0 comments/ 14856 views/ 8 favorites Emma Gets Booked and Hooked By: Rex Siter Angrily, Emma Harding slammed the book shut and flung it across the room. It thudded against the living room door before falling to the floor, open at some page but face down. For a few seconds Emma could only stand there, silently fuming. What was wrong with her? She hadn't needed to read that bit again? For the hundredth time the unspoken words howled in her head, how dare he? How dare he reveal their relationship in this way? So what if it was fifteen years ago? Exposing her with his words, he had revealed her sexual awakening, her secret desires, her passion, and her erotic soul. The sensuousness, the sensitivity of their brief time together was opened out for the whole world to slaver over. And the whole world was no exaggeration. The book had been a massive best seller. She had never been a great reader of fiction. Law books took most of her attention, but her first knowledge of this damned book had been a headline in a newspaper acclaiming a raunchy novel called: ABOUT EMILY She hadn't bothered to read the article. Then colleagues in the law firm, where she was a partner, had made a big fuss about the sexiness of the book. She had paid little attention to their excited tales of being jealous of what the hero did to the heroine. Then, only a few days ago, a few months after the book was published, she had spotted it in a shop window, surrounded by colourful marketing hype. And there, for the first time, she noticed the author's name. Brad Sumner. Her throat had tightened. Could it really be that Brad Sumner? Was he the man whom she had once thought of as her Brad Sumner? In the short time they had been together, he, a raw journalist with a local newspaper, she struggling through law studies at York University, he had talked about his hopes of becoming a novelist. So his name prompted her purchase of the book and she had started reading it that night. From the opening page she began recognising small details, familiar names, and places. She hadn't got too far before any doubts were totally removed. His female character was called Emily. How close was that? The seductive male character was Brian, close enough. Emily was given tawny, lioness hair. Emma had tawny hair, and Brad himself had once remarked that it was 'like a lioness'. Emily's breasts were 'just a good handful.' Exactly what Brad had said about Emma's breasts all those years ago. The whole scenario dealing with Emily's deflowering, brought it all back to Emma. The location, that rather cheap hotel room, with its faded floral wallpaper, the drab bed cover, and the grubby little toilet and shower were all accurately described in the text. Add to that an uncertain twenty year old virgin, sitting on the edge of a bed, watching a lusty twenty two year old man strip down to a pair of bulging boxer shorts. They say you never forget your first time, and it was true, as Emma now recalled her own trembling at that bulge. Emily trembled too, as the man, Brian, in the book, raised her to her feet, and kissed her warmly, before slowly and very delicately unbuttoning her blouse. Reading on from there, Emma almost knew what was coming next, felt again her feelings as his eyes gazed wondrously at her naked body. It should have been embarrassment, but it wasn't. Emma recalled how a kind of elation was mixed in there. Clearly, Brad had not detected that elation, for he had his heroine, Emily, feeling shameful. Emma had never felt that. In spite of a level of uncertain nervousness, she had been willing to be rid of her virginity. And Brad hadn't rushed her. That scene went on to recount in great detail how loving, generous and caring Brian was in preparing Emily for the final act. Emma had to admit that it had been very clear that Brad had already had sufficient experience to know his way around a woman's body. His touch on her most tender parts created sensations in her that she had never experienced with the few boys she had allowed to get that close. He had proved that her breasts were a vital starting point for the fires that, over the three months they were together, readily stoked up inside her lower body. His account of Emily's first fingering of Brian's erection was fairly accurate. As he wrote, 'Emily was just a little reticent,' that was true, but that reticence only existed for a couple of further encounters. His description of the latter stages of that first time, he was perhaps guessing at how she reacted to his fingers entering her vagina before teasing on her clitoris. That had been special, for her, and apparently for Emily. The moment of entry was signalled by a nervous normality of whether her small part could take his large piston. In reading that, Emma had a little laugh as he appeared to be stressing how large he was. Emma had subsequently seen larger, maybe not as accomplished, but larger. Her ex-husband, Larry, had been quite well endowed, but rarely lifted her to heights, she knew, could be hers. Brad had written that Emily had yelped with the pain of his entry, and Emma knew that, although there had been a moment of deep discomfort, she had not made a sound. But what had followed, the feel of having a man's penis up inside her for the first time, had been very pleasant. Emily had experienced an ecstatic orgasm. Not quite, Emma had thought. Her ecstasy was to come on later encounters.. At that point in her first reading, Emma had stopped and wondered whether she should go on, knowing, if the book followed a true course, the development of her sensuality would be very evident. More threatening was the fact that she had managed to expunge most of it from her mind. Was it all going to be brought back to haunt hder? The thought of millions of people reading about it was maddening. Cursing herself, she realised that, in reading about, what was ostensibly her own deflowering, she had actually moistened down there. Damn him! Yet, she could only shrug, and read on. Exactly as she had feared, Emily's (or was it her own?} rising lascivious actions were described in some detail. Emma cringed at being reminded of the many locations their liaisons had taken place. Once in a train carriage, in a car, in Brad's flat, on a beach at night, twice in her own home while her parents were on a short holiday. Emma did recall how they did it wherever the opportunity presented itself, and with each consecutive occasion her own (and consequently Emily's) passions broadened, her behaviour became more sensuous, more demanding. And she could tell from the writing that Brad had been delighted to uncover, gradually, the many layers in her awakening libido. God, would any of their acquaintances from that time recognise the connections? Surely not, although she was frequently in touch with some of her old college friends, and they had known about her spending much of that summer break with Brad. But, thankfully, there had been no shocked phone calls. So, hopefully, no one had made the connection. Yet something else was being revealed to her in this book. The hero, Brian, was clearly increasingly romantically inclined to Emily. He even went so far as saying the words, "I love you," to her. Something that Brad had never quite got around to with Emma. Although he had never ceased to be most affectionate. Perhaps in writing his book it had become a dramatic ploy, and this became most obvious when, in the final chapter, Emily was killed in a tragic motor accident. Brian was left in utter devastation at this loss, and grief loaded the final pages. But was this his way of saying, "Get out of my life"? If it was meant to be a tear-jerker, it received little sympathy from Emma, only something close to anger. Brad had probably made a fortune out of her sexuality. How about that? Finishing the book at two thirty in the morning she had vowed to put it out of her mind, just as she thought she had dispelled most of the incidents reawakened in the book. So, why, over the next few days, had she kept picking it up, and browsing? Simply, and annoyingly, it was because those forgotten times were back, alive in her mind. It was like a challenge. She read again of the night on the beach, on a blanket among the sand dunes. A warm August night, when he'd removed most of her clothes to apply his tongue to every inch of her body. God, yes, every inch! He had written that Emily had squealed with wild abandon, and this time he had been accurate. His ministrations had lifted her to desperately exquisite heights. God, had she forgotten that? Another opening and she was reliving that time in his car, where, for the first