She felt the soft swell of his unbound breasts pressing against her back, naked beneath the barely opaque short peignoir she had slipped into this morning after setting out his tee shirt, BVDs and jeans soft and warm from the dryer.  But the thigh he slipped between her legs was bare.

“Oh,” she mouthed, the tinge of embarrassment hung in her words.

“Yes,” his moist breath swam into the spiral folds of her ear, beginning to flush with heat called by the sharp tip of his tongue circling.

He thumbed the stereo remote and laid it down on the counter top, releasing her just long enough to sweep the omelet ingredients out of harm’s way before sliding his strong hands around her, light on her stomach, moving slowly upward, first to the pillow clasp of her gown, which opened to his sure touch, then sliding down to the reward of full breasts kneaded in muscular fingers.  Her nipples flared and went rigid in his palms. He sighed.

The guitar line began it, sweet bluesy foreplay to the two-note bass line, solid and rock-steady as a butch’s slow walk across the dance floor, punctuated in the brassy call and response of the horn section.  Etta James, her voice edged with life and hardship, invited them in the opening thrust of song:

When the sun goes behind the clouds

And you feel, lord you feel, it’s gonna rain

And the moon, babe, the moon ain’t shinin’ bright

And the sun, honey, won’t shine for you tonight

His hips rocked against her ass, a slow thrusting motion, as his mouth tasted her neck, explored it, kissed it, sucked it, pulled skin between his teeth, bit down sharply enough to evoke a gasp of pleasure.

He stroked the warm length of his thigh between her legs, summoning wetness from the lips of her other mouth, the one that spoke a different language, the one that invited him to fill her, penetrate her darkest mysteries, fill her with fire. 

Her body answered his call with a gush, making his thigh slicker as he stroked faster, grinding against her now as she thrust against him, rubbing her erect nipples with his palms, pinching, squeezing, tugging, the hard pebble of her clit aching to be touched, rubbed, circled, pressed til pleasure flowed and sweetened every hungry inch of her body.