For all her worrying, he didn't seem to notice anything about her bra, except how to quickly rid her of it. It had a front clasp, so as soon as he had the hooks undone, he used his hand under the fabric to sweep it away, all the while touching her lightly, helping her become accustomed to his hands on intimate places on her body. When she was naked there, he didn't grab at her like a teenager. He savored her like a rare, fine wine. She was wonderful shades of cream and pink, plumper than when they had first started dating but not overly so. She fit into his palm as if she'd been made for him and him alone.
Slowly, with Elodie watching his every move avidly, he bent his head to her, nosing that impudent nipple at first, mouthing it, letting his lips slide over it with no pressure, no sucking, just touching them to her and letting her involuntary moans and caught breath fill the room.
She wanted him. It was heady, heady stuff. Elodie arched her back, and Clay opened his lips over her, letting her place herself into his mouth.
His lips claimed her nipple and suckled, his tongue flowing over her engorged peak like lava over a pasture, inciting riots in every nerve ending, especially those that led between her legs. He had just begun to touch her, and she found she couldn't squeeze her thighs together hard enough to take anything off the ache he created so effortlessly. She had to shift her legs restlessly in order to tolerate the throbbing, and that rubbed her sore bottom against his rough jeans... she was caught between a hard place and a hard place—one especially hard one that was trying to press itself into the cleft of her bottom cheeks even through his jeans.
*****
Clay was sure that his cock was going to have zipper teeth marks all up and down it, underwear be damned. He tried to shift Elodie towards him a little, then sighed in exasperation. He was too damned old to be necking on the couch when there was a king-sized bed calling to him from upstairs.
Before she could protest, she was in his arms, and he was carrying her up the winding staircase. Clay placed her on the bed with great care, but Elodie was already trying to struggle out of his arms. All he did was contract his muscles a bit, though, and she wasn't going anywhere.
Elodie was struggling in earnest. "Let me go! I can't do this here!"
Clay was confused. Where the hell did she want to do it, if not on a bed? He was already too involved to think straight. "Huh?" It was barely intelligible, he was that far gone. He moved a bit away from her—but not far—and refused to let her go.
"This bed—this bed! You and April—" She was practically hysterical.
Suddenly a light went on in his head. "No, no, no. As soon as we—as I thought we might be... getting closer, I sold that bed. This is brand new." Elodie still looked skeptical, although she'd calmed down a lot. Clay drew a cross over his left breast. "Cross my heart. I can show you the receipt; I just got it less than a month ago. I would never do that to you."
He waited to see whether she accepted his words, and she seemed to. But he didn't want to just resume the same level of intimacy again, without preamble, so he stretched out on his back and gathered her to his side, hoping this was non-threatening enough that she wouldn't want to stop what they'd been doing. He pulled up his t-shirt, took her hand and put it on his flat stomach—pretty neutral ground, considering, although his erection tented his jeans by about four inches above normal.
"Touch me, Elodie," he breathed. "I crave your touch."
*****
He couldn't have said anything more perfect to encourage her to do exactly that. Elodie felt an incredible warmth burst inside her at his words. He wanted her to touch him.
That mentholated warmth mingled with the almost painful aching in her whole body, from her tingling scalp to her curling toes. She'd never wanted anything more in her life than to touch him, to mingle with him, his hair with hers, his breath on her body in the most unlikely of places, her mouth eating him up and nibbling at the tasty undercurve of his buttocks.
For the first time in her life, Elodie indulged herself in love. Her touch was truly reverent on his skin, just the barest of contact, almost tickling but not quite, as she trailed her fingertips, then spread her fingers and used her whole hand just scarcely above his skin. Sometimes touching, sometimes not, and she learned the muscular planes of his body. His chest consisted of heavy plates of muscles punctuated by small brown nipples, and covered with a very fine sheen of tight black hair. He had a concave six pack, but Elodie had no idea how he got it or maintained it, because he didn't have time to exercise. If he wasn't working, he was with her, or asleep. He'd become a little less of a type A with her around, but she'd never seen him do any exercise other than his day to day activities of running a ranch.
She was surprised at the softness of his skin, and that her touch raised gooseflesh wherever she went. His nipples were at least as hard as his penis seemed to be, judging by the front of his jeans, and suddenly, she wanted to taste him. In a blur of rushed movement, she shed his clothes, with some assistance on his part. She couldn't wait any longer.