Spice & Raspberry Wine
by sarAdora ~~~~~~~~~~
Three months earlier
She had been willing to live with him on a trial basis - not too eager to make it legal. "Let's see how it goes," she argued. "See what happens when we have one of those ugly fights."
"We'll talk it out," he swore, hauling her onto his chest and kissing her.
"Is that what you call talking?" Morgan laughed.
"It can't hurt," he grinned, pinching her ass.
"We can't solve all our problems with sex, Eric Cleveland," she admonished him.
"I bet we can solve most of them," he laughed, cupping her vulva through her skirt.
"And if you're mad at me?" she asked, palming his cock through his pants, her other hand pressing against his balls. "Will that work for you as well?"
"I'm sure of it," he groaned. "Especially if I get to fuck you on the spot."
"Let's wait a while," she insisted. "I'll move a few things over and we'll take it day by day.
He badgered her - in bed - keeping her naked every night - spanking her - loving her - teasing her until she begged him for release. "Marry me," he'd demand, then drained her raspberry wine before finding his own release.
At the Hoover, he'd surprise her in her office, lock her door and ravish her on her desk. He often flipped her onto her belly and took her from behind, a position Morgan loved and one that gave him maximum penetration. When she melted beneath him, he'd hold her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her. "Marry me," he murmured.
He continued to court her even though she finally moved in with him. Flowers were delivered unexpectedly - his love notes attached - telling her how sweet she was - how she tasted like rich and spicy raspberry wine. He left messages on her cell - his deep baritone washing over her when he said he couldn't wait to bury his cock inside her - how he wanted to mouth her clit while his fingers fucked her front and back - how he wanted to call her wife.
They worked out at the gym at least twice a week, Eric aching with need when he watched her. The sweat glistened on his skin, his cock hard, the sweat glistening on hers making him mad with desire. If it was late enough, he'd pull her into the men's shower room and strip her bare - hump her against the wall like a teenager with raging hormones. "Gotta love you, Puss. Gotta love you good. When are you going to marry me?"
He frequently attended her case file briefings and watched her when she made her presentations - his dark eyes roaming over her, licking his lips, and making her feel warm and wet under his hot gaze. He'd murmur in her ear as she exited the room, telling her how erotic she looked when he made love to her - catching her as she inhaled harshly, when she almost stumbled from his words. He stood behind her in the crowded elevator - whispering how he felt when he was deep inside her - how her body sucked him in and loved him - how his balls ached when she took him in her mouth - how much he wanted to marry her.
He took her out to dinner often and in the privacy of a corner table - in a public place - he told her how beautiful her breasts were and how much he wanted to suckle her blood red nipples until she screamed. He'd kiss her lips - the tip of his tongue teasing them - telling her how sweet her mouth was and how much he wanted to kiss her other lips - how he loved how they stretched to fit his cock - how much he wanted her.
They fought like cats and dogs, their arguments ending in bed or on the couch or on the floor and one late night, in the backseat of his car in the garage at the Hoover. He made concessions when she tried his patience, snarling but letting her have her way. She refrained from ripping his balls off when he became too bossy. He held her, rocking her gently when the morbidity of her job overwhelmed her. She cradled his head to her breasts, her arms enfolding him, soothing him with soft words and sweet kisses when he was strung so tight from work he couldn't speak.
They argued over nothing - her penchant for black olives and Muenster cheese sandwiches with mayonnaise, his six packs of beer displaced in the refrigerator by her ginger ale.
"The least you can do is eat it with mustard," he groused, then was appalled when she poured him a warm beer over a glass filled with ice.
"My mouth, my sandwich," she flippantly replied.
"My woman, my spicy raspberry wine," he answered, turning her upside down on the kitchen table and feasting on her.
He yelled at her when she was so engrossed in a case that she forgot to eat. She yelled back that his balls were in jeopardy. "I'll tan your hide," he threatened her.
"I'll pull your balls down to your knees," she returned the threat.
