This chapter is an excerpt from A Masterful Seduction by the Book, available at Smashwords.
Other chapters include:
A Masterful Seduction by the Book
A Masterful Weekend Getaway
The Rest of the Masterful Weekend Getaway
A Masterful Makeover
A Masterful Seduction at the Office
I was just about to cross the street on my way out of work when I heard the familiar rumble of an Indian Chief Dark Horse that slowed to a stop and a purr at the curb just to the left of me.
With his feet planted on the ground and legs confidently straddling over the engine, my ex-boyfriend Ryan pulled off his helmet, shook his tobacco brown tousled hair, and smiled for my attention.
My heart dropped to a pit in my stomach and banged hollow and loud. I ran to him, pulled in like a magnet the same way I did when I first met him in person four years ago.
We found each other a dating site and exchanged emails and phone calls for three weeks while he was putting in some time at a client’s headquarters on the East Coast. I took an immediate liking to him. He was smart and mature with a boyish charm to him. He was incredibly classy and polite yet incredibly fun and funny, even in his most serious moments. He had this joyful liveliness about him that was always on.
The day he came home, we met for what was just supposed to be a beer. It turned out to be a 24-hour tantric fest. After a few libations, we went back to his place. We made love to each other, not just in the standard foreplay to fucking kind to falling asleep kind of way. It was hours of exploring every inch of our bodies and how we reacted to our touches. It was a deep exploration of reading each other’s responses to the way I melted and cooed when he nibbled on my earlobe, the way his cock tightened and grew in the palm of my hand the moment I reached out for his cock with the palm of my hand, and the way my juices warmed and streamed down his finger the first time he explored me inside. He made love to me as if he were playing an instrument. It was if he was composing a song with his slow and steady rhythm when he just wanted to hear a string of soft and steady moans or if he wanted to hear and feel wild and crashing thrashes like cymbals in a storm. During the intermissions, we sipped golden goblets of mead by candlelight, sipped coffee in the nude on his patio at daybreak, and slung over each other’s soft skin and limber muscles in the hammock that were strung under the shade of two giant oak trees in his back yard in the afternoon.
When I finally had to leave at the end of the day, he laughed and said, “That was a record for being naked with a woman in so many ways. I’d like to break that record again.”
We did several times over in the fifteen months we were together, and it was never the same …