Welcome to FROST HARROW Book 2. (No previous reading required.) Please support my work via Patreon at www.PaySteve.com. Enjoy!
EIGHTEEN – NIGHT DANCE
“Sculpt me,” Glory whispered into Tony’s ear. The sound roused him from a deep, dreamless sleep. It seemed only a moment ago that he’d closed his eyes.
Now she here she was, setting his brain afire once more. He couldn’t even tell how much time had passed, if any.
He rubbed his aching neck and tried to blink the dust from his eyes. “What?” he asked. He felt as though he’d been working forever. He could hardly remember the last time he’d really slept. Why was it always dark out, now? Had the sun gone away?
Then he smiled. Glory was all the light he needed. Her cool radiance filled him with warmth.
He rose from the couch and stood before her.
“Sculpt me,” she whispered, looking deep into his purple eyes.
He moved his hand to her shoulders and let her gown fall softly to the floor.
He kissed her lightly on the lips and then stepped back.
“I’ll get my drawing pad. Make some preliminary sketches before working the clay.”
“No,” she said softly. “Sketch me with your hands.”
She stepped forward and pressed her body into him. His hands moved up and found her breasts, giving them an appreciative squeeze. Her skin felt cool, like soft stone.
Tony ran his fingers around her sides and traced the contours of her back. She cooed softly and stretched.
He moved up to her shoulders, massaging and feeling the muscles and bones beneath, trying to memorize every detail.
He found her neck. She rolled her head as he touched her, brushing his fingers with her soft blond hair. He swept his fingertips up to her face, dancing over her nose, eyebrows, eyelids, and ears.
When he reached her mouth, she sucked his fingers inside and bit them lightly.
He leaned forward to kiss her, but she whispered, “No. You haven’t finished the sketch. Use your fingers. Discover the secrets of my body with your hands.”
“I’ll make a sculpture of you that will outlast the pyramids,” he whispered, and nibbled her earlobe.
His hands brushed down across her neck, tracing along her collar bone.
He moved lower, cupping her breasts, feeling their weight and firmness. His fingers pinched her nipples. They grew hard and he explored them with his tongue, relishing the small bumps and crannies.
His fingertips stroked her belly, finding the muscles and the soft flesh that hid them.
“Don’t forget my legs,” she urged, biting his ear.
He didn’t. He ran his hands down the outside of her hips, taking time to memorize the bone structure there and at the top of her thighs.
He stopped at her feet and explored one with his left hand, the other with his right. He separated her toes and discovered the soft pads underneath. She squirmed as his fingernails traced the arches of her soles.
Then he began working his way up. His hands found her shins and the two leg bones there. He squeezed her calves and gave each one an appreciative kiss.
He moved to her thighs, tracing the long muscles up the front and back. His tongue provided extra sensory detail: the taste of her skin, the soft, nearly invisible hair covering her legs.
He discovered the mounds of her ass, squeezing and evaluating each buttock. She sighed and pushed her crotch closer to his face.
He licked his tongue up her inner thighs and probed her womanhood, her downy pubic hair tickling his nose. Though her crotch was wet, her skin remained cool to the touch.
He pushed her back toward the stool he used for posing models. She perched her rump on the edge and drew her legs up under her, spreading them wide.
He used his fingers to explore the hidden mysteries he hadn’t discovered with his tongue.
Then he kissed and licked his way up her body to her mouth. As he moved, she pulled his shirt up over his head, somehow managing to stay on the stool as she did so.
He refamiliarized himself with her back, her belly, her breasts. She undid the tie on his sweats and his pants dropped to the floor.
She reached around and deftly ripped off his boxer shorts.
He circled her with his arms and crushed her body to him. She pushed her hips forward and used her hand to guide him into her. He thrust upward, seeking her deepest recesses.
She gasped and ground her hips into him. He shuddered, surprised to find she was cool even deep inside.
But her passion held fire enough. Soon they were bucking and panting, writhing in each other’s embrace. She kissed his face, his nose, his ears, his neck.
He lifted her up off the stool, and they toppled backward to the floor, landing softly on the carpet. She didn’t slacken her pace, grinding and pounding, crying out with each thrust. He squeezed her breasts, bit on the nipples.
She raked her nails down his chest.
The fire welled up within in him, jetting from his body in great gouts, draining him utterly.
She screamed with pleasure and collapsed against him, pressing her face into his neck and nuzzling there.
Tony moaned and clutched her cool, damp body to him, wishing he could have done more.