Ian roused from a very satisfying night’s sleep to the feel of Marina’s hand sliding across his chest; her finger lightly scratching a circle around his nipple before smoothing down the plane of his abdomen and tracing through the trail of soft, brown hair leading to his groin.
“So soft,” she whispered.
“Mare? Are you … are you petting me?” Ian asked drowsily.
“Oh, good! You’re up! I wasn’t sure I’d be able to wait much longer.”
She had been up for about ten minutes obsessed with the notion of waking him with a birthday blow job. She had hesitated wondering whether it would be better to wait for him to actually be at least semi-conscious when she started.
Marina whipped the sheet back. Already on her knees, she angled herself over his torso and began lapping enthusiastically at his morning wood from tip to base with the flat of her tongue. The sudden stimulation forced Ian to inhale sharply and made his dick swell even more.
She wrapped a hand around the base, pumping up and down his shaft firmly and steadily while her tongue edged the flared corona. She paid special attention to that ultra sensitive elastic band of nerves on the underside of the head that made him crazy. A large pearl of pre-come had oozed from the tip and she swiped it clean before enveloping the head entirely in a sucking, wet kiss. He hiss-grunted, resisting the urge to buck forcefully into her throat.
Marina’s silky tresses swished over his thighs and her hard nipples brushed against his belly as she bobbed up and down his dick doing delicious things with her teeth on every upstroke. As the urge to come began to coil up deep in his groin, Ian palmed his face, cursing and groaning, sinking his head back, deep into his pillow, and focused on trying to last as long as possible. Even so, he couldn’t stop his hips from rocking up to meet her eager mouth. He figured, better to relax and just relish everything about this totally unexpected start to the day.
Tilting his head up, he admired the vision of Marina worshiping his cock. Her flaming copper hair was still wild from sleep and hung long and loose, obscuring her face. He lay there enthralled by vast expanses of flesh, bare and blushing. Lush hips and breasts tempted him to touch. The subtle flex and stretch of muscles in her freckle-dusted arms and shoulders fascinated him.
His eyes followed the line of her spine to her voluptuous ass poised in the air, rising and falling slightly to the tempo of her ministrations. Ian’s left hand reached over to clear the hair that had bunched up around Marina’s shoulders. He leisurely caressed down her backbone until he reached the swell of her butt cheek and gave her a little pinch. She hummed in approval and the vibration on his cock felt ridiculously wonderful—as if the sucking and licking were somehow not enough.
His hand lazily teased the cleft of her ass before his fingers wandered further down where he found her hot and slick from her own arousal. He fondled her puffy lips which caused her to whine and wiggle, seeking a different kind of contact. Ian laughed at her antics but let his middle finger slide through her slit idly, enjoying the feel of her wet cunt. He circuited his finger inside and out, hitting every spot in a pattern that was sure to be an uneven ratio of stimulating to frustrating—frustration on the heavily favored side.
Marina’s body stretched forward, spreading her palms flat and fingers wide, drifting down the length of his thighs past his knees. Her hands wrapped around and lightly massaged the muscles before she pulled the short hairs on his calves.
“Fuck! That hurt!” Ian yelped from the sharp pain and then immediately responded with three, swift smacks to her ass.
The sting of Ian’s swat bubbled in Marina’s blood. She sucked and slurped his thick cock, greedily spurred by the sudden rush firing through her veins.
Ian smoothed his hand over the faint, pink mark that bloomed before he gave her what she wanted—two fingers dipped into her pussy hard and deep, pushing and pulling to match her rhythm. He sought out that sometimes elusive bundle of nerves that would send her over the edge. He marveled at the fact that even after their rather vigorous fucking the night before that she was insatiably hungry for more—and so was he. The very fresh memory of Marina’s knees pushed up to her shoulders as he thrust into her hard and fast tripped his need to come almost instantaneously.
“Gonna come …” he groaned, head sunk back into the pillow.
