Page 52 of Prime Time

They went into the moonlit room. Neither saw fit to turn on the lights since the room was bathed with a silver phosphorescence.

“Don’t move,” he instructed as he began to shed his clothes.

Obediently she sat on the edge of the bed where he had set her and watched with delight as first his shirt, then pants and underwear came off. He was such a marvelous specimen of the male animal that she was at once proud enough of him to want to show him to the world and at the same time fiercely jealous of every other woman who had ever seen him this way.

“Come here,” he said, extending his hand.

She stood up and went to him. He moved behind her and, settling his hands on her waist, maneuvered her toward the cheval glass that stood in the corner near the windows. She had admired the piece of furniture since the first time she entered the room. It stood almost seven feet tall. Made of rosewood, the oval frame was intricately carved. The frame holding the swivel mirror was sturdy, but gave the impression of delicacy. The piece was no doubt over a hundred years old, but the mirror had been resilvered so that their reflection showed up clearly as Lyon stood her directly in front of it.

Standing behind her, his hands reached over her shoulders to unbutton the dress he had so haphazardly rebuttoned a short time earlier. One by one the buttons fell victim to the dexterity of his fingers. With great care he unbuckled the belt at her waist. Taking a side of the bodice in each of his hands, he slid them upward. The backs of his fingers grazed her breasts and she shivered. Weakening, she leaned against him but didn’t close her eyes.

Cool evening air settled on her skin as he drew the dress off her shoulders. The cloth whispered down her arms under his guidance. With the merest touch of his hands it slithered over her hips and dropped unceremoniously to the floor. He leaned down to help her step free of it.

“It couldn’t get any more wrinkled,” he said with a rueful smile as he straightened up. Then she felt him tense, felt his sudden intake of breath as he stared at her reflection in the mirror.

“I don’t care if it wrinkles,” she sighed, overcome as he was by the moment and the web of sensuality he was slowly spinning around her, making her captive.

Lovingly his hands wrestled with the pins that held her hair until it tumbled free. He took handfuls of it and carried them to his face. He grew intoxicated with its fragrance and buried his face in the golden strands. He lifted the heavy mane from her neck and kissed her there, using his tongue to caress.

When he raised his head and let her hair fall naturally onto her shoulders, their eyes met in the mirror, and they smiled at each other.

His hands glided from her shoulders down to her breasts. Her bra had been hastily refastened when Lyon had fumbled with her clothing, and now her breasts swelled against the gossamer casing. Lightly, so lightly it was almost a suggestion of a caress, his thumbs brushed the crests. If she had not been watching, she might have thought the airy strokes were a product of her imagination or the whimsical notion of a gentle breeze.

But the tightening response was real. He put his lips to her ear and said with masculine satisfaction, “I told you that day in your motel room that this could be easily dispensed with.” The front snap of the bra was released, and he slipped the garment from her arms. It, too, found its way to the floor.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

In the mirror she saw his hands close over her breasts. Her flesh strained through his fingers as he squeezed her gently, ever mindful of not hurting her. Moonlight highlighted the dark centers that attracted the attention of his loving fingers. He circled them slowly, arousingly, until she ached with need for him to touch her. When he did, when his fingers made contact with the distended buds, she felt the touch deep in her womb and cried out his name with the wonder of it all.

“I don’t know how long I can do this,” he grated. “It’s a fantasy I wanted to act out. But, God, you’re lovely.”

His hands slid down her sides, rippling over her ribs. When they reached the waistband of her half-slip, he leaned forward and nudged her head backward until his mouth met hers. As they kissed she felt his palms smoothing past her waist and knew that the backs of his hands were taking her last garment with them on their gradual descent.

Without breaking free of his embrace, she stepped out of the half-slip, which formed a milky pool at her feet. His desire was hard and urgent against the small of her back, but he restrained himself long enough to drink in the splendor of her nakedness.

Together they looked at their images in the mirror. His hand splayed over her abdomen, pulling her against the demanding manhood. His other hand stroked downward to caress her thighs, to feather past the golden triangle, to make promises with his fingertips.

“You confuse me, Andy Malone. You look like an angel, but you feel like a temptress. The sounds you make deep in your throat when I caress you like this are nothing like a heavenly choir, but the most wanton of songs. Golden and ivory, you appear to be a cold, untouchable idol, yet you melt against my touch. Do I worship you, or love you?”

“Love me. Now. Please, Lyon, now.” Turning in his arms and greeting the manifestation of his arousal, she left no room for doubt of the response she wanted from him.

His hands captured her beneath the fullness of her hips and carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently, having promised himself that he would never take her so hurriedly as he had done before. It had cheated them both.

He lay beside her and when she rolled against him, he stayed her by placing his hand on her breast. “There’s time,” he whispered against her breast before kissing it tightly and then taking the swollen tip into his mouth to be loved. His tongue rolled over her nipple in a massage that made her whimper with longing. He plucked at it with his lips and soothed it again with his tongue.

“Please, Lyon.”

“I’ll never be selfish with you again. Let me love you.”

His hands wandered at will. His mouth kissed randomly. Yet he touched he

r as though each erogenous spot had been mapped out for him. His lips discovered the sensitized skin on the undersides of her upper arms, then traveled down her chest to her breasts, and over her stomach. A nimble tongue ravished her navel and made it his. Then chin, nose, and mouth nuzzled her so intimately that she wept at the sheer pleasure and pain of loving him.

Time and again he brought her to the brink of insensibility, but always kept her poised over it, never letting her fall without him. Then when they both were quaking with need, he covered her and buried himself in the sweet haven of her body.

He rocked her gently, lifting her hips with the palms of his hands so she would know all of him. The fit of their bodies was so precise and the rhythm of their movements so synchronized that later they would marvel over it.

Chanting loving words of praise and adoration, he carried her with him into the sublime.

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