It was an inexpert cock-sucking, but since he couldn’t think of a bad one, he was pleased beyond all measure. He did his best to keep from all-out spending, as she sucked so hard he thought he might die. And right when his cock was hard and aching and ready to erupt, she sat back.
Her lips shone with wetness. From her saliva, from his cock, it was a heady sight. He hoped she would do him the honor oftruly riding him, but instead, she leaned against the footboard. He strained to look at her, and she watched him as she slowly pulled up her skirts, revealing her naked core. She dipped a finger in it and started to tease herself.
He bucked and whined, wanting to be there, to smell her, to touch her, to taste her. Instead, her slow grin turned to a pant as she aroused herself.
“Eleanor, please,” he pleaded through gritted teeth.
He watched her as she came, falling apart in front of him. God, he wanted to feel that. He wanted to feel her orgasm pulsing against his cock. “Hm?”
“Sit on my cock,” he said.
She leaned forward, giving his waving cock a quick lick that sent him perilously close to the edge. “Only if you say please.”
“I said please. Please. Eleanor. Please. My love. My life. My bride. Sit. On. My. Cock.”
She laughed, but straddled him, her skirts bunched up all around her. She settled and arranged herself around him until finally, finally, she pressed his cock to her entrance. “For you? Anything.” And she sank, mercifully, slowly onto him.
She rode him as promised, him straining to keep from reaching his limits, waiting for her to find her second ascent. Thankfully he didn’t need to wait so long. She fell apart, and an instant later, he did as well, yelling nonsense as he climaxed harder than he’d ever done in his life.
They lay panting, the sweat from Tristan’s chest cooling him. She rolled off him, gathering towels she’d set aside. What a clever wife he had. She cleaned herself, cleaned him and freed him.
They lay naked under the covers, clinging to one another.
“The one question I still have from our sojourn in Scotland is a bit odd.” Eleanor shifted, as if he might be uncomfortable withher. He didn’t like that one bit, so he snuggled her closer, kissing her bare shoulder.
“What is it?”
“Who was it that stashed the whisky and the food and the blanket on the Ben? And why had they not come back for it? How long had it been sitting there, waiting for them?”
Tristan then knew how selfish he was, as it had never occurred to him to wonder. If the cheese had been inedible, and it had been stowed in a cool, dark mountainside, how long had it been there? Decades? “I don’t know.”
“I want to think they were lovers who eventually got to be together, and they left that cache for us. Another set of lovers who were in need.”
He kissed her temple. “We did need it, though we weren’t lovers at the time.”
“We became lovers,” she said. “And it was thanks to the ghosts of lovers past.”
“Ghosts, now?” Tristan said. “I don’t think ghosts left dried apricots.”
“Not ghosts then, but they became them. Because they were ghosts for us. We don’t know them, we just know that someone, somewhere, needed a place to stay. And we benefited. I’d like to send them a thank you card, but I don’t know how to do it.”
“I’d send a selection of fine cheeses, theirs was horrifically inedible.” Tristan added, pleased when she laughed. “How about we be grateful? Every day. Because we don’t know what happened to that other couple. I can