Marina nodded and began to stroke and suck him with focused frenzy. The fire of his orgasm felt as if it originated in every extremity before it rocketed through him and erupted furiously. Those few seconds of utter bliss left him breathless and his heart pounding. Marina swallowed what she could and began to lick him clean.
Pushing herself up to sit back on her heels, she looked at him with a wide grin and her blue eyes were alight with triumph at the sight of Ian sated and spent from his release.
“You look pretty proud of yourself there, baby.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him before glancing down at his now softening dick and shrugging her left shoulder.
“A job well done, if I say so myself,” she replied wryly.
“I’ll say!” He chortled. “Any particular reason I deserved such a treat?”
Marina laid her head down on the pillow next to Ian’s. Swiping her hand across his forehead tracking the trail of sweat dripping to his ear, she pinched his earlobe and pulled his face to hers in a tender kiss.
Nose to nose, his brown eyes blinking at her blue ones, she smiled and said, “Happy 35th, honey!”
He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair, as they caught their breaths.
He stroked her back, pulled her body tightly to his, and whispered in her ear, “Best birthday present ever.”
They were eventually forced from their bed as their overheated bodies became sticky and uncomfortable from the combination of cooling semen and sweat.
They went about their morning with a familiarity of the other’s routine. Ian turned on the coffee while Marina pulled the sex sheets from the bed and remade it with freshly laundered ones. He exited the steamy shower and she slipped right in after him, not even turning the water off in between. He shaved while observing her applying a liberal layer of cocoa butter lotion over every inch of her peaches-and-cream skin. They brushed their teeth taking turns spitting and rinsing. They dressed—he in dark-rinse jeans and a plain white tee and she in a navy, haltered-topped sundress—moving around each other in their bedroom with light touches and brushed hands between the dresser and the closet as if they had done it a thousand times.
Marina sat on the bed buckling her wedge-heeled espadrilles as Ian stood in front of her sliding his belt through the loops of his jeans. Just as he was about to slide the leather through the buckle, Marina grabbed the ends and did it for him. He rested his hands on her shoulders and once it was secured, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss into the buckle. The simple act incited something in him, but he couldn’t place the feeling or the thought. She lifted her chin up as he cradled her face, bent down, and kissed her forehead.
“Thank you, love you.”
“Love you, too.”
The light breakfast of coffee and toast that followed was quiet as they sat side-by-side at the breakfast bar and listened to music. They each absorbed themselves with their own tablets reading the news, checking their favorite websites, and returning a few emails.
Marina ahem-ed and Ian looked up from his online crossword puzzle. “So, it’s your birthday, the last weekend of summer, and I have a plan.”
Ian leaned back in his barstool, eyebrows raised, and answered, “You do, eh?” He tipped his head toward the bedroom. “And this morning? Part of the plan, too?”
She giggled and shook her head. “Not part of the plan.”
“Is the plan going to include more of …” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
“I wouldn’t count it out. But, there are other things—outside things—first.” She nodded with an assured smirk.
“Okay then, let’s get on with the outside things so we can …” More eyebrow waggling and a happily smug, shit-eating grin caused her to roll her eyes.
“Jesus, it’s not even been an hour! You’re supposed to be a tired old man now!” she chided, elbowing his side and tossing her napkin at him.
Ian wrapped his hand around her elbow, pulling her to him. He kissed her cheek soundly and said, “Baby, you will absolutely never ever have to worry about that.”
For the last day of August, it was surprisingly pleasant out—hot but not excessively humid, and even a slight breeze to take the edge off the heat. Ian and Marina strolled along the waterfront park enjoying the day. Ian passionately expounded on the difference between the various types of sailboats and pleasure craft docked or floating in the bay. To Marina it was all a blur of words like monohull and catamaran; various sails; sloops and cutters; and rigs and jibs. She happily indulged his giddiness as he pointed and waved, explaining it all and painting a picture of the dream boat and the adventures they would take when—not if—they had one.