time, she straddled his body taking his erection into her so that she had felt beautifully skewered. It was almost aggravating to read that Emily enjoyed it too. With each random read she would throw the book down with her annoyance raised once more, partly because of Brad's use of that time, partly because she wanted to believe that the recall was more exciting than the actual event. But she knew she was kidding herself. Get a grip, Emma Harding, she had scolded herself. This all happened fifteen years ago, and you have had sufficient sexual experience since then to eradicate it from your mind. She pulled a face. One failed marriage lasting four years, two short affairs, and a few one night stands, with none coming close to giving her that bodily sensation that an eager twenty year old had revelled in. And it was all stirred up again with the publication of this book. Now she stood, uncertainly, staring at the book lying on the floor. The black and yellow cover seemed to hypnotise her as it lay there. What page was now lying face down? No, stop being stupid, she told herself. You're only upsetting yourself. It is all in the past. Brad came into your life, a journalist with a penchant for backing horses, a charming lover, and then her had taken off without a word. God only knew why. She had no wish to dwell on the hurt of that occasion, of finding his flat deserted. Being told by his newspaper that he had left their employ, had left her in tears. It all happened just when she had been on the point of telling him that her father's financial advisory work had his parents moving to London, and she was seeking a transfer to a London University to complete her law degree. Did he ever try to find her? But there lay the book, teasing her, daring her. The damned yellow and black of the cover was like a beckoning beacon. Impetuously she picked it up, and turned it to look at the open page. Just a simple description of her parent's house reminded her exactly what she was going to read, and her own room was even more definite. With a heaving heart she read: "Emily would not just lie still. At first Brian thought she was uneasy about doing it in the home of her parents. But it was her bed they were using. Suddenly she had pushed him backwards and was lying over him, her fingers already doing their devilish work along and around his penis. Her blue eyes were full of determination as she said huskily, "Two weeks ago, on the beach, I said I would get you back for that." Brian had no argument with that, as her face, her mouth, her tongue roamed down his body. Her tongue licked around each of his nipples, before sliding on down to his navel, where it burrowed for just a moment. "Nice?" she whispered loudly, as her fingers lifted his scrotum and it felt to Brian that she was doing a juggling act with his balls. "Not bad," he mumbled, trying to keep his head raised to view her actions. And those actions were already affecting his blood pressure, as her fingers moved back along his hefty erection, and her face moved in close to the bulging purple head. Will she? Her head moved slowly forward and she gave the head a closed lip kiss. Brian wondered whether he should tell her exactly what he wanted. But then her tongue ran right along the length of his penis in a full wet lick, before returning along the underside vein. The surprise of it had Brian thinking he might pop, but hell, he was stronger than that, wasn't he? Her lips were back at his penis head again, and they were slightly parted as she looked at it. Tentative, was she? Her tongue appeared, licking her own lips, before probing deliberately all around the head, pushing at the withdrawn foreskin. God, had she done this before? The next second his penis had disappeared, and Emily's mouth gaped around it. Brian found it all the more erotically titillating to see her cheeks bulge where his penis head pushed. Her tongue was wriggling like a trapped animal under his erection, and he risked a little push to move to the back of her throat. Her head pulled back slightly, only to push along his shaft more forcefully. Brian had a decision to make. He felt huge in her mouth, and his scrotum, with her fingers giving it an occasional jolt, was ready to release. Should he let it happen first time? Or might Emily be put off totally? Without further thought, he eased her head back from him, rolled over and entered her deeply." Emma closed the book and placed it on the table. Strange that it should fall open at that section, for it was arguably the one section she could have little quibble about. The mention of juggling his balls had made her smile the first time she had read it. His testicles were large, and she had not been able to get a good grip on them. He had noticed that she had been a little reticent at first, and it was interesting to read of how close he had been to coming in her mouth. That had never happened. Things close down so fast. All finished with, she thought. Life goes on, and she went through to the lavish kitchen to prepare herself some dinner. It was on a Sunday two weeks later that Emma made one of her occasional dinner visits to her parent's home in Waltham Cross, not too far from her own home in Enfield. When Emma arrived, her mother was busy in the kitchen. After greeting her fondly her mother told her, "You're father's having his usual down at the club. He'll be home soon. I'm just finishing off the veg. Go on through to the living room." Emma did as she was told and found the lavish living room with a different wallpaper. They must change the wallpaper in that room every two years. The furnishings were top of the range, with the rich leather sofa and easy chairs, and what Emma thought was an old fashioned sideboard. The bookcase was, of course stacked with books, and, as her eyes passed over it, they were suddenly drawn back, and something pinged in her chest. A yellow and black cover! There, lying across the top of the neatly shelved other books. It couldn't be, could it? She reached for it, and sure enough—it was— "You don't want to read that, dear." Emma's mother had entered without her hearing. Emma found herself clutching the book tightly as her heart pounded in her chest. All she could dumbly ask was, "Why?" Her mother shrugged, "I suppose it doesn't matter since I know you don't read many books. But that one is rather dirty." Emma almost laughed, and didn't know why,"Dirty? So how have you got it?" "Oh, Betty Rogers loaned it to me. Said everybody was talking about it, and I should." "And have you?" A guilty look crossed her mother's face, "After what she'd said, I couldn't refuse. But I found it rather ridiculous." Emma had no idea what her own face was showing, as defensively, she thought, 'It was part of my life, mother. It couldn't be ridiculous,' But all she could say was, "In what way?" "Well, the Emily character goes from virgin to ardent lover in under three months." "Is that what it's about?" Trying to sound innocent. "Just about. Sex with an unhappy ending. Sex in every location. One place-well, you remember your bedroom in the old house? The description was so like that." Holding her breath, Emma feared what might come next, but thankfully, her mother was just treating the fact as coincidence. "Daft really." She moved to the door, "I'd better check the veg." At the door she stopped and said," You could tell that the author wanted to present his hero as a real stud." At that point she turned back with a wicked grin on her face, "I'm trying to get your father to read it. You never know." And she went out laughing. "A girl can only hope." Relieved by her mother's light-hearted treatment of the matter, Emma replaced the book, believing that the subject was closed. But as they cleared up after the meal, and her father had retired to sleep off his session at the club, her mother said, "They're making a film of it, you know." "Of what?" "That book, silly." "How do you know that?" God, exposed on film. How could they do that? Surely, any exact film would be banned. "There's a piece in today's local paper. The author has another book out, and it said that the Emily book had been purchased by one of the major studios." Emma made a big fuss of putting pans away, as she tried desperately to come to terms with what she was hearing, but her mother hadn't finished, "Oh, and he's on a promotion tour at the moment. He's going to be signing copies of his new book in Enfield at Banner Books on Wednesday." From that Sunday, Emma could not get her mind into gear. Property law demanded concentration to detail, taking in all aspects of a case, what people said, what claims were made. She just could not afford to have her thinking disturbed in this way. Damn you again, Brad Sumner. Up until two weeks ago her life had been following a more or less normal course. Now, with one blind step he had plunged himself back into her thinking. In Enfield on Wednesday, was he? Out of curiosity on the Tuesday she drove past the Banner shop, and saw the poster advertising the book signing. From 2.00 pm until 4.00 pm, she read. Why had she looked? Was she intending to go? To tell him what she thought of him, perhaps? Not a good idea, she told herself. She might scratch his eyes out. But there was that insidious curiosity, wondering what he looked like now. Fifteen years meant he would be thirty seven. Would he still be as handsome? Would she be bothered if she let the opportunity pass? By 3.15 pm on the following day she had her answer. It had stopped raining as she sat sipping a latte in the cafe immediately across the road from Banner's, watching a fairly long queue outside the shop, mainly women. Across the window a new poster gave the title of the new book: WELCOME TOMORROW by Brad Sumner.