"Come over here and try it," he dared her one night when they worked late, their papers spread across his conference table. "I'll make it easy for you," he stood, unbuckling his belt and let his pants and shorts drop to the floor. "Come and get it, Morgan Woodehouse," he goaded her, sitting and spreading his thighs, his cock in full sail. "If you're woman enough, you can have me."
She took the dare and approached him, her hands reaching for his sac, intending to tease him till he begged for mercy. She watched him cup his balls and slide further down in the chair, his cock twitching in her direction. "Think you're man enough to take what I have to give you?" she asked as she kneeled in front of him, planning to suck his balls until he begged for release.
"Definitely," he assured her, pulling her head to his groin and thwarting her intent, pushed his cock between her lips. "Definitely, Puss," he groaned, when her warm mouth engulfed him. "Definitely, baby," he growled, pulling her hands behind her back and holding her there until she started sucking him.
She sucked. She licked. She kissed. She sucked some more and he erupted into her mouth, his orgasm so intense his powerful hips thrust her back and onto the floor.
He scrambled to get off of her and got as far as his knees when he felt her lips seeking him again. He tried to stand but her hands were free and she grabbed his balls - none too gently - and squeezed until his cock was hers again. "Gonna warm your bottom," he groaned, his cock semi-hard and aching with the pain and pleasure of her mouth on him. "Gonna blister it this time," he growled, his balls tingling, tightening, drawing up again. "You better marry me!" he yelled.
"Am I woman enough?" she asked him later as they lay on the floor of his office, Eric's spent and sated body in her arms.
"Yes," he murmured, cock happy.
"Are you going to blister my ass?"
"That's a relief," she sighed with exaggeration, unable to suppress her smile.
"I'm going to do this, instead," he said calmly, yanking her skirt up and her panties down. "I'm going to lick you and suck you till you come and do it again and again until you pass out."
"You're not!" she protested.
"I am," he said, spreading her thighs and holding her down. "Unless you say you'll marry me." He paused to wait for her answer.
"You're a sorry son of a bitch!" she swore.
"And you're sweet and spicy raspberry wine," he grinned, dipping his head between her thighs, fulfilling his promise, licking her spice and sucking her clit again and again until she passed out.
"You can't keep doing that," she told him when they finally made it home.
"Why not?" he asked, pulling their clothes off.
"Your tongue will wear out."
"No, it won't," he chuckled and proved it to her, holding her captive while he suckled her nipples so long she peaked from the pleasure. "Marry me," he said softly when he finally lifted his mouth, but
Morgan didn't hear him. She was asleep in her lover's arms.
"You don't have to wear panties," he told her, hugging her to his chest after lunch one mid-week afternoon.
"I'll leave mine off if you do," she dared him.
"Take them off now," he murmured, wondering if he had locked his office door.
She stripped from the waist down and plopped her bare ass on his desk, spreading her thighs while he watched.
"Touch yourself, Puss," he commanded quietly.
"I will when you take your cock out so I can watch it grow," she told him, daring him to sit in his office chair exposed.
He pushed her back on his desk and tongued her clit, licking her until she moaned. Releasing his cock, he filled her, teasing her with long slow thrusts, challenging her to remain quiet while he fucked her.
"If you make noise, Alina will hear you and come in. What will she think when she sees you like this?"
"Nothing compared to what she'll think when she sees you fucking me."
They argued about personal things. The first time he found her curled into a ball on their bed, miserable from menstrual cramps, he rubbed her back and then her mound.
"I'll love you gently," he told her. "You'll feel better."
"I'll leave blood all over the sheets."
"We'll go in the shower," he told her, stripping quickly.
"No, it'll hurt."
"It won't," he insisted, picking her up, spotting the string on the tampon and pulling it out.
She ached too much to fight him and leaned on him while he rubbed her back, the warm water soothing her. His fingers went into her core, caressing her inner walls - easing the pain and the flow of her flux when he touched her. When she begged him for more, he filled her, a gentle thrusting between her thighs, an affirmation of how much he loved her.
"You're going to marry me," he told her later, rocking her, easing the pain in her lower back.
"Maybe," she said.
Eric smiled. She was yielding.