Page 28 of Rose's Ripped Van Winkle

My desire is pooling, eddying, swirling, but always rising. I thought last night was the pinnacle of arousal, but I’ve already surpassed it and we have so much farther to go.

My nipples are still damp, pricked to hard points from his little nips and the gentle breeze of the cool air.

I saw him strip earlier today, but I had the easel and my painting to keep a lid on our heated desires. There doesn’t need to be anything stopping us now, and I allow my passion to burn as hot as it can get.

When he’s finally naked, he towers above me and my breath catches. I reach out to touch his chest, tracing every curve and contour. His muscles ripple under my fingers and I can feel the raw desire radiating from his body.

Nudity wasn’t allowed in my house. I never saw my father or brothers naked. When I escaped my family, I investigated sex on the internet, but never looked at pictures of genitalia. I wasn’t comfortable with that.

I don’t need to have seen a hundred other penises before to know the one I’m looking at is… beautiful.

It’s rigid and thick and veined. The head has a dot of liquid. The most shocking thought flies through my mind—I want to lick it. For the swiftest moment, that seems wrong, then I embrace it. Before the night is out, I’m going to know what my lover tastes like. Just as he knows my taste.

My hand reaches toward it, but I stop to glance at Rip, to make sure I’m not overstepping.

“Whatever you want to do to my body, Rose, go ahead.” His indulgent look is soon replaced with passion when my hand darts to grip him at the root.

Passion bursts inside me with just the touch of this hard, masculine flesh. I graze up and down the prodigious length of him, unable to stifle my coo of appreciation.

Funny that the word I want to use to describe this stiff male appendage is soft, but it’s so unexpected that such a rigid shaft would be velvet to the touch.

Swiping my thumb over the little hole at the end, I gather the slick fluid and bring it to my mouth so swiftly it’s as if I’m afraid he’s going to snatch my prize from me.

It’s salty, but not harsh. My clit flutters in appreciation as I take this tiny particle of him inside me in the first of many intrusions that will occur tonight. I feel nothing but pure acceptance and affection for him.

He kneels beside me on the mattress, grips my hands in his, then slides between my legs. His lips find mine in a passionate kiss that blazes through me like wildfire, burning away any remaining doubts.

He moves slowly, relishing the sensation of our bodies pressed together. His hands cup my face, his thumb teasing my lower lip as he whispers sweet words of love and devotion in my ear.

“Rose.” His palms slide from my shoulders, over my collar bones to cup my breasts. “How can you be so soft, yet so strong?”

I impressed him tonight. He knew how hard that was for me and admires me for it. It just increases my affection.

The taste of him, the feel of his skin against mine, the masculine scent of his body. Everything about Rip ignites a passionate frenzy within me. I want him more than I ever thought possible, and it seems I’m finally ready to cross the final step into my own power.

The tables somehow turn. Perhaps it’s the battle I just won with my father and brothers, but I don’t want to continue like we have been, with Rip treating me as though I’m glass.

My passion is hard and hot and that’s how I want to be taken. I don’t know the words to express that. Perhaps the only path I can take from here is to show him what I want.

I use my lower body strength to indicate I want to be on top. His eyes flare in surprise, but he rolls with me.

The moment I get my next idea, I blurt it out.

“Can I wear the amulet?” Suddenly, I’m desperate to see through those otherworldly eyes.

Rip doesn’t hesitate. As soon as I ask, he removes the leather thong over his head and places the necklace on me. The moment it touches the skin between my breasts, my vision changes.

Rip is more beautiful than I’ve ever seen him. The room is aswirl with color like Van Gogh’s Starry Night. The sensual thrum coursing along every vein and synapse doubles, then doubles again.

I want. I need. It’s desperate.

Perhaps I said that last word out loud, or maybe he read my mind, because Rip nods.

I slide my body along his, loving the feel of my nipples grazing his lightly furred chest.

“Rip!” My lids fly open.

Then my pelvis awakens, followed by my fluttering channel that needs his beautiful cock more than I need air to breathe.

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