(author of About Emily) As the queue shortened, she saw, close to the shop window, a man in shirtsleeves sitting, occasionally looking up, smiling, no doubt (he'd always had a bright smile) before signing the book purchased by some blinkered female. Emma's irritation rose. She was not going in there. But, after a moment's hesitation, she stood and moved to the cafe door. A quick glance through the window wouldn't hurt, just to see how he had weathered, and then, curiosity satisfied, away. Incident over. Looping her umbrella over her wrist, and dodging the afternoon traffic, she quickly crossed the road. Slowing, she approached the window. There he sat. Brad Sumner, the famous author. Not the boyish, fresh faced young man, who had opened out her womanhood, before deserting her. No, sitting there, all relaxed, self confident, his face darker, a more mature set to the mouth, but infuriatingly, more deeply handsome, was the man who had recently plunged her into angry despair. No, Emma, don't dwell on it, leave now. As she swung away the umbrella accidentally hit against the window with a gentle rap. Heads turned, and for the briefest of moments his eyes were locked onto hers. She continued her move away, with her breath now caught up in her throat. Had he seen her? Recognised her? The voice calling out from behind her, soon answered that question. "Emma?" It was a half call, containing an element of uncertainty. Emma Gets Booked and Hooked Closing her eyes, as she stopped walking, realising that there was no escape but to face him. She turned, as he caught up with her. God, he was so much more mature than the man she had given herself to. His smile looked genuine, his eyes wide and glowing as he looked at her his whole face a mask of surprise. "It is you. I didn't know if it was-I didn't expect it-God, Emma, you look fantastic." Emma tried to summon up all the pain and confusion she had felt fifteen years ago, and mingle it with the anger that his book had aroused in her. The fusion would not evolve. All traffic noise stopped as she looked into his open face. Visions she'd had of screaming obscenities at him just would not happen. In a croaking voice she could only manage a cool, "Hello, Brad." He raised his hands as though to place them on her shoulders, and she backed away. "Hell, it's so wonderful to see you," he enthused, lowering his hands. "I have so much to tell you." "About your success?" How was she managing to keep her voice so cool? "No, no. Not that. About -oh, everything. There's so much-I knew this would be difficult-Can we-?" Emma could not believe it. There he stood, all mature and good- looking, a man of some standing now. Yet he was sounding like that youthful lover from fifteen years ago, only more confused and uncertain. His eyes searched her face, as though seeking some kind of encouragement. Well, she wasn't going to give him that, and she remained silent as she returned his gaze with what, she hoped, was disinterest. He broke the awkward silence by asking, "You married?" "Was." "It didn't work out?" Why hadn't she just lied and given him no opening? He looked back at the shop window, Several puzzled faces were lined up, looking out at them. "Hell, I have to get back in there, but there is so much you should know. So much you deserve to know. Could we meet this evening?" In a hurry, wasn't he? But, yes, she did deserve to know a few things. Yet she had no wish to make things easy for him. "You not married?" she asked. "Never have." A lie? Maybe. Probably too many women to conquer. So why had that news given her a lift. Control, Emma, she warned herself. Remember who this is and what he has done to you. "Could we meet?" he asked again. "Somewhere local if you like." Emma hesitated, telling herself that her response had to be unconvincing and without any eagerness. "There's the Dante, just along the road there." And she indicated the green sign jutting out about two hundred yards on the other side of the street. Brad gave an anxious glance back at the shop before saying, "Fine. Seven thirty, say." Emma nodded, and he bid her a hasty farewell and hurried back to his book signing. Feeling slightly numb, Emma used her cell phone to check with the office, and when she'd learned that nothing outstanding had cropped up, she made her way home, deep in thought. That deep thinking lasted through the early evening as she decided how to prepare herself for their scheduled meeting. Dress, she decided should be fairly formal, so as not to give any alluring hints. A white blouse with a black skirt, the sort of thing she might wear when meeting clients. But where had all her vengeful intentions gone? Lost. The very sight of Brad, had produced that so well remembered churning deep inside her. This evening had to put things in perspective. In the shower, she could not shake off thoughts of how he had looked. Her memories of times with him had been so deliberately eradicated, and only his damned book brought the more erotic incidents back to her. Like the evening they returned to his flat having drunk far too much wine. Just inside his front door, they tore frantically at each other's clothing, before sinking onto the stairs, still half dressed, with him way up inside her, and their hips slamming at each other in a wild frenzy. She soaped between her legs with just a shade too much vigour at that image. Their last night together had a small corner of her memory. In his book it was all about his use of fingers, lips and tongue to bring Emily to a wonderful climax. But she had sufficient recall to know that his penis had never seemed fully erect, and all evening he had been rather remote, worried almost. In answer to her concerned questions he had insisted everything was all right. Having intended to inform him of her family's imminent movement down to London, she decided to withhold that information for a more suitable occasion. Such an opportunity never occurred. Deliberately, she arrived at the Dante at seven thirty five. She had put a short dark jacket over her blouse, and was trying hard to build herself up for a little more aggression than she had shown so far. Brad was already there at a table, in a dark blue suit with a light blue shirt and dark tie, he looked the picture of sophistication. As she moved towards the table, she noticed three young women at a nearby table giving him they eye. Yes, he would be enjoying that. He stood to greet her and helped her out of her jacket, telling her how elegant she looked. "Thank you," she said, without any expression, and told herself that was the way to handle this. When she was seated he said, "Do you mind if we order and eat before I go into explanation mode?" His brown eyes lowered very briefly to the swell of her white blouse, before returning to her face. Get your mind off that track, Mr Sumner, no chance. But in answer to his question, she said, "It might be a good idea." "Drink?" Very purposefully she said, "One only, small white wine-medium," A half smile crossed his lips and she wondered whether he was remembering a previous occasion. However, they went ahead and ordered the meal, both choosing pork steaks in a rich sweet chilli and tomato sauce. While they waited the talk was all small, the films they had seen, holidays they had been on. She told him of her partnership in the law firm of Parker, Furness, and Harding. "Where are you in that. To me you were Emma Simmons." "My married name. I was married when the partnership came along. Seemed