Centre Stage

Witchcraft...

He looked down at her as she stood in front of him, smiling gently. He'd kissed her, softly, tenderly and known nothing more. A phrase floated into his mind and out of his mouth...

"You have witchcraft in your lips" he whispered, his eyes searching her face, his hands hovering around her face, her throat, almost scared to touch her again for fear the passion that now consumed him would break her.

She smiled "then it is you who put it there, for I don't know any other way to kiss you my Lord." not Shakespeare, no, but just as heartfelt. Her voice, soft and gentle, her eyes staring into the inky depths of his soul.

"Then put me under your spell again" he mouthed against her lips, his hands finally coming to rest on either side of her neck, his thumbs trailing her jaw. He moaned into her mouth as he felt her press her body against him.

She broke the kiss and pulled back to look up at him, "We.. if we do... this.. " she whispered "If we do this, then you should know I am yours and only ever will have been yours. Somehow, till now, it hadn't seemed right. No-one had seemed, right. You are so very right. "

He paused and looked at her, his eyes a seething mass of emotions. Desire, fear, pride and joy. "You mean...?" he took his hands back, almost as if he didn't want to sully her with his lust. She smiled.

"Well just because I've never been in an Aston Martin, doesn't mean I don't know how to drive one!" she said with a giggle, "I'm no blushing ingenue, I just needed you to know. So you were prepared. For me to, well, you know." she bit her lip.

"My little kitten" he breathed "my darling little kitten." he kissed her softly and she now let out a soft moan, her head spinning. Piece by piece, as they stood in his bedroom - in times to come she would lie with a smile and say she remembered what colour it was that night - he undressed first her then himself.

He laid her on the bed, making sure she was comfortable and had as many pillows as she wanted. That she was comfortably warm, that the curtains were closed and.... "Stop fussing my darling..." she held out her hands. "Come to me Tom, come to me and show me what I have been holding myself back for."

He smiled and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her lying there with her hair in a cloud around her head. Her body, already reacting to his closeness, was inviting and she had a slight blush to her cheeks that made her even more irresistible.

Slowly, he stroked her arm, shoulder to wrist, his fingers as light as a breeze. She followed his movements with her eyes and then back to his. She smiled. He took his hand now and with the back of it, traced a path down from her throat, between her breasts, underneath one , his fingertips brushing her and making her take a small , sharp breath in. She lifted one of her hands and laid it on his arm. She put the other to her mouth, biting on the end of her index finger, eyes fluttering closed and open again.

She could feel the warm tide of passion flooding through her with his every touch. His hands were like warm, sensuous feathers. Her body reacting to his reverent touch. As she looked at his face, his eyes studied every curve, every inch of her as if she were a glorious work of art to be savoured and cherished. He licked his lips as he bent down and she expected him to kiss her. He did but not her lips.

Gently, he leaned and brushed his lips over the skin on her chest, butterfly kisses, working slowly down to the now heaving mounds of her breasts. As his mouth settled on one ripening peak, she let out a moan of pure bliss. She'd had physical encounters with men before, of course she had, but none she trusted enough to take her to the edge of heaven and beyond. This, though, was unlike any feeling she had ever had.

Arching to press herself into his mouth, his hands slid round behind her and pressed on her back. She could hear - and presently feel - him moan as he suckled on her. His teeth grazing her, his tongue working the peak into a hard, aching pebble.