They continued walking hand-in-hand—Ian occasionally playing grab ass and Marina swatting him away—until they reached the end of the boardwalk where the best crab picking in town could be had. The Tackle Box was an institution and was usually packed with locals and tourists alike. The restaurant didn’t take reservations, so a long wait for a seat at one of the communal tables topped with newsprint wasn’t unusual. They lucked out, though, with only a twenty minute wait before they were seated on the outdoor deck. They ordered a bushel of steamed blue crabs—liberally dusted with Old Bay—hush puppies, fries, corn on the cobs, and an aluminum bucket filled with ice and a half dozen Dogfish Head 90-Minute India Pale Ales.
The waitress arrived fifteen minutes later, dumping the crabs on the table and setting down condiments and their sides in wax paper-lined, plastic baskets. Marina expertly showed Colorado-bred Ian how to pick a blue crab to extract all the succulent meat, giving him a dirty side-eye every time he went to dip a chunk of it into the drawn butter—a no-no among the natives. Over the course of their demolishing the shellfish bounty, they gossiped about friends and work. They discussed their plans to redo the guest bedroom that had essentially been a storage room for excess things since Marina had moved into Ian’s condo six months before.
The busboy cleared the table efficiently by wrapping the litter of cracked shells and leftovers in the newsprint table cover. Ian and Marina cleaned their hands in the lemon-scented finger bowls and with the handi-wipes provided. Passing on dessert, they nursed their beers, watched the boats on the bay, and basked in the afternoon sun. Ian’s arm draped over Marina’s shoulder; his fingers toyed with the front edge of her halter before he slid his hand in and tweaked her nipple while kissing the hollow of her throat. Marina couldn’t stop herself from allowing her hand to wander over the front his pants and give his cock an occasional rub and squeeze. At some point, though, all their teasing shifted to more than playful lust.
“I’m going to make you come. Here. Right now,” Ian stated plainly, not even bothering to lower his voice. “Before the waitress comes back with the check. And, you’re going to let me.”
He scooted a few inches down the bench seat so that they were now tightly pressed together hip to knee. Marina gasped sharply and snapped her head to look Ian in the eyes. She saw he was serious, and if she hadn’t already been completely turned on she definitely was now.
“Spread your legs,” he commanded.
She did so without question, separating her knees about a foot apart. She took a moment to glance around the restaurant, gauging how many patrons there were and if any of them were paying any attention to them. Only a few people were left this late in the afternoon and they were mostly engaged in their own conversations and meals.
“Look at me,” Ian demanded. Marina’s eyes locked on his, her body on full alert.
“Do not look away until you come.”
She nodded once in acknowledgement.
Boldly, Ian lifted the hem of Marina’s dress and cupped her pussy, pleased to find her cotton panties already damp. Slipping his hand past the elastic, he didn’t waste a moment plunging his fingers in deep and twisting and pumping them in and out while his thumb vigorously rubbed her clit.
Just as he saw her succumbing to him, he leaned in close and said, “I just realized you didn’t get yours when you sucked me off this morning. It was an oversight on my part because there are few things I enjoy more than seeing you come. But, your fucking mouth, Marina, is magical. It’s not difficult to understand how I got distracted. That was maybe one of the best goddamn blowjobs of my life. Maybe only exceeded by the time you got on your knees in your mother’s bathroom at Thanksgiving.”
Ian gave her a meaningful look as if she might need reminding. She didn’t.
“Trust me when I say, you are spectacular in that department. You are the only one that has ever made me come so hard that way. A motherfucking gift is what it is. One I am thankful for every day.”
Locked in a stare, Marina felt her vaginal walls flex and flutter as Ian’s fingers probed her relentlessly. She was lightly panting, nipples tightened near the point of pain, skin flushed with excitement. She shifted her hips minutely feeling the pressure of the heel of Ian’s hand on her pelvic bone seeking even more.