too much trouble to change it afterwards." He asked how long she had been married, and she told him. He nodded, and looked away. Emma was about to frame a question that would tactfully enquire about his unmarried state, when the food arrived. They ate in silence for a while, only stopping to agree that the food was excellent. Brad finished first, ordered coffees, before sitting back, and fixing Emma with a steady gaze. Emma cleared her plate, very aware of his stare, feeling like he was trying to read her mind. Oh, you don't want to know what's going on up there, Brad, you might get hurt, she thought. But at the same time she could not define certain fleeting thoughts that she could not explain to herself. As she watched one waiter whip away the plates and a second pour the coffees, she looked at him with what she hoped was a questioning look. Brad loosened his tie, and leaned forward. "Confession time? Or is it explanation time?" he asked, his eyes holding hers. "Words shouldn't be too difficult for somehow who's written two books." "Actually I've written three." "Three?" That was a surprise. He shrugged, "The first one was called, "Memory of a Loser." And if you had read it you might already have some insight into why I dropped out of your life-out of my life, come to that." He took a sip of his coffee, before saying, "You know how I liked backing horses?" Frowning, she nodded. She had never paid much heed when he talked about his gambling. It had always seemed low key stuff. "Not about that, is it?" Emma said, trying to put some irritation in her voice, to show her annoyance. And from that moment she could only sit, amazed, as he talked of his bad run of luck in July of 1997, which lead him to borrowing one thousand pounds from a rather dubious source. "You never said anything." "We had only just met. I didn't want you involved in my troubles." The look he was giving her touched something inside her. It was a look that she had once called his 'little boy lost' look. Brad went on to tell her that August was just as unlucky and he was unable to repay the debt. Threatening messages ensued until the day of their last time together, and that had been a final 'tomorrow, or else.' The following evening two sinister looking black limousines pulled up across the road from his flat. At this point his expression became almost apologetic as he told her how he hardly had time to think. He had hastily packed a bag, escaped via the rear of the block, jumped in his car and drove blindly, not knowing at first where he was headed. Eventually, because he had some ability with spoken French, the continent seemed to be the safest haven. His early efforts to contact Emma failed, and by the following day he was in Normandy. "How could you afford to-?" Emma began to ask. "Betting money and living money were always two different pots. But just getting there dug into my funds. I got in touch with an estate agent to sell my flat and he warned me that it had been badly trashed. However, he did manage to sell it at a greatly reduced price. That kept me going for a while." Emma listened with some sympathy but was still not happy that there had been no contact. She told him so. "Honestly, Emma, I was a helpless immature kid, really. You know I never had your parent's phone number. Once I was settled I used the address to find it. Without success. When I knew university term would be started I tried to get you at York, only to be told you were no longer there." Emma told him of her father's move to London, and her own transfer. He nodded his understanding, and went on to tell her of how his money was running out. He was making a little by selling articles and some occasional stories to French and English magazines. Then in March of '98 he took a massive risk, his final gamble. "It was a horse," he told her, and smiled at Emma's knowing shrug. Brad went on, "There is a race called the Cheltenham Gold Cup. Massive meeting. Huge race. A horse called Cool Dawn had pulled up in its last race after a couple of wins." Emma shook her head," You didn't back it?" "I did, because I read that after that race it was found to have some minor injury to his back. So if he was fit again- Anyway, I risked the French equivalent of hundred pounds on him -got 28-1. And he won." "A hundred pounds? You're crazy." "I was-a little. Desperate too. But it made me near three thousand pounds. I came home. Paid off the bad guys. Made another desperate search for you, without any luck. Worked for a newspaper, wrote my first book, which was about the money incident. A minor success." Emma took a sip of her coffee, and wondered how hard he had tried to find her. Yet she was slightly mollified by his reason for disappearing, even if it was through his own stupidity. She asked ,"But you never married. A happy bachelor were you? With a little book of names." "If you like. That's the way it would seem. But happy? You may not believe it, but I never found anyone who came near what I'd found with you." His eyes looked so wide and honest, she felt a strange eagerness to believe him. But was this his new playboy gambit? Plus there was still one matter that had to be raised. "So to get at me you wrote this ' About Emily' book. Have you any idea how I felt in recognising all those incidents." There was a half smile on his face as he said, "I didn't write about all of them." "And I should be grateful for that?" "But I only wrote it in the faint hope that you might see my name and read it. I guessed it might make you angry, but if it made you seek me out to shoot me, then at least I would have found you." Emma's hand on her cup shook and she didn't attempt to pick it up. "You expect me to believe that you wrote that book just to find me?" Brad's face appeared to crumble at her disbelief, "I never thought it would be the hit it has become. And I was beginning to think it was a failure-from the point of view that it hadn't produced what I wanted from it-your appearance. And it is such a beautiful appearance." "Never mind the flattery," Emma snorted, but not feeling so sure of herself anymore. "Listen, Emma," Brad pleaded, leaning across the table towards her, "I started writing that book, nearly two years ago. That's, thirteen years since we last met." "So what?" "Would you have remembered all those intimate incidents we shared, if you hadn't have been reminded by my book." "Maybe," Emma replied reluctantly, trying to avoid the truth in what he said. "But I remembered, and I had no book to remind me—only sweet memories." Something clutched at Emma's heart, and there was a sensation lower down that she wished to ignore. Yet she was determined not to make things that easy for him. Yes, he looked so good, and she so wanted it to be right. "I'll have to go, I have a case to work on for tomorrow." "Please say we can meet again." Brad said, and something in his eyes, suggested his plea was genuine, that 'little boy lost' look. "That might be all right," she said non-commitally. "Have you a mobile? "Of course." Within seconds they were exchanging contact numbers, and once again his eyes held hers, "If only we'd had these contraptions back then." He pushed his phone into a jacket pocket, "I'm sorry I can't fix a definite date, but I'm all over the place at the moment. Brighton tomorrow." They walked outside and stood beside her Honda Civic. The evening air was pleasantly warm, and for a brief moment Emma wondered whether he would try to kiss her. The atmosphere was so right for it. But he briefly touched her shoulder, as he turned away, "I promise you'll hear from me tomorrow." He turned back, "Thank you for letting me talk." Those eyes, that full, generous mouth. Damn him, for making her feel unsure of herself. Emma climbed into her car and sat watching, as he strode to a dark coloured upmarket model that, in the fading light she couldn't identify. When he had disappeared into the dark inside the car, she drove away. For the rest of the night, and into the following day she was comparing her state of mind before the meal, with how she felt after his revelations. More than anything she was annoyed at the easy way he had recalled those incidents—"I had no book to remind me." Lying in bed that night she found herself rising to the challenge of recalling something that he had not put into the book Her recall was hindered by the intrusion of the incidents outlined in the book, which she had read and reread, and were difficult to push aside. But then something came to her, something good, something that was new, different and had not been repeated, with anyone. It was Brighton, their second