in a smile filled with heat. He looks so boyishly pleased with my answer that the fear inside me dissolves. I smile and muss his hair. He laughs. Capturing my hand, Kit tows me toward the bedroom. Docile as a lamb, I follow.

At the door, Kit says, “Call me old-fashioned, but I like privacy when I’m making love to a woman, even if the voyeur is a dog.” With my approval, he closes us off from Obie. Having had the experience before, my dog knows there will be special treats when the door reopens.

Kit prowls up to me and pushes my shirt down my arms. I let it fall to the carpet as he moves in to nuzzle the curve of my neck. “God, you smell good. Spicy,” he adds, “with a hint of something sweet.”

He licks just below my ear, having already discovered a few of my instant arousal switches, like the one he’s teasing. I purr, reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck.

“Grapefruit?” he guesses, sounding puzzled.

“And ginger.” I kiss the lovely angular spot where his jaw meets his neck. A little shiver runs through him.

His voice is a tad rougher when he says, “Ms. Lizzie, you’re the first woman of my acquaintance who smells like food instead of flowers.” He licks again.

I moan, disgustingly delighted to come in first in any category among his women.

“Why does you wearing perfume that smells like food make sense to me? I’ll tell you why,” he answers himself. “It’s because I’ve been thinking of you as a woman-sized snack since the first time I kissed you.”

“Yesterday?” I finish unbuttoning his shirt, a project I started in the living room. I let it drop to the floor to join mine. I’ve waited for what feels like an eternity, though in reality is a little over a month, to explore the splendors of Kit’s chest. My palms slide over sleek muscle and a light smattering of hair lying against his skin. Either he’s into male grooming or he doesn’t grow a lot of hair. Whatever—I like it just fine.

I’d love to photograph him shirtless, only not right now.

“No, ma’am,” Kit says as if I’m a slow learner. “You’ve been driving me to distraction since the night you invited me to unstick that closet door.”

This surprising fact goes unremarked as he turns me to unclasp my bra. Unremarkable although demi-cupped, the bra joins our shirts on the floor. I spin to press myself against him, but he holds me away with one hand and slides the other up my ribs, to my breasts. He flicks one nipple with his thumb. We both watch it contract. A small sound of longing hums in my throat.

I cup him through his jeans, gratified by the similar noise he makes. He bends me back to tongue my breast, tugging the sensitive tip into his mouth. I clutch his shoulders. Arousal pulls me tight and unravels me at the same time. I guide his face to mine and kiss him.

We begin a conversation without words—a curling question at the tip of his tongue, a darting response from mine. A dare is tossed between us, our tongues arguing it back and forth. Alternatively aggressive and seductive, we duel until urgency overtakes us and Kit topples me onto the bed.

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I study him where he kneels above me, noting his beard shadow, the angular bones, strong jaw, and nose that is a little too large yet perfectly fits his face. Eyes intent, he does his own study of me, desire glinting under luxuriant lashes. He strokes the back of a hand down my cheek, holding my gaze a little too long.

“What?” I can’t help asking. He looks a little sad. I wonder if he is thinking of Eleanor. I reach for him.

He resists but smiles, his expression brightening. He says, “You know, I like you a lot, Ms. Lizbeth Silver.”

Is this a step above adoring me? Or a step below? Before I can say I like him, too, he leans in and bites my nose.

While I squawk and grumble about ill usage, he divests me of the rest of my clothes—shoes, socks, pants, and panties.

“Geez, what was that? Some kind of weird hazing ritual?” I frown at him as he strips me of my underwear.

He winks. “Only for the especially tasty ones. It’s your own fault for being so delicious.” His eyes roam appreciatively over my body.

“I’m buying a flower-based perfume tomorrow.”

“Squeamish about a little love bite?” Kit offers me a glance of mock surprise as he falls partially on top me, his body pressing me into the mattress.

I wiggle against him, happy with the skin-on-skin contact and the bulge pressing against my thigh. I’ll be happier when the cause of it is no longer inside his jeans.

“You seem to like it when I bite you here,” he says, angling his body so he can tug at a nipple.