“I don’t know how I got so lucky to get such a wanton woman. Just thinking about being inside you gets me so fucking hard. I wasn’t kidding when I told you this morning that you would never have to worry about me being ready for you. I’m going to be a priapic geezer-bastard for you when we are both old and gray, and you can count on that.”
At that moment, Ian’s fingers honed in on her g-spot—pressing and gliding over that button of nerves which detonated a deep, rolling orgasm. Marina managed to swallow her moans into a whimper, because otherwise she would surely be wailing. Ian watched with rapt attention as her eyes closed and her expression twisted in pleasure, finding his own satisfaction as her pussy pulsed around his fingers.
He waited for Marina to stop shuddering before he removed his soaked hand from her panties. She sighed with satisfaction, opening her eyes only to see Ian rather lasciviously sucking his fingers clean.
Not a minute later, the waitress brought the check asking how everything was.
“Delicious. The best I ever had,” Ian answered.
After lunch, they ambled around the city, popping into a few shops to look around and just enjoying each other. They ran into friends they hadn’t realized were still in town for the long, Labor Day weekend, and ended up going out for a few drinks to celebrate Ian’s birthday.
The sun had softened but not quite set by the time the two couples popped into a lively and casual bar in the neighborhood where they tucked themselves into a cozy, circular booth and enjoyed conversation over some bottles of a bright, refreshing cava and a few light appetizers.
Ian’s hand never strayed far from Marina’s hip, finding satisfaction in the knowledge that she was currently sans culottes. Thanks to his earlier attentions, she had been forced to remove her sodden panties, and they were now balled up in the depths of her handbag. He wondered if she would be opposed to another round here in front of their friends but wisely decided not to test that idea.
For her part, Marina reveled in his contact and provided some stimulation of her own by discreetly tucking her hand between Ian’s legs and tracing the inseam of his jeans, pleased that he was just as responsive to her touch as she was to his. If the other couple had any notion of the foreplay taking place in front of them they didn’t let on.
Occasionally, Ian whispered filthy promises of all the ways he planned to fuck her when they got home, and she shivered in anticipation. When their friends’ attention was diverted, Marina would taunt him with a flash of her breast or a surreptitious waft of the scent of her arousal on her fingers. Neither one was particularly shy over public displays of affection; however, they had never quite upped the ante on mutual temptation quite so salaciously before.
Several hours and with a pleasant buzz achieved, they left the bar and parted from their friends with hugs and handshakes, exchanging promises to get together again soon. No sooner had the others turned to walk away than Ian practically jumped in front of a taxi to wave it down.
He opened the back door of the cab for her, and as she ducked in, she said, “The apartment is only six blocks away, you know.”
Ian groped her ass as she entered and said, “No fucking way I’m waiting that long, babe…”
He slid in next to her in the back of the cab, giving the driver their address. They sat almost unnaturally apart on the bench seat, their eyes averted out their own windows with only their hands clasped between them. The ride took longer than it should have, as the cab seemed to get caught at every light, and it gave them time to get slightly lost in their own thoughts.
As the taxi approached their corner, Ian lifted Marina’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the inside of her palm. She closed her eyes in contentment and smiled softly at the simple show of tenderness.
The cab pulled to a stop and Ian handed over some bills to the driver telling him to keep the change. He opened the door, giving her his hand to helped her out. They walked hand-in-hand into the building, greeted the doorman and navigated themselves to the elevator lobby.
The two both watched numbers light up as the elevator descended to the lobby. It seemed to be stuck on the fifth floor for an inordinately long period of time. Marina rubbed her thighs together and rolled her ankles, fidgeting. Ian drummed his fingers on his thigh. He chanced a glance at her and it was a mistake. She was desperate and practically vibrating with excitement. He could relate.