last week together, and he had booked a 'special weekend' in a decent quality hotel. Having walked the beach and the promenade for about two hours on a warm day, they had returned to their room stripped off, and there being no shower, had stepped into a bath of only just warm water. Even as she climbed in Emma remembered seeing Brad's penis already half erect. "He looks expectant," she had laughed. "Doesn't know what he might find under the water," he returned her laughter. "There's a plug-hole he might find accommodating." "No, there'll be something better than that," he affirmed, and as she settled in the water, she jerked as his fingers passed over her labia. God, she could remember all the detail, it seemed. "Something much better." Avidly, they soaped each other's bodies intimately. His hands on her breasts had been exquisite, and she knew that the moisture between her legs was not just bathwater. His penis was no longer semi-erect, as her fingers smoothed over and around it, while his fingers reached to probe and find her clitoris. Pure liquid heaven. Emma had leaned back and looked down. The tip of Brad's penis pushed up through the surface. "Save me," she had cried. "Is it a whale or a torpedo?" "You better test, before it goes into action." His eyes glowed with passion, as Emma leaned forward and down to place her lips on the purple, shiny head, and her tongue tip ticked at it, bringing a prolonged, "Aaah," from Brad's lips. Then Brad had reached for her hips to draw her closer. After much giggling and splashing, as they struggled to get their legs into a comfortable position his penis had slid so smoothly up into her eager grasping vagina. They sat there, joined at the crotch, but she leaned the rest of her body away from him so that he was able to pass his hands down over her breasts, and onto her clitoris. It only took a minute of that kind of stimulus, for her to be heaving and gasping, her frantic reactions bringing him to rapid climax. For Emma it was total, as she wanted that ecstatic surrender to go on and on, and as they heaved wildly together the bathwater came perilously close to swilling over the side of the bath. As they relaxed, Emma struggled to turn her glowing body so that she was lying with her back against Brad's chest, and she even recalled feeling the thudding of his heart, while his arms wrapped around her, hands clutching her breasts. In a surprisingly short time she felt a familiar and welcome twitching at her coccyx, as Brad's penis aroused itself. "Wet or dry?" he whispered in her ear, his fingers drifting down over her belly.. "Mmm, dry, I think." In no time they were out, dried and tangled among the cool sheets on the bed. Remembering that episode gave Emma some satisfaction, but at the same time it was reminding her of just why recall had been so difficult. After Brad's disappearance hadn't she slowly, unwillingly yet deliberately tried to shut her whole time with him out of her mind? Only the arrival of that book had reopened long locked cupboards of her mind. She lay for a long time wondering how long she would have to wait for his phone call. Of course, she had his number, but calling him might show an unwarranted degree of desperation. Come on Emma, you know you want to see him again. The flame was not totally dead, and had been revived by what he had told her. The call came at 3.15 the following afternoon. Emma had just come out of a meeting, when her phone buzzed. She had taken several calls all day, all business, so she did not hold out much hope when she looked at the screen, and her heart bumped her ribs when she saw the name 'Brad'. "Sorry I'm late." His voice sounded deeper over the phone. "Look, I have two tickets for 'The Jersey Boys' at the Prince Edward Theatre. Would you care to share them with me?" Her breath juddered in her throat. It sounded like a real date. Is that what she wanted? Yes, it certainly was. And she'd been longing to see 'The Jersey Boys'. But play cool. "I haven't seen it. What time?" "Well, the show starts at 7.30. but I thought we could have a meal before that. Plenty of eating places around there." Arrangements were quickly made, and Emma had quite a task keeping the enthusiasm out of her voice. Her intended iceberg approach had all but melted. She could barely believe she had moved so rapidly, from damning Brad to yes, longing to have his arms around her—and more than that. Just the sound of his deep brown voice on the phone had set her juices flowing. She was dwelling in dangerous waters, where hurt could lurk, she knew that. The theatre evening went so well. A well chosen restaurant, good food, easy conversation in which he showed interest in her work, and he spoke of the rumours about a film of his book. "Still unconfirmed talk," he told her. They both found the show exuberant and foot tapping. It was as they stepped out into the drizzly evening air that he asked, "Would you like to see my London apartment?" Emma Gets Booked and Hooked Here it came, the moment of truth, perhaps. One part of her brain was screaming, 'God, yes, I'd love to see your swish successful author's pad. Love to lie naked in your arms on silken sheets, feel your hardness against my thigh.' But a weak sensibility prevailed as she told him, "i don't think that would be a good idea. Not yet." His smile was warm, and showed no disappointment as he said, "Do you have your car somewhere near?" She told him that she commuted into the city every day. "Too much hassle on the roads in. But it does mean getting up early." "I don't like the idea of you riding the tube at this time of night. Too many dodgy characters." "I've done it a few times," Emma replied, but had to admit to herself that she wasn't too keen on late night travel. "Please, let me pay for a cab to get you back to Enfield." "I couldn't—" He took hold of her hands, "Let me, please. Having found you I don't want to risk-" He leaned forward and planted a swift kiss on her forehead. "—anything happening to you." "Like happened to Emily?" she quipped, and immediately regretted it, as his face fell. A further brief argument, and he had hailed a cab for her. He went round to pay the driver, and when he returned he said, "Fixed. I'll call you tomorrow. And, Emma—" His eyes were warm on hers, "—I'm so pleased you refused my offer earlier. You were right." Emma's head was in a whirl. Surely it couldn't be this straightforward? The touch of his hands on hers, the gesture of that kiss on her forehead, his declaration of worrying about her, all of these things, plus the sheer pleasure of his company were completely breaking down her resistance. More than ever the desire to have him holding her intimately once again was overwhelming. By the time of their third date she had just about made her mind up about what the next step would be, and it would be her step. In their earlier relationship every move they made, from the taking of her virginity to their last night together, had been instigated by Brad. Emma was determined that this time any progress would be of her volition. That third date was very simple. A meal, a stroll, and much laughter, mixed with more intimate conversation. More intimate with regard to the subject matter, her marriage and other errors, and his longest affair, lasting a dull two years, alongside various one or two night stands. Over the excellent meal of spiced lamb, these subjects were broached, but it was afterwards, as they strolled along the busy South Bank, and Emma felt Brad's hand close around hers, that more details were revealed. "Larry always seemed more concerned with himself and his own pleasures," Emma admitted."And I was sure from early on that there were other women." "He must have been crazy" Emma appreciated that comment, and more so when he said, "I found no one who could-give me the buzz that I once got from you." Feeling much bolder, she then asked him, "How long is it since your last -er—encounter" "With a woman-?" His lips twisted as he thought about that,"—oh, it must be four or five months. You?" And he laughed as he added, "With a man." Sharing the laugh she told him, honestly, "About a year." Even as she said it she was thinking, 'Is it any wonder I'm desperate to be in his arms again?" For this evening her father had told her that he would be in the city, and said he would give her a lift home, if she was on Westminster Bridge at 10.30. At 10.20 they stood and exchanged warm kisses under the bridge. "Feels good," Emma murmured breathlessly, and Brad agreed, his hand lingering on the side of her left breast. Emma was half-tempted to twist her body to move his hand