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The food was delicious, drinks enjoyable and she was at her social finest, chatting, laughing, dancing. Her smile made the star atop the tree look dull. I teased that I was going to have to start calling her 'Harold' because that laugh of hers could embarrass the angelic choir!She was just being herself, so beautiful and lovely and sweet. She looked so fantastic. To me, she always looks the way love feels.Her festive dress was giving me naughty ideas, but my visions were not of sugar plums! I was in no hurry to leave, I liked holding her hand and our tender kisses. I liked holding her whilst we danced, especially when we shared the tender embraces during the slow songs. But when she suggested we head home, she found in me a willing chauffeur. The yuletide joy continued on our brief commute, holding hands, stealing kisses, smiling and laughing. Her children were at her Mum’s for the night so we had the house to ourselves. I scooped up my beautiful sweetheart as soon as we had shed our. Her back arched of its own accord. His huge hand on her breast sent a lightning-sharp sensation down her body. She watched in horror as he took his hand away and replaced it with his mouth. Her hands forgot the search for her dagger and she held his head there. She didn't want him to stop.When he did, she was almost crestfallen.He had to hand it to her. He'd been ready when he came up here, but now he was rock hard. He longed to just bury himself in her and forget about the world. But he wanted more of those delicious responses.He put his fingers beneath her undergarment. He could feel her heat. She gasped as he touched her, petted her firmly but gently. Her hand gripped his wrist but he refused to stop. He lay on her, pulling on the undergarment until it came away from her, its threads disintegrating. She was gasping again and tried to cover herself up, but he gripped her hands and pulled her upright. She sat up on the edge of the bed, her blouse slipping from her shoulders and her.
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