The ding of the elevator’s arrival caught their attention and he pulled her roughly inside. Not even waiting for the doors to close, he pushed her up against the wall, grabbing and lifting her by her thighs, wrapping them around him. Her arms circled his neck and her hand gripped into the short hairs at his nape. Their mouths opened to each other and their tongues met with abandon. He lapped at her collarbones. She nibbled his earlobe. They grinded their pelvises against each other in a poor imitation of what they both wanted.
Another ding. A near run down the hallway. A fumble or two with the keys. A door slammed behind them. They were finally home.
Ian all but tackled Marina to the floor in the entryway, covering her frame with his body. He practically tore the dress from her as he lowered himself and pushed her knees open and wide. He dove into her pink, voraciously licking and nipping every part, his head swimming from her sweet scent and flavor.
Marina writhed and rolled. Her body had a mind of its own and she was unable to choose between seeking more of the exquisite torture and shying away from being overwhelmed by it. Ian alternated between sucking on her lips, probing her with the flat of his tongue, and flicking her clit. She couldn’t help the keening moans that erupted from her, making her sound like a wounded animal.
He lifted her hips and draped her legs over his shoulders. It provided her enough space to push her hips and almost ride his face. His thumb penetrated her easily causing a new round of moans and cries. He slipped that thumb from her opening, sliding back to test the tight pucker of her asshole. She was already well lubricated from the amount of fluid that flowed from her, covering her thighs and backside.
Marina jolted from the intrusion of Ian’s thumb in her ass. It wasn’t the first time—or even the twentieth—that she’d felt that particular sensation but it never failed to focus her attention. Already so close to orgasm, that particular touch paired with the light scraping of teeth and tongue now zeroed in on her clit caused her body to lock and shudder. Her foot planted between Ian’s shoulder blades and her hips thrust up forcefully as she came violently.
Ian slurped at the nectar of Marina’s orgasm, licking all traces from her inner thighs and bussing her clit one more time. His own erection was now painfully compressed in his jeans. He gazed down on Marina’s limp body as she curled up on her side, her skirt flipped up and one side of her halter pulled to the side exposing her lush breast.
He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans to relieve some of the pressure on his dick, giving it a quick rub or two over his gray boxer briefs. Marina rolled to her back laughing and slapped her hands on the hardwood floors.
“That was …” She trailed off, biting her lip trying to think of the word or even gather a general coherent thought. “I don’t even know if there’s a word.”
Ian chuckled at her little display, and asked, “You don’t think we’re done yet, do you?”
She gathered enough wits to take in Ian on his knees above her, pants open, and his rather prominent hard-on making itself known in no uncertain terms. She sat up and gripped his dick in answer, “I know we’re not even close to done yet.”
They pulled themselves up from the floor. Marina peeled the sundress from her body, leaving it in a pile on the floor. She hooked her finger on the ring of Ian’s belt buckle effectively pulling it from the loops as he backed himself down the hallway, toeing off his shoes.
She paused to appreciate the utter sexiness of her man with his fly open as he pulled off his white tee at the back of the neck. She followed him as if pulled by a leash, flipping his belt behind her neck and shimmying it back and forth like a boa. The movement cause her full, lush tits to sway in counterpoint to the swing of her hips.
Ian flashed on the image of Marina kissing his belt buckle earlier and now the sight of it draped around her neck, the buckle dangling with a cafe au lait colored nipple poking through, gave him an idea.
“You know what birthday tradition we skipped today?”
“Hmmm..what’s that?” She asked.
“Birthday spankings,” he answered levelly, taking a few more steps backward.
“You want me to spank you?” She furrowed her brows in question, finding the idea completely out of character for him.
“No. Not exactly.” He shook his head and smirked, eyes bright with mischief and heavy with implication.
Marina realized his gaze was actually fixed on the belt hung over her shoulders. She raised her hand and took hold of the belt at her collarbone and suggestively dragged her fingers down the length of the soft black leather.
“No. Not exactly,” she replied with a raised brow.