across. Burying the thought she said quickly, "We should get up there to meet my Dad. But before we do can I ask you if you'd fancy risking me cooking you a meal on Saturday?" "Not my apartment?" He knows we're not far off something, Emma thought. "I want to be on home ground," she said with a grin. "Certainly sounds appealing-but-" "But?" she asked anxiously, 'buts' were always ominous. A smile creased his face. "I'll need to know your address." They laughed together and kissed once more before Emma said, "Until Saturday then. Seven. say?" Driving homewards her father commented, "Seems like a presentable sort of bloke. An author, you say?" "Yes," Emma said, and suddenly thought of how she was going to break the details of that to her mother when the time came. Might she then link the events in the book to her daughter? It was a risk Emma would have to take. Saturday seemed that it would never come, and when it did arrive, each hour dragged interminably. This, in spite of keeping herself busy, by purchasing ingredients for the meal, preparing the meal, lasagne, backed by a Greek salad, and minted baby potatoes. Mid afternoon she took a long hot shower, spent ages on her hair, with just a subtle curl upwards where it reached her shoulders but which, she hoped, would eventually be wildly mussed. Her choice of what to wear took further mixed thinking. The bed became scattered with low cut blouses, cotton skirts, and various sleeveless summer dresses. Ease of accessibility was the key. Tonight she was determined to be Madam Seductress. Then it was bra or no bra. She stood in front of the mirror and viewed her naked breasts. Not bad for a thirty five year old, but a bra might be sensible. Just a shade of cleavage, in a summer dress of thin pastel blue cotton that buttoned up the front, seemed ideal. Dressed, and standing in front of the mirror again, she knew she was cunningly exposed, and when she unfastened that top button, she saw that the exact required effect was achieved. Emma gave herself a look of mock disapproval, as she thought of how, just over a week ago she had been a distinct man-hater (Brad), now, here she was an obvious man-trap (also Brad). Blame hormones, libido, whatever, tonight she wanted to pleasure him and be pleasured. She checked the food, reset the table in the dining room, and generally messed about wishing the minutes away. A sudden after-thought had her dashing back upstairs to place that black and yellow backed book on the bedside table. Why? She had no idea. At five to seven she was standing back from the living room window, able to look out towards the street without being too obvious. At precisely seven o'clock, a large dark car pulled up at her gate, and within seconds she was watching Brad, in open necked green shirt, his jacket slung casually over his shoulder, striding up her drive. She couldn't fail to see that he was clutching a bouquet in his other hand. Already she was breathless, as she hurried to open the door. Brad stood there looking, for all the world, like some advertising model for men's products. But it was the way he looked her up and down that thrilled Emma, as she took the offered bunch of yellow roses from him and placed them on the hall table. He stepped inside and dropped his jacket onto a chair. "Emma, you look—so—beautiful. " He shook his head, "Is that a corny word?" "It'll do," she said, and as he spread his arms to envelope her, she moved towards him eagerly. They stood there clinging together, and for Emma it signalled a farewell to time lost. Standing back, Emma asked, "Hungry?" "Very," he said, so fervently that Emma hoped it wasn't just the food that was on his mind.. Emma led him into the dining room, and Brad remarked, "Your house is lovely." "My part of the settlement," she told him. The meal went well, and Brad was quick to praise her cooking. From across the table Emma gave him what she hoped was a lascivious smile, "I'll bet a good meal is all you came for." "Wrong," he said, and the look he returned was equally bold as he stated frankly, "What I hoped to gain was access to something that I have been deprived of for fifteen years." Eyes locked together for only a moment, before they were both out of their chairs, and stumbling to crash against each other at the end of the table. Their lips meshed and their tongues tangled. Emma was aware of Brad's hands stroking her bare arms and shoulders, as her hands rode up and down his back. They were pressed too close for any frontal touches, but Emma, almost lost in the power of their kiss, was very aware of his hardness against her belly, and her increased moistening. Longing for a conclusion she found the strength to pull away, and whisper huskily, "Should we try to make it upstairs?" His head nodded as he smiled at her, and said, "If we can slow things down." "If-" she agreed, as, arms about each other they mounted the stairs. As they climbed she could not resist making the comparison. "Not that many days ago, I was hating you." "I'm not surprised. You might not believe me, but it was terribly hard to write that book" They had reached the landing and Emma pushed open the second door. "There are two bedrooms with en suite," she told him as they moved through the doorway. "This one has no ghosts in it." "Home ground," he observed, with a wide smile. "Slow and easy." His hands immediately began working on the buttons of her dress, while she, feeling that the heat of a few minutes ago had eased just a little, unfastened his shirt. Simultaneously they shrugged the garments away. As her bra disappeared Brad's eyes were gentle laser beams on her breasts. He hadn't touched her, yet his eyes on her had set small flares sparking throughout her body, as she fiddled with the buckle of his belt. Brad reached for the elastic of her panties. His fingers had to touch the skin of her hips and belly to ease them down. Emma's moistness down there was unbearable. Already she wanted that fifteen year delayed entry, as she pulled at his pants and shorts together. And there they were, naked, as they had been so often, and so long ago. Brad's chest was more muscular than she remembered, and his erection appeared bigger than she expected. "Emma," he said quietly, making the first solid physical contact, by clutching her shoulders, "this may seem rapid but please understand my frustration." With that Emma found herself being turned and lowered back onto the bed, and almost in the same motion he was over her, and his solid penis was ploughing up into her hot wetness. She was about to tell him how good it felt, but his lips came down on hers, and his kiss, like the movement of his penis inside her, had a note of desperation about it. Yet, in spite of his ungentlemanly haste, Emma could not stop herself from responding madly to his pelvic thrusts and to the searching of his tongue. It was only seconds, before she felt him coming inside her. He broke the kiss to heave himself deeper into her, as he grunted, gasped and tried to mouth what sounded like words of gratitude. Emma knew she should be feeling used, but what had just happened, although she had not reached anywhere near a climax, had filled her with a surprising gladness. Brad was here in her arms, inside her, although slipping back now, and she just knew there was more and better to come. In her heart, she was telling herself, that she had accepted this because Brad needed it. The consolation was that she, and only she, was his need. He rolled to one side and Emma was aware of his flaccid wetness sliding over her thigh. "I hope you can forgive me for that. I actually feared at one point that I would come before I could get inside you. Just looking at you, your wonderful body, set me throbbing. " "Nothing to forgive, Brad. And it was good for me, too." Emma knew only the truth would work between them now. "Maybe I was a little surprised at your speed. You always had such good control." He sat up and his honest face looked down at her, "But it has been a long frustration," he told her. "Fifteen years without an adequate response. Without the only one I've ever wanted." Emma reached up and drew his face down to hers and they kissed long and gently. When they broke, he said, "I want to make it all up to you. Go and get a shower and I'll make you an offer you can't refuse." What a strange request! Laughing she sat up, "Will my taking a shower make a difference?" Half laughing, he pulled a mock disgusted face, and gave her a gentle nudge, "Away with you. I can't stand sweaty women." "And what about sweaty men?" "After you." She went and showered thoroughly, wondering what he had in