<span style="font-family:Philosopher">The sound of Elizabeth’s gratitude flowed in Adam’s ears and warmed his heart. He thought he’d noticed a moment where her impulse was to shrug off the contact, but she’d instead let him cover her. “You’re welcome,” he said, then he initiated that kiss and she poured her need into him through it, and it resonated through his entire form. He felt the way her tongue danced with his, playful and light, but that need came straight from her core and pounded through the moan even as he consumed it. Then, when he moved away, Liz whimpered, and the sound of it sent shivers up his spine and set his heart to racing. He knew that sound, but it had never been for him. It had never been his. Now it was. All he could think about as he mechanically tended to the clothing was how he was going to start it so that they could keep it. <br/>
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He didn’t have long to wonder, and once he was back in her presence it was easy; he didn’t have to wonder. He just took care of her. He knew her need, and his own echoed in response, but he also knew something was just right about the pacing, so he kept things slow. Adam had thought he was out of practice at running on instinct, but with Elizabeth, the din of his mind was silenced, and time ceased to have any meaning. He didn’t know how that was, and he found that he didn’t mind. With her the missing piece was in place, and it felt like every moment was a treasure. As he walked back into the dining room and saw her working in his kitchen, wearing his shirt, and relaxing in his home, he felt as though broad expanse widened inside his chest. Like with her there, he had access to a vastness that was anything but empty. In a word, he felt powerful. He felt the responsibility as well, but the sight of how she’d buttoned away her breasts in his shirt, and the feel of her hand in his, and the way she followed him like she’d follow him anywhere told him she felt secure. <br/>
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Adam didn’t wonder about why he was concerned with her feeling secure. He just followed the impulse and put her hand over his heart. He didn’t know why that had surprised her so much, but hearing her spoken confirmation with her fingertips slipping between the hairs on his chest convinced him that it had been the right thing to do. Then he heard her command, and saw her taking in the scenery, and gathering control in a known and familiar situation, and smiled as he acquiesced. His gaze flitted back and forth from her eyes to her hands as she unbuttoned the shirt, then he put his arms across the back of the couch as the shirt fell to the floor. Then watched the feminine mystique of Elizabeth slipping out of her jeans. Something about the way her hips shifted as they were increasingly bared had his heart racing and his blood rising. <br/>
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Then he saw the lace. White, French, floral lace in complete contrast with the black bra. The whole of their encounters replayed in his head, except now he knew she wore white lace knickers that… his mind went blank as he realized he could see through the lace; and that it was soaked through. Then she was coming forward, and straddling him on the couch, settling down atop him, and speaking. When he heard the words he could hardly breathe, and when he heard the clasp of her bra come undone and get cast to the side, he was speechless. He felt as though he could hear her heart pounding, but his gaze was locked on her eyes. This was Liz, perfectly naked. He didn’t want that moment to end. He wished he could have frozen time right there. But he couldn’t. He noticed her nipples rising toward him in his lower periphery, and he heard her bravado. <br/>
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But he’d seen her naked now. He saw through the bravado. He didn’t take it from her, he just smiled, and nodded as he gazed into her eyes, then shifted his gaze down to her breasts. He saw the way her pulse was pounding in her neck. He saw the swift rise and fall of her chest. He saw her cresting peaks, the way her nipples had hardened into little, pink diamonds, and the way her chest had swollen with lust and heat. He felt the way she leaned forward, pressing her breasts to his chest, stabbing into his flesh with her nipples and drawing a line of kisses and nips along his jawline. She was aiming to please. He was happy, and he was already pleased. <br/>
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So he moved his hands down from the back of the couch, his couch, and swept them in to slide them up the hips of the woman on his lap. His woman. He knew she was naked, and he knew she was wet. He could feel her nervousness, her tiny, tiny quiver of fear, that she sought to hide by closing the distance and tempting away from by distraction. But it was her fear he wanted most. He wanted it so he could make it her greatest strength. So he slid his hands over her hips, seized his grip into her plush posterior, and ground her body down hard on his cock through her knickers. He made tiny, shifting movements under her, but he focused on steering her hips so that the pressure between them only grew. Then he slid his hands over her, one to the middle of her tailbone to maintain the pressure, and the other up her back to press her chest closer to his on its way up to slip over her shoulders and up her neck until his hand rested just under her hair. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was a few moments of heavy breaths before any words came out. <br/>
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“Liz, I have been enduring this dance from the moment you blushed in the coffee shop,” he whispered. “I know exactly what I want to do to you the moment we get somewhere ‘more comfortable,’ but for this moment I’d like for you to dance. Dance here, at home, with me. Let your body show us what it wants. Let it surprise you.” Then he smirked. “Then we shall see who must ‘endure,’” he said. He slid his hands back down to her hips and slipped them back to palm her booty and pull her even closer. “Dance for me, Elizabeth.” Then he lifted his right hand from her to bring it back down in a slap, followed by replacing the squeeze. “Kiss me like you’re starving.”<br/>
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