The guestroom was the last place anyone would ever expect sex to happen. The blankets were like thick, woolen doilies, and delicate porcelain antiques dotted the room.

He planted the tip of his index finger on her delicate breastbone, and traced downward. He felt her skin vibrate with every pulse of her heart, and watched as her nipples pebbled hard. It was euphoric. Narcotic. He wanted to bury himself in her and send a shockwave through her system. He needed her stuffed into his mouth, moaning.

“There was something I was trying to say earlier,” Cliff reminded her, finger sweeping down to the left and whisking beneath her breast. He teased over the sensitive flesh there with his thumb. “But we were interrupted.”

“Yeah?” Eve didn’t have her glasses on, and for some obscure reason it made her seem vulnerable. Pliant. Helpless. As if a barrier neither of them had even noticed was suddenly removed.

He exhaled through his nose like a bull pawing the ground and said, “Yeah, but I don’t remember a word of it.” Then he fell back on the bed, taking her with him, and rolled to crash down on her pouty lips.

His tongue explored Eve’s peppermint princess mouth for the first time. He was hugged between her legs instantly, crushing into her thinly-clothed pussy with his raging hard-on, the tip of his prick wetting against her mound. Her eyes dimmed with dark, heavy lust as he mounted her and grabbed a breast firmly in each hand, sending his length grinding hard over her. She arched her back and closed her eyes. His mouth caught hers again, hard and insistent. As his tongue thrust into her mouth again, he squeezed her breasts savagely, sucking her timid tongue, coaxing it. She moaned and he knew she was wet and he tore free, even though he wanted to stay. He burned a patch of kisses down her throat. Something more animal than man was taking over.

“Don’t stop,” Eve begged, and Cliff’s mind swirled red. One hand plunged down toward her panties, apparently skipping all the niceties of extended gentle foreplay. He twisted the wet cotton in his hands, yanking the material down over her wonderful, plush thighs. She was trying to get back into shape, but this shape was just fine as far as he was concerned.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” Cliff reassured her, his free hand sliding around her thighs and to her ass, relishing the way she wrapped and hugged against him. It had been too long since he’d felt the kind of soft, luscious reception that Eve was providing. If he discovered in this bed that she was the first woman, the original Eve, a goddess of fertility and spring, he would have believed it. He could hardly breathe but he was suffocating so pleasantly between her breasts, kissing and biting, grinding against her as if they were teenagers tiptoeing around the inevitable. He released her panties from his clutch and took a hard, pink nipple into his mouth. Eve yelped.

“Shh,” Cliff murmured against her electric flesh. “It’s all right.” He drifted down to her dark spring of pubic hair. Her aroma was fresh and heady, and he was desperate to get in there. It had been so long since he’d seen a womanly body like this. There was never a single hair anywhere on Allison’s body. She was so buttoned up and damned Republican that a stray pubic hair would have represented a descent into unkempt, hippie hell.

Eve’s fingers dove into Cliff’s hair and she arched her back, biting back a scream. The tension locked every joint as her muscles hummed with suspended vigor. She screamed silently, screamed with her curling toes, screamed against her own clamped lips, and screamed with the deluge of nectar that rushed from between her thighs.

Cliff’s tongue formed a cone over Eve’s hot little button and he got to work polishing it for her. The lather into which he whipped her was quick and rich, Eve grinding against his face losing all sense of self. Her eyes rolled to the ceiling. Her mind tumbled into darkness and was truly happy. He lapped at her until she broke and dissolved.

Eve whispered, “Oh, Cliff” in a delicate, trembling voice, and his palm cupped her mouth so that she could let it all out. His palm vibrated and grew wet with her muffled cries, until her pussy ceased its pulsing and gave up its last drops.

“Now,” Cliff commanded huskily, “downward dog.”

He climbed up onto his hands and knees, gripping her hips and twisting her. She rolled, a puddle of ambrosia and exhaustion. Her pussy shone like sunrise between the backside of her thighs, beckoning him onward. Cliff’s teeth toyed with his lower lip in budding anticipation as he seized his shaft and navigated her sweet folds from behind. He couldn’t believe this was about to happen. His mind had been replaced with a foamy white rush of sheer adrenaline. The only thing that existed in this moment was the pink rosebud drawing him in.

“Cliff,” Eve suddenly commanded him. “Condom.”

Cliff blinked, amazed at himself. The thought had never even crossed his mind. He would have happily slid into her bare—ecstatically slid into her bare—and pumped until a billion future Bauers were coursing into her sex, filling her with seed. But now he breathed and a tiny amount of blood forced its way back up into his brain, reminding him that he wasn’t ready to have another child, even if it was with the sexiest woman he’d ever met.

His hands shook with disapproval as he hunted for his condom, tore it open, and unraveled it over his length, sheathing himself. He teased over her opening again, shuddering at the muscles he could feel contracting already, even from the outer threshold. He pressed into her and she gasped, and her hips tilted to accept him. She opened herself to him one more fraction and he filled her completely. He grasped the curves of her hips, and paused just for a moment.

Eve pressed her face flat against the floral guest room sheets, opened her mouth, and cried out to God. The mattress absorbed her pleas and her generous backside absorbed the shock from Cliff’s hips. Every connection was deep and met with an electrical thrum passing between their bodies. Cliff drove into her up to the hilt, losing more and more of his sophisticated self with each thrust, becoming pure animal.

Transfixed by the gyrating musculature of her back, Cliff slowed his rhythm and took in a deep breath. He was glad of the condom. It helped him keep control. She shuddered, so close to giving up her orgasm. He could feel it. She wrapped and squeezed and pushed heavily against him, almost fighting him, resisting him, as the waves of climax crashed around her. Her fingers clawed into the sheets and she dissolved. Her muscles fluttered like the wings of a butterfly and the delicate, precise convulsion sent Cliff spiraling.

One minute later, they were both asleep.