mind, with that offer she couldn't refuse? Out and dried, she splashed some perfumed lotion over her skin before returning to find him standing, as naked as some ancient Greek athlete. He held her briefly at arms length and said, "Don't let this sweaty man, soil you. Just lie back and think of England. God, you smell delicious, as well as looking wonderful." Then he was gone and within seconds she heard the shower hissing. Emma lay with her head against the padded head board, and within five minutes, he was back, cool and looking so in charge as he kneeled alongside her, his penis, Emma noticed, already half raised. "Now, what was this offer that I can't refuse," she asked teasingly. "What I'm offering is this," he said, and he brought his face close to hers as he asked. "Do you remember what I did when we had that session on a blanket on the beach?" Inside, Emma was trembling with expectation, but decided to play along with this game. "On the beach? Oh, dear, it was fifteen years ago. Did you skinny dip? No, not that. Did you pretend to be Donald Duck? No, it wasn't that" Brad shook his head in exasperation, and reached towards the bedside table where the book lay. "God, I'll have to read it out to you." Laughing, Emma grabbed his arm, "I know exactly what you did. Although it took the book to remind me." "You forgot? Really?" This was not the time to afford him any hurt, so she said, "Only some of the details are important." "So? Want to refuse?" Still in slightly teasing mood, Emma slid down the bed, "Not if you promise to take me as high as you say you did in the book." Brad shook his head in despair but then kissed her warmly, and his left hand slid over and around her right breast. That one movement started an extra small spark deep inside her. Their tongues favoured each other for a long time before, his lips moved over her eyes, to the side of her head, and his tongue tickled inside her ear, making Emma jerk with some delight. Brad's lips moved down the side of her neck, and back again, repeating the action so that Emma's face tingled. Tongue and lips caressed over her shoulders, along her collar bone, and the sensuous promise mounted as Brad brought his tongue trailing down onto her breasts, while his hand moved away downwards, stroking over her belly. Emma was sure she would melt in the fire of the sensations he evoked. That hand sliding across and around her belly, a circling of electronic delight, that her senses, given his tongue and lips sucking over her nipples, were in a tangle. Threads of electric impulse were attached from those points to her internal vaginal zone, where her moisture waited to lubricate his entry. Moving lower, his hand stroked over her pubic mound, riffling through the hair, dipping into the beginning of the groove. Emma's breathing quickened. Longing to have her hands on him, she could only ruffle his hair as his head remained near her breasts. His erection, where she longed to reciprocate some of this pleasure, was way out of reach. But she knew, as her brain threw up the long locked away memory of the beach incident, that she was set to simply succumb to Brad's attentions. Briefly, his lips left her breasts and his mouth came up to kiss her warmly, as he murmured, "Thank you, Emma." Emma was panting, and wondering how he could be thanking her when it was she who was taking all the pleasure. His hand moved out along her upper thigh, and instinctively, her thighs parted, and the hand smoothed over the delicate skin there. Knee to crotch, and back again. Over and over, and on each upward caress, the edge of his hand touched her labia more deeply, until, on one stroke, his hand remained pressed against those lips, and fingers curled gently into her moistness, and Emma heard herself gasp at the sheer expectation of what was so near. By now, her whole vaginal passage was pulsing for satisfaction, and when his fingers moved directly onto her clitoris she couldn't prevent her lower body from wriggling against his hand. She was aflame with his touch, yet knew there was a greater ecstasy to come, as his mouth left her breasts and licked and kissed down over her belly, as Brad slipped his body further down the bed. He had positioned his body for what was a magical exchange. Without any warning, his fingers left her clitoris, and both hands moved up to clutch her breasts, to be immediately replaced by Brad's face, his lips and tongue, burrowing into her wetness. His tongue ploughed around her vagina entrance before settling onto her erect clitoris. Emma found herself on the edge of something beyond exquisite, Her hips heaved against his face, as one of his hands left her breast and returned down to finger at her opening. The hand spread, so that, while one finger was entering her vagina, the other stealthily moved back to cover and poke at her anus. It was a sensation that Emma had never known before. Her whole body screamed for fulfilment. Her vaginal passage was a lift shaft that she must have filled, her anus squeezed around his finger. This body of hers was no longer in her control. Sensations were pouring in and nerve ends were straining. Desperately she managed a bleating, ""Oh, Brad—Brad," as her climax started. As though awaiting her call, Brad slid quickly up and over her body to feed his pounding penis into the desperately hungry mouth of her vagina. And that hot rod, rushing up Emma's eager shaft, was immense, filling her in the way she had craved for so long. Brad's erection must have struck at her cervix on his every thrust, but when he withdrew, each time, she crazily reached down between their compressed bellies, just to touch the hardness of him. She was in a frenzied state for a long time, it seemed, as Brad ploughed up into her time and again, each thrust more powerful, more mind-blowing than the one before. Then he gave a final massive heave lifting her buttocks clear of the bed, and with a sense of joy she knew that he was ejaculating, pulse after pulse after pulse. Both panting, and breathless they lay calming, and Emma was only sorry to feel Brad limply slip out of her. "That was—" she began. "Quite nice?" he queried, his perspiring face grinning down at her. She punched his arm lightly, "You know what it was." "Did I please you?" "You mean you couldn't tell?" And they laughed together. Brad rolled off her and they lay silent for a moment. Emma couldn't help thinking of how they had lost fifteen years of this magic, but now she so desperately needed to know that this would go on. "Better than when it happened on the beach?" Brad asked lightly. "I had forgotten the details of most things-so yes, it had to be." "You really forgot." Time for honesty. "Deliberately, Brad. I had to banish those lovely memories or I might have killed myself." "I'm sorry, Emma. Really, I'm so sorry." He put his hand over hers, and it was comforting. "Your book brought so much of it back to me." "It was meant to." A sudden thought struck her, "There was something we did that wasn't in the book. Do you remember what that might have been?" she asked mischievously, sitting up and looking down at him. "There were a few things," he said doubtfully. "Think we should clean up?" she said, sliding off the bed. "Then it might come back to you." Emma left him lying there, enjoying the puzzled look on his face. She hurried through to the en suite and turned on the bath taps. As the water flowed, she added a little bubble liquid, as Brad came in, naked, and Emma couldn't help noticing , and hoping that his penis wasn't as flaccid as it might have been. Emma Gets Booked and Hooked "This ring any bells?" she asked him. His head began to nod, "Vaguely. Two in a bath. Much splashing." "Exactly. Come on." And she stepped into the warm frothing water, and Brad swiftly followed. The scenario played out almost exactly as Emma had recalled it. They soaped each other all over and avidly, until the torpedo appeared in the water. Then it really began. The only difference this time was there was more splashing as they climaxed together, and the floor had to be mopped up later. As she lay totally contented with her back against his chest she wondered whether she dared ask a leading question. Or was it too early? Damn it, no, they had waited fifteen years. "Brad, in your book do you remember the three words that Brian said to Emily?" "I love you." "Yes, you guessed it." "That wasn't a guess, Emma. That was my honest statement to you." And his hands smoothed warmly over her breasts Her heart leapt as she twisted her head around to face him. He bent forward to place a gentle kiss on her lips. "Emma, I have loved