Although she only repeated him, he sensed her intrigue with the idea. It wasn’t entirely alien to their sexual play. Random ‘love taps’ on her ass in public and the more sound swats when he fucked her from behind were common enough; but, nothing had ever gone so far as actual spanking.
He stopped, arms braced in the door frame of their bedroom, as she approached him. When she came within arm’s length, Marina pulled the belt by its buckle and as the leather slid sensually across her bare breast and neck she imagined an entirely different sensation. She wanted it.
Ian watched her expectantly and saw the moment she decided. He reached out with an open palm and she placed the leather length in his hand.
Not wanting to presume based on his own desires, he dipped his head to look her directly in the eye.
His fist closed around the belt as he wrapped his arms around her naked body and kissed her. It was a kiss filled with care and devotion, and a promise that he wouldn’t violate her faith.
He took her by the hand and led her to the bed. Barefoot and jeans opened wide, Ian positioned her at the foot and bent her over at the waist. Her arms stretched out in front of her, fisting the duvet, her head hanging and taking deep, calming breaths. The tension in her body contradicted the actual excitement that she felt. She tried to split the difference between bracing herself and relaxing into it.
Conversely, Ian’s cool calm belied the tiniest seed of dread that he was going to hit this woman, his woman, a woman he loved and adored, with a belt. The leather suddenly felt heavy in his sweaty palm. He pushed that miniscule doubt away knowing that he needed a clear head and firm control over himself to ensure he didn’t actually hurt her. He appreciated her prostrate before him—fair, unblemished skin, voluptuous curves, a cascade of red flowing smoothly down her back. As beautiful as she was to him, he loved the spark—all the sparks, even the irritating ones—even more. He knew he would never damage her…and that he could do this.
He cleared his throat, “Spread your legs wider, babe.”
Marina shifted her feet a bit more, her legs forming a wide angle.
“I’ll give you five strikes. If you change your mind or can’t take it just say stop and I’ll stop.”
Marina looked over her shoulder and said, “Ten.”
“Baby, ten is too many.” He shook his head. “There’s nothing to prove here. We’re just trying something new.”
She nodded, “I know. I trust you. You just said you’d stop if it was too much. Trust me to say stop if it is. I think I can take ten.”
Ian nodded. “Really?”
“Yeah.” She regripped the duvet and fidgeted minutely in anticipation.
Ian folded the belt in his hand, choking up the slack so there wasn’t too much give or fly in its length and he could control exactly where each strike would land.
He widened his stance, pulled his arm back, and swung.
The blow landed with a dull thud on the apple of her left butt cheek. Marina gasped in surprise more from the actual action than from any pain. She realized he had held back his very real strength. As she was processing the sensation, she jolted in shock when the second wallop came immediately landing on the right cheek. Heat and endorphins fired through every nerve.
Ian buzzed from his own adrenaline high. He marveled at the pink stripes that began to bloom on Marina’s skin. He allowed himself a tiny bit more give in the belt and struck again concentrating on using the flex in his wrist and not his whole arm.
Three. Four. Five.
Despite her symphony of yips, grunts, and groans, Marina awed at how something that wasn’t altogether pleasurable felt so profoundly and confusingly satisfying. Electrifying. Blood pounding. Her awareness sharpened—the subtle scratch of the weave of the duvet underneath her, a wisp of air on her back from the ceiling fan above, Ian’s heavy pants of breath, the faint scent of bergamot leftover from the candle she burned last night. It reminded her of the idea that when you lose one sense the others are heightened. She could only ponder that in trying to block the idea that being spanked with a belt would be excruciating she had maybe blinded herself to that particular pain but opened herself up to everything else.
Six. Seven. Eight.
Ian felt free. As if some part of himself that had never been allowed to breathe had finally gotten some air. He felt powerful but it wasn’t dominion lorded over Marina that made him feel that way. It was a different flavor entirely, more subtle. He wouldn’t allow himself to parse what it was exactly, keeping his focus on the task at hand. His desire thrummed within as he palmed Marina’s rosy-striped ass. In doing so, he decided where to place the last two blows, not wanting to make her overly sensitive, since his immediate plan for afterward was to fuck her…and fuck her hard.
Nine came down nicely across both cheeks right in the crease where cheek met thigh.
Ten landed squarely along the length of her cunt.
“Oh fuck!” she cried.
Ian tossed the belt aside, roughly pushing his jeans and underwear down to his knees, not bothering to actually kick them all the way off. Marina had flattened herself on the bed and was breathing harshly. He reached over to grab the cylindrical bolster pillow, tucked an arm underneath her waist to prop her up and slid the pillow under her hips. Ian repositioned himself directly behind her, doing a quick check that she was actually ready, and then gripped the base of his cock before plunging and taking her hard and fast.
His hands clutched her hips brutally pulling her to him as he pounded into her relentlessly.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck,” he chanted, almost incoherently.
“Oh God, oh God, Jesus, oh God,” she harmonized.
She shifted her body to gain some leverage and to meet his thrusts. He bent over her gripping a breast in one hand and tugging harshly on her tight nipple. Her own hand traveled down to grind her fingers in her clitoris.
“So fucking close, Mare. You?”
“Yeah, yeah…just keep doing that. Fuck.”
Their bodies slipped and slapped against one another almost manically. Ian licked the salty sweat from Marina’s neck and teased her shoulder with his teeth. The chorus of guttural cries and curses and the squelching, wet sounds of their fucking echoed loudly in the quiet; the smell of sweat and sex hung thick in the room.
No longer able to hold back, Ian thrust wildly and Marina’s body provided no resistance. He bucked into her and came in three thick, hot spurts. As he shuddered through his release, his hand now joined hers to get her across the line. He felt her walls clamp on his cock as she keened a very loud and pained “Ohhhhhhhh!”
He collapsed on top of her, both of them heaving for breath from their exertions.
Thirty minutes later, after a shower together in which they gently washed each other with care, they tucked themselves in bed.
Ian gave Marina some Advil, hoping it would dull the inflammation, and gingerly rubbing some Aspercreme into her tender flesh. She couldn’t resist admiring the the rosy, red stripes criss-crossing her bum left behind by her belting.
They lay on their sides facing each other. He toyed with a lock of her hair before running his fingers down her arm and giving her elbow a tiny squeeze.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“I’m fine, Ian.”
“Did you like it?”
“I did,” she reassured him. “Did you?”
“I did.” He closed his eyes as the smidgen of guilt flashed through his conscience. But, he had and he didn’t want to deny the experience.
“Hey!” She pulled the unruly thatch of hair on the top of his head and pressed her forehead to his. “Don’t do that.”
“Beat yourself up.”
Ian snorted at her choice of word.
“I’m not. I won’t.”
She pulled her head back. “We can talk all you want to about it the morning if that’s what you need. Or I need.”
He nodded sleepily.
“Marina. Thank you. It was maybe the best birthday of my life. And not just because of …” His voice faltered. “I love you.”
“You’re welcome. I love you too.”
They were both quiet and settling into the deep sense of calm between them.
Ian sat up briefly to turn off the lamp on the night table before sinking back under the cool sheets. As Marina tucked herself into his side, she broke the silence, “I think we should explore more. I don’t know what. I don’t know how. But, we should.” Ian held her close and Marina kissed his chest above his heart.
Photo: D40_80773_sooc, r.nial.bradshaw
About the Author Alexandra Santander
Alexandra Santander has a prim and proper day job on the periphery of the legal-political world in Washington. Her evenings are spent running a kinky photo blog on tumblr (and sometimes actually doing other kinky stuff). She is an avid reader and occasional writer of erotic fiction. In addition to being a member of the Pique editorial team, Alexandra also contributes to piqueyour.tumblr.com.