I hum with pleasure, confirming his supposition.

“Maybe I’d better do some reconnaissance. I should know which parts want to be bit and which don’t.” He sinks his teeth gently into my earlobe. “How about here?” he asks when he’s finished.

“Umm. Yes, there.” I turn my head to meet his gaze. “Your research is promising, although more exploration, not to mention practice, never hurts, does it?” I’m enjoying his game. “I can think of a few other places where you could hone your technique.”

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“Really?” He looks perplexed, although the sparkle in his eyes gives him away. “I wonder where, exactly?” He locks his arms, giving me a serious once-over, from the top of my head to my belly, where he is pressed against me.

I don’t need to employ the same scrutiny to know I’m not as beautiful or finally sculpted as Kit. I do, however, possess curves where a woman should have them; my waist is trim enough, even if my hips flare in a way that twenty-first-century fashion appreciates less than it should, although the Kardashians are doing their best to return hourglass shapes to fashion. Luckily, Kit seems to be a traditionalist, or to have broad tastes. Finished with his perusal, he offers a sexy curl of his lip in pure animal approval.

“I’m off to do some experimentation, dahlin’,” he says, backing off the bed. “Got to figure this biting thing out.” He kneels on the floor and pulls me toward the edge of the mattress until my legs bend over the side. “Let me know if I’m on the right track, will you?”

“Your instincts are excellent so far,” I say.

He plants a soft kiss on top of one knee. A nip follows, a sharp pinch between his teeth. He rubs the sting away with the side of his cheek, his jaw stubble pleasantly textural. I’m content to lie still and appreciate the slow trail he’s kissing and nipping toward what I’m hoping will be his ultimate destination.

“Yesssss,” I breathe, as he plants kisses incrementally closer to where anticipation is making me slick. To encourage him, I stretch, tilting myself open.

Inching toward his goal, Kit aims a swift puff of breath at the swollen bud between my legs. I tense, an electric jolt of arousal lifting my pelvis toward his mouth. When I’m capable of breathing again, I lean up on one elbow to watch his progress.

Kit lifts his head, meeting my eyes. “Should I do that again?” As if he doesn’t know the answer.

I rest a foot on the mattress and let my leg fall open. The view should make the answer obvious. “Oh, why not,” I say, just so there are no misunderstandings.

He resumes his slow tease, coming oh so close and then retreating, inching his way toward his target too many times to count. I think, Yes. Finally. Yes please, only to be disappointed once more.

When he finally licks his way over my clit, the sensation is so intense that I gasp. A lovely, elemental growl rumbles from his throat as I push myself into his tongue. He lifts my legs over his shoulders.

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With a final savoring lick, Kit raises his glance to mine, his expression knowing, mouth turned up at one corner. And then his eyes harden as he watches his thumbs spread me open. He flicks his tongue, wetting his lips. I contract on a flash of arousal before he even touches me, heat rolling up my body as I collapse onto the mattress. I have to remember to breathe when his tongue laps my clit at the same time that he massages me with his thumbs.

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“Mr. Couper, I think you’ve found the best spot of all,” I gasp.

“I couldn’t agree more.” He slides a finger inside me and then another, as good with his hands as he is with his tongue.

Inner and outer pleasure-points trip electricity up the line. I begin to melt. Kit is throwing one switch after another. It feels so good, but I would rather come with Kit inside me. Twisting away, I reach for him. He eludes me, climbing to his feet. Not willing to be denied, I use the gap at his waist where his erection has pulled his jeans away from his body to bring him closer. He allows me to unzip his fly and slide jeans and briefs down. A drop of juice decorates the tip of his cock, which is as sleek and well-muscled as the rest of him. He backs up to push off his shoes and socks, pulling a condom out of his pocket before he lets his clothing drop to the floor.

Kit is as beautiful as I imagined, his body cut with lean elegant muscle. Ripping open the packet with his teeth, He drops the rubber disk into my hand. My fingers close around it. I hate condoms, but I don’t want to break the spell so we can have “the talk,” although I do want a little more time to savor the visual before we move on to the finale. “Come here,” I say.



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