you from day one. And it has taken fifteen years for me to be able to tell you. These last few days with you only confirmed it." The pounding in her chest almost had her in tears of joy. Emma twisted her whole body to face him, "I want to be with you for always," she whispered. "Now I would think you'll need some rest." He shrugged, "I'm a lusty man," he said, with mock bravado. ""And you've proved that already." Nevertheless, they dried, mopped up the floor, went to lie side by side on the bed, their hands clasped together. Emma was feeling so good, so enriched, and so amused as she saw that Brad had fallen asleep almost immediately. "My lusty man," she whispered fondly, and snuggled herself against him. She awoke suddenly. No light showed on the curtains, and she had no idea how long they had slept. Beside her a soft burring noise came from between Brad's lips. Emma sat up alongside him, and her hand smoothed over his hairless chest. His penis lay limp across his thigh, and she moved her hand down to touch it gently. His body twitched. Knowing what she wanted to happen next, she allowed her fingers to smooth back and forward along his soft organ. Her lips moved over his chest, and as her fingers continued their stroking she saw that power was being restored. So much so that she was soon able to wrap her fingers around the semi-erect member. Brad moaned, moved.and his head raised, "Emma, you are playing with fire." "Oh, good. I'll be a fire eater." And she moved her mouth down to kiss and lick along his length. "You don't have to, you know." From her position of having her lips on his penis she said, "Don't interrupt, please, I've got work to do." Brad's penis was nearly fully erect, and as she licked around the purple head, she was pleased to glance up and see that his head had fallen back on the pillow as though in surrender. That was what she wanted it to be for him, sweet surrender. She gobbled with open mouth along his length, stopping briefly to nuzzle at his testicles. Then, sweeping her mouth back up she enveloped his iron hard penis completely in her mouth, wrapping her tongue over it, and pressing the head into her cheek. It was a return to that time once more, but she intended it to be more. Having her tongue acting as a mattress for his erection, she rode her lips back and forth along it, taking it right to the back of her throat. Repeating the movement a few times, she sensed Brad reaching for her, but she stayed focused, and began a strong, true, sucking action. Hearing his impassioned groan was an added delight. She sensed the throbbing as her lips moved along it, and her cheeks and tongue drew at the hardness of it. There were involuntary thrusts from Brad's hips, and Emma heard his moans, and gasps. Her hands fondled his scrotum, while she sucked madly at what felt to be a swelling organ. His twitching and his vocals told her that he was close, and she knew he would try to withdraw from her, so she put her hand up to stop him pulling at her head. "But, Emma, I'm -going to-I'm coming—Emma—" Overwhelmed with the joy of what she was able to do for him, she drew back slightly, before clasping her lips tighter around the pulsing barrel of his erection, she plunged her face forward so that her lips were touching his pubic hair. His penis head struck against the back of her throat and she feared she might gag, but that final movement had taken him, and with a yell he released into her, into her throat, into her heart, and into the rest of her life. Her head continued to ride his evacuating penis, and there was so much pleasure in hearing him, and feeling his outpouring into her throat. She swallowed and swallowed again, and wondered how much more there would have been if this had been the first time he'd ejaculated. Sometime she might find out. His taste didn't bother her, and as his penis wilted she let it slide from her mouth She licked her lips as she moved back up to where Brad lay looking at her with what she knew were eyes of gratitude and love. "Well," she said, defensively, "you did it to me." They lay and talked about what they might do in the future, but it didn't take long for them both to fall into a deep and well earned sleep. One further small incident brought home to Emma how much they meant to each other. When she woke, light brightened the curtains, and she found that she was lying with her back to Brad, but his hand was resting on her raised pubic bone. One of his fingers was making varied little movements on her skin. Given the position of his hand it could only be Brad's little finger. It circled and moved back and forwards before circling again, all on that one tiny space within the limit of its reach. That small movement set her skin tingling.. How could that be? How could she find that so entrancing? Her pubic bone wasn't exactly a recognised erogenous zone, was it? And it was such a small caress. But she soon had to admit that wherever and however, Brad touched her would instantly become an erogenous zone Emma turned her body so that she was halfway to being on her back. As she had hoped, that movement caused Brad's hand to slide loosely across her belly, to settle on her pudenda. The erotic circling of the potent little finger did not cease, as it rippled through her pubic hair, moving, ever moving, managing, at its ultimate reach to touch at the first rim of her labia. At the same moment something prodded against her buttocks. Not one word had been spoken. Reaching back she discovered Brad's already very hard penis. With a little chuckle to herself she decided to continue the single finger theme, and ran her index finger along his solid length. He squirmed with her touch, and his hand turned on her mound so that more than his little finger could search along her labia, and slowly sink into the moisture there. It would be his middle finger, she guessed, that finally found her clitoris, and her thighs twitched with the pleasure of it, her breathing quickened. She made sure her finger was moving rapidly up and down his erection, before taking it fully in hand. Suddenly, it was as though he had decided to take control, as both his hands gripped her hips to turn her so she was prone, before they moved to raise her hips, bringing her up onto her knees. Emma guessed what he was doing and she allowed him to part her thighs, while he moved behind her and she felt the tip of his penis on her vulva. Things were moving fast now, and she had no objection to that. She rocked back on her knees to urge his solid rod into the wetness of her vaginal passage where her muscles were set to draw at him. Emma knew his penis head entered her, and she made the first vocalisation of the whole operation, which was only a grunt of encouragement. Her pubic area was alive and she was desperate for the drive that would bring her all the way. But to her surprise she felt him withdrawing. His penis head lingered at her vagina for only a second before it moved further back, and nestled against her anal entry. She held her breath. Was he going to do that? She had never allowed that before. But now? Before she could think about it further, Brad had shifted his penis back and had plunged it immediately and firmly up into her vaginal passage, where an inflamed set of muscles were only too keen to lure it deeply. His erection required no luring, as he thrust and thrust again into her depths. That was delightful enough, but in this position Brad was able to reach both hands around her front to caress into her labia where they gently set to work on her clitoris and along her labia walls. Such lascivious attention drove Emma into a frenzy of demand as she pushed back against his thrusting penis which surely was striking into her cervix. Her orgasm was immediate, and she whimpered her joy, as every nerve end in her body burst into fire. Her wild delight was increased by sensing that Brad was bursting inside her, and did she imagine that she felt his semen bubbling up in her inner self? Calming, Brad lay along her back, as they each caught their breaths, his penis slipped out of her but he shuffled his body so that his rod lay wet and flaccid in the cleft of her buttocks. At last, Emma was able to speak the first words of the morning, "That was marvellous, Brad. I thought you were going to -" His mouth had been nuzzling the hair close to her ear, "I was tempted," he whispered, "but then I thought it might spoil the moment if you weren't ready." He paused, his tongue tickled her ear, as he went on, "Anyway, it's always a possibility. After all, we do have forever." "Ah, yes, forever," she sighed, in happy agreement.