"I… I suppose I should consider that a compliment…" Kit stammered, her own pants starting to cream from the closeness of this incredibly masculine hunk of man.
"Consider it an invitation for dinner tonight," he said, maintaining his steady, soul-searing gaze.
"But, I… I thought you and Claudia were, as they say, an 'item'," Kit said, trying to bring a bit of levity to her voice before it betrayed her completely.
"We have, as they say, an 'understanding'," Lance countered. Did Kit hear a trace of bitterness in his voice? He caught himself and brightened immediately. "Look, it took a long, hard climb and a hell of a lot of 'B' westerns to get where I am. I'm enjoying my success… and that includes not being tied down to one woman!" When he smiled, those blue eyes sparkled like sapphires. "Unless, that is," he said, turning the sapphires towards Kit, "the right woman were to come along…"
"I'd love to have dinner with you."
Lance unlocked the door and stood aside as a somewhat apprehensive Kit Kingston walked past him into his Malibu beach house. They had had drinks and dinner at Jack's at the Beach, and Lance had suggested they come up to his place for after-dinner brandy.
Now, as Kit entered the large living room, Lance saw her draw up in surprise and pleasure, then hoard her gasp as to gaped at the elaborate decor and experienced the breathtaking view from the room's picture window, a magnificent, unobstructed view of the beach, yacht harbor, and silver-washed Pacific.
She turned to him, face uplifted in pleasure. "It's beautiful. I never realized…"
"I'm glad," he said, and he truly was glad that she appreciated the view as much as he did. This house had been his one haven of sanity in the upside-down world of film making. "Here, let me have your wrap."
When she took it off, her dress gaped open, revealing the delightful twin mounds of softly firm alabaster flesh straining against the interwoven bra of the dress' bodice.
He fought the impulse to bend forward and kiss those warm, visible monuments to femininity, knowing that he would have them, and more, very soon.
"Make yourself comfortable," he said, nodding his head towards the immense ten-foot-long, cinnamon-colored bearskin couch in front of the window.
Kit took his invitation at face value. She kicked off her heels and curled up like a kitten in the corner of the couch, feeling the luxurious softness of its deep cushions, the absolute sensuality of the fin cover tickling her thighs and buff through her nylons and dress.
Lance hung the wrap in a closet and came back with two snifters of Napoleon brandy. He placed them on the low cocktail table before her, then disappeared again. A moment later there was the far-off sound of music, and lights began to dim, until there was only a soft, barely perceptible glow coming from the fixtures in the room.
Lance loomed up beside her in the dimness. She felt the cushion sink downward from his weight. No audible sound was made, they merely touched glasses together and silently sipped.
Kit's heart speeded up its tempo as she felt a gentle hand touch her shoulder, and an arm go around her waist, pulling her closer to his body. She inhaled deeply and experienced a faint, exciting odor of expensive male cologne. She allowed herself to be pressed close against a firm supporting chest and lowered her head against the gold buttons on the double-breasted blue jacket felt their coolness, felt the sensual softness of the cashmere used to weave his jacket.
Lance felt her warmly resilient body pressed lightly against his own, felt the firm, wonderfully alive muscles of her shoulder beneath his encircling arm, and smelled the fragrance of her perfume and hair. There was a slight tremor to that body.
"Are you cold?" he whispered.
Kit lifted her head from his chest. Her slightly parted lips were only inches from his. She said nothing, but her marvelous green eyes carried a message of trusting assent. Gently, very gently, Lance bent forward and touched his lips to hers.
His body reacted to that first contact; it rejoiced with the sudden knowledge that this was going to be the best Goddamned night in a long, long time. She was going to be good… perfect.
And he'd make sure that it was perfect for her. He was going to play her like a flamenco guitar, bringing low and high notes of pleasure and me and ecstasy from, her… passionate, melodious notes that she didn't even know existed, notes she couldn't have experienced until touched by a master's hand.
He continued to kiss her gently, but there was nothing gentle or soft about the throbbing ache in his sperm-churning balls, or the rising blood that pounded in his rapidly awakening cock and caused hot tingling sensations to race like lightning across its swelling knob.
His kisses became mow heatedly urgent. When his tongue sought her mouth, she opened readily to receive him. The soft strands of her hair tickled his cars, and they were surprisingly effective in intensifying the pulsating ache in his groin. Without removing his lips from hers, he took the glass from her listless fingers and put it on the cocktail table. Now that her hands were free, she immediately raised them and put them behind his head. She slowly moved her hand through his hair as though she were fingering an expensive fur coat.
When Lance began to stroke the satin skin of her shoulder and upper arm, Kit reacted by sucking on his tongue with a force that surprised hint.
Although his motions were designed to be gentle and comforting her fingers moving at the back of his head and her hungry sucking of his tongue increased in urgency.
He become aware that her knee, which had been halfway on the couch before, was now pressed against his midthigh, it was as if she were opening herself to him. He knew that if he put his hand down to her cunt-mound right now, he would find that her pussy was damp, warm, and slippery from her fevered impatience. She was ready now, he thought, completely ready…
He began sliding his hand along her back, down, down, until he could feel the supple curve of pliant flesh where her buttocks began. She moaned when his hand rested there briefly.
He brought his other hand up across the top of her shoulders and then gently dropped it until his fingers were resting on the firmly upthrust mound of her tit. He began to rub in soft little circular motions. He could feel her nipple, hard and erect, beneath the cloth.
Kit gasped and stiffened, then her tongue tried to drive itself down the back of his throat.
Lance continued the caressing, but now his entire hand was making a circular massage of the soft, plaint mound. He could feel her naked warm skin at the top of the bodice, could feel the impatience of her voluptuous young body, and then his fingers slipped down the slight gap in the bodice and cupped her softly heated tit in the palm of his hand.
The fret of her ripened nakedness there caused some of his gentleness to leave him. His wildly aroused cock was hurting, hammering and pounding as though it were some jack hammer gone berserk. All tenderness gone, Lance took complete command. His hand grasped the fevered flesh of her naked tit and his widespread fingers captured the erotically hardened little bud of her nipple and painfully tweaked it between forefinger and thumb. His tongue worked back and forth in her mouth as tough it were a wet, headless little cock fucking in and out.
Kit was purring loudly from deep within her throat. So wonderful was the contact between hand and tit, that she didn't realize the zipper to her dress had been tugged down in back. Lance pulled the material off her right shoulder to reveal her heaving jug. His mouth pulled away from hers to begin moving slowly down her neck and across her shoulder. Then, teasingly, his tongue quivered once like lightning against her painfully erect nipple.