The pliant press of bosom into his palm was tantalizing and new.  The shape was uniquely Evelyn's, and that she shared herself with him was nothing shy of a miracle.  There was no hesitation from the wizard when she pulled his jeans free.  No coyness.  No bashfulness about the erection that sprang free.  He found himself smiling rakishly at the matter-of-fact way his wife discarded her own underthings, taking a long moment to drink in the whole, unadulterated figure of her from head to toe.<br/><br/>His lips parted when she grasped him by the root, pumping once, twice, in an experimental press.  He was hard as a rock, and pulsing need already.  The very first touch of sex to sex was nothing short of electric, and Casey Murphy uttered a hungry noise, somewhere between a groan and a growl.  His broad, calloused palms rested on his wife's knees, rising up her thighs as she sank atop him.  She was slick, and wet, and tight, and as her hips circled, descending toward his root, she felt like she'd been made to fit with him particularly.  "Evie,"  He breathed, his voice deeper, lustier than it's usual timbre.  Whatever he'd been about to say was cut short, as her hips dropped to settle on his own.<br/><br/>Reflexively, his hips shifted to meet her, and as she rested astride him, a hand rose to take one dusky nipple between thumb and fore as her hands planted on his broad, scarred chest.  The hand lingering on her hip reached farther, cupping the supple curve of her rump, pulling with each ascension, pressing with each descent.  It was everything he'd been hoping for.