Free Sinful by Carolyn Faulkner Page B

she did let him know by bucking and writhing and holding onto him for dear life, looking as if she was being torn apart from within by the agonizing throes of ecstasy. He held her throughout, trying to provide what support he could, noticing that there was a tear trailing down from the corner of her closed eye that alarmed him a bit, but when he would have leaned over to get her a tissue she clutched at him, and he used the side of his thumb instead.
    After a long, long while, she opened her eyes and asked, “Is that what it’s supposed to be like?”
    Brandt sat back amongst the pillows and held her to his side. “If the chemistry is right between a man and a woman, yes.”
    “I had no idea. Absolutely none! And I was a married woman!”
    “Well, I imagine they don’t want you to miss what you were probably never going to have. An orgasm is something that’s almost always going to happen for a man, but it’s optional for a woman. There’s more effort involved in getting you there, that a lot of men aren’t interested in putting in, for which I think they ought to be horsewhipped. But that’s just my opinion.”
    She was nodding along in agreement with him, which he found surprising and encouraging.
    “And you know you can have more of them any time you like – a man has to wait a while between them, but not a woman. You can have an infinite number of them.”
    She shuddered. “Gee, I think I’d die if I had more than one at a time.”
    He chuckled. “We’ll revisit that when this is all less new to you. I bet I can prove you wrong.”
    Dinner was much later than originally planned, but that was fine with them because they had the dining room largely to themselves and the staff danced attendance on them. Brandt insisted they have everything – soup to nuts – since they were vacationing. He certainly couldn’t afford to do this for her very often, but he’d eek it out as often as he could, knowing that she had had very little in the way of spoiling while she was growing up.
    And he didn’t want to spoil her, exactly, although he did want to treat her sometimes, and he knew that she had developed a love of restaurants. So they started with a half a loaf of onion strings, which could be dipped in the house homemade barbeque sauce, then she had a cup of French onion soup that – nonetheless – came in a small crock while he enjoyed a southwestern chicken chili. The house salads were fresh and crisp, and served with a sweetly tart Italian dressing that was out of this world. They had each ordered steak – a bacon wrapped filet for her and a porterhouse for him – both of which were melt in your mouth delicious.
    They finished it off with not the usual one dessert they split when they went out at home, but two separate desserts. Hers was an over generous apple crisp that was served in another type of crock, complete with melting vanilla ice cream and whipped cream, and his was a slice of turtle cake, which was milk chocolate cake that was dripping caramel and roasted pecans. Of course, they traded bites, and neither of them could come anywhere near close to finishing what they’d ordered – either the main meal or the dessert. But that was the advantage of staying at the hotel where they were eating. They just brought an enormous doggy bag back to their room to have for later that could be reheated in the little kitchenette.
    And that came in handy later, when he’d made love to her again. He pretty much found himself unable to keep his hands off of her, and he’d stripped her the moment they’d gotten back into the room, so the scene had been set.
    She was still very shy about being naked, but he insisted that she not try to hide behind anything, refusing to allow her to dive under the covers once he determined that she wasn’t cold or that there wasn’t another reason why she needed to have the covers up by her chin.
    “I think I’ll keep you naked for the rest of the weekend, Lita,” he mused