“Oh, Pothos,” she moaned, fumbling for the fastening on his jeans. “I want…” Her voice broke. What did she want? Jake, her familiar, dark-haired husband of twenty years? Most definitely. And Pothos, the golden-skinned Adonis who had seemingly materialized straight off the cover of a romance novel, clearly a manifestation of everything she was missing in her life right now?
Yes, God help her. She wanted him, too.
But somehow, it wasn’t quite enough to have one without the other.
She stopped trying to unfasten his jeans and rested her cheek against his chest, enjoying the hardness and the heat. Turning slightly, she inhaled the delicious aroma of his skin. Different to the clean citrus smell of her husband, Pothos smelt exotic and sensual. Not quite musk, not quite spice, but altogether it was heady and enticing.
“Like someone bottled pheromones and sprayed you with it,” she muttered, wanting to bury herself deeper in his embrace.
“You like it, of course,” he said, and now it was Jeannie’s turn to laugh, at that supreme confidence.
“I love it,” she admitted, and at her words the aroma intensified around her, as if she were immersed in a sensual river, almost drowning in pleasure. Her knees buckled as erotic images began to assail her. Images of herself crammed between Jake and Pothos, the three of them somehow entwined on the sand, moaning and rutting and taking it in turns to love each other in the silvery light of the moon.
That’s what I want, she thought, and the ferocity of her longing had her hands reaching up to fist in his hair. “Can you bring Jake here, too? I want you both.”
“Good,” he said, voice rough with desire. “That is how it should be. The three of us, sharing a platinum night of passion. Together.”
His decadent words sent a delicious shiver across her skin, but before she could respond Pothos bent down to grasp the bottom of her nightgown and rip it up and over her head. Moments later and those cotton panties were gone too. She stood naked in front of him as he threw the underwear aside, but strangely, she felt no embarrassment. A light breeze tickled her flesh and puckered her already aching nipples. Pothos reached out one finger and lightly grazed one of the expanding nubs. “Beautiful,” he said, and now his voice had a deep huskiness. “Jake should see you like this. Bathed in moonlight and sensuality.”
His finger left her breast and traced the rest of her body in a delicate caress, skimming across ribs moving rapidly as she struggled to breathe evenly, down through the curve of her waist and over her abdomen to rest, feather-light, at the very top of her slit. Her mons was bare except for a tiny heart shape of hair right where Pothos’ index finger now rested. She’d had the Brazilian last week, leaving the heart in a display of whimsy and hoping Jake would enjoy the new look.
But he hadn’t even noticed.
Unlike Pothos, who now had a crooked little grin on his face as he traced around the heart.
“A genuine blonde,” he said.
She nodded in a distracted fashion. She was finding it more and more difficult to draw a breath. Her gaze fell to his jeans, the denim now clearly stretched to its limit across his groin. Not fair that he should still have clothing on, while she stood here dressed in nothing but her pussy heart.
“Would you…please…remove…?” She reached out a trembling hand to touch his straining bulge, and his intake of breath was audible. She enjoyed the momentary power, mimicking his fingertip exploration of her body to trace up the shape of his penis, over the ripped abdominal muscles and then down again, taking pleasure in the increasingly irregular pattern of his breathing.
So this…god of love, or whoever he was, could be moved by desire, too.
She fumbled again for the fastening on his jeans, but he shook his head, then stepped back to remove his clothing in a fluid movement that was far quicker than she’d have been able to achieve with her shaking hands.
His cock sprang free and she gasped at the enormous size and inherent power in his organ. Pothos was longer and wider than Jake, but not unduly so, as her husband was rather well-endowed. But it was not only his erect appendage that had her eyes wide and her whole body aching for sex. Though his shoulders were built for power his body tapered down in a long, lean arc to narrow hips, and as he turned toward the water for a moment she got a view of tight buttocks and impressively muscled thighs.
Had he done that twirl on purpose? So that she’d see and appreciate the perfection of his body from every angle?
Yes, she decided, as he glanced back at her over his shoulder and grinned boyishly. He most certainly had.
“Nice butt,” she managed, in the understatement of the century, but it was worth it to see the affronted look on his face.
“Very nice, in fact.”
He moved so fast she only had time for a quick yelp before he was standing over her, gripping her shoulders. The head of his organ was almost, but not quite, touching her stomach, and she could feel the radiant heat leaching out from its proximity. “Nothing about me is nice, Jeannie.”
(Copyright Jennifer Lynne)