The Cosmopolitan magazine lay open on the bed. On one page, a gorgeous, twenty-something woman with a mane of thick brown hair, wearing a lacy pink cami and matching silk shorts, lay looking blissfully pre-orgasmic. The facing page had instructions with four black-and-white line drawings of couples engaged in Hot. Wet. More-Gasm Sex.
Olivia and Mike were attempting number three, as position number one looked slightly distasteful, and number two required a level of flexibility Olivia had not seen since the days when Tom Cruise still seemed like a guy she’d want to have a go with.
Mike brought one of the wood kitchen chairs into the bedroom; mercifully not the one with the missing spindle.
He sat down, still dressed in the Minnesota Gophers T-shirt and athletic shorts he’d put on in the morning. “Like this?” he asked, holding his arms out to her.
Olivia reviewed the diagram. “Yes.” She climbed on his lap, straddling him. They kissed. Lukewarm. He moved his hands along her back, gently rubbing her shoulders and then up through her hair. His tongue pushed her lips apart, driving into her.
Do not think about chair spindles, she admonished herself silently.
His hands went to her waist and he grabbed hold of her snug, cornflower-blue T-shirt to lift it over her head. Olivia raised her hands accommodatingly. Mike let the shirt drop to the floor as he kissed down her neck, which she found more enticing. With sloppy, wet kisses he moved from her neck to the raised curve of her breast, protruding seductively from the top of her bra.
She could feel his erection growing. “Are you comfortable?” he asked.
Was she supposed to be comfortable, she wondered? If so, then what was the point of the hard chair? Focus, she told herself. Take his shirt off.
She pulled his shirt over his head and traced her finger from his neck down to his chest. He was still a handsome man, with a slim physique even twenty-three years after he’d lifted his last weights at the college gym.
“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled appreciatively. He unclasped her bra and let it drop to the floor, just to the side of her shirt. Their naked chests pressed against each other.
“Do we just screw on the chair?” Mike asked.
She leaned over to look at the diagram again. He tried to look, too, and their weight tipped the chair slightly so that he had to dig his foot hard into the floor to right them. His hand got tangled in her hair and yanked at it.
“Ouch.” She jerked her head away.
“Sorry,” Mike muttered.
She climbed off him and bit down on her lip to hide a small hiss of frustration. Olivia met his gaze and answered his sheepish smile by sliding her shorts down and stepping out of them gingerly. Mike watched, and his eyes looked more eager, but she saw his erection had fallen a bit, like a palm tree holding too many nuts.
“Let’s kiss some more,” he suggested.
Olivia stepped to him, and his arms encircled her. She closed her eyes. He placed his hand below her ear and kissed her cheek gently, which felt too paternal, while his other hand slid to her waist, his thumb making a soft, lazy circle against her skin. Mike made muffled sounds of desire into her ear. Olivia relaxed into him, hoping some sensation would take over, a quiver or a tremble. His lips moved to hers and he pushed his tongue into her mouth in a familiar but demanding way. She dropped her head to the side so he would kiss her neck rather than her lips, and began wondering why that felt better. He slid his hands down to her bottom, cupping her and pulling her hips tightly into him. She felt him harden again. Mike stepped backward, sat back down on the chair, then pulled her onto him.
“Now?” he asked. “Are you ready, Olivia? Do you want me inside you?”
What a lot of talk, she thought. “Yes, Mike,” she said. She arched up to take him in.
He thrust, moving deeper inside her and she could hear his breathing shallow into short little bursts. “Is it good? Is it good?” he demanded lustfully in her ear.
She was asking herself the same thing. She grabbed onto the chair spindles to angle herself better, so he could drive more deeply inside her. As she tightened her grip, one of the spindles spun in her palm. And as Mike told her, “I’m coming, baby. You come, too,” Olivia tried very hard not to think about whether she’d seen the replacement spindle at Lowe’s or Home Depot.
Olivia and Mike were attempting number three, as position number one looked slightly distasteful, and number two required a level of flexibility Olivia had not seen since the days when Tom Cruise still seemed like a guy she’d want to have a go with.
Mike brought one of the wood kitchen chairs into the bedroom; mercifully not the one with the missing spindle.
He sat down, still dressed in the Minnesota Gophers T-shirt and athletic shorts he’d put on in the morning. “Like this?” he asked, holding his arms out to her.
Olivia reviewed the diagram. “Yes.” She climbed on his lap, straddling him. They kissed. Lukewarm. He moved his hands along her back, gently rubbing her shoulders and then up through her hair. His tongue pushed her lips apart, driving into her.
Do not think about chair spindles, she admonished herself silently.
His hands went to her waist and he grabbed hold of her snug, cornflower-blue T-shirt to lift it over her head. Olivia raised her hands accommodatingly. Mike let the shirt drop to the floor as he kissed down her neck, which she found more enticing. With sloppy, wet kisses he moved from her neck to the raised curve of her breast, protruding seductively from the top of her bra.
She could feel his erection growing. “Are you comfortable?” he asked.
Was she supposed to be comfortable, she wondered? If so, then what was the point of the hard chair? Focus, she told herself. Take his shirt off.
She pulled his shirt over his head and traced her finger from his neck down to his chest. He was still a handsome man, with a slim physique even twenty-three years after he’d lifted his last weights at the college gym.
“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled appreciatively. He unclasped her bra and let it drop to the floor, just to the side of her shirt. Their naked chests pressed against each other.
“Do we just screw on the chair?” Mike asked.
She leaned over to look at the diagram again. He tried to look, too, and their weight tipped the chair slightly so that he had to dig his foot hard into the floor to right them. His hand got tangled in her hair and yanked at it.
“Ouch.” She jerked her head away.
“Sorry,” Mike muttered.
She climbed off him and bit down on her lip to hide a small hiss of frustration. Olivia met his gaze and answered his sheepish smile by sliding her shorts down and stepping out of them gingerly. Mike watched, and his eyes looked more eager, but she saw his erection had fallen a bit, like a palm tree holding too many nuts.
“Let’s kiss some more,” he suggested.
Olivia stepped to him, and his arms encircled her. She closed her eyes. He placed his hand below her ear and kissed her cheek gently, which felt too paternal, while his other hand slid to her waist, his thumb making a soft, lazy circle against her skin. Mike made muffled sounds of desire into her ear. Olivia relaxed into him, hoping some sensation would take over, a quiver or a tremble. His lips moved to hers and he pushed his tongue into her mouth in a familiar but demanding way. She dropped her head to the side so he would kiss her neck rather than her lips, and began wondering why that felt better. He slid his hands down to her bottom, cupping her and pulling her hips tightly into him. She felt him harden again. Mike stepped backward, sat back down on the chair, then pulled her onto him.
“Now?” he asked. “Are you ready, Olivia? Do you want me inside you?”
What a lot of talk, she thought. “Yes, Mike,” she said. She arched up to take him in.
He thrust, moving deeper inside her and she could hear his breathing shallow into short little bursts. “Is it good? Is it good?” he demanded lustfully in her ear.
She was asking herself the same thing. She grabbed onto the chair spindles to angle herself better, so he could drive more deeply inside her. As she tightened her grip, one of the spindles spun in her palm. And as Mike told her, “I’m coming, baby. You come, too,” Olivia tried very hard not to think about whether she’d seen the replacement spindle at Lowe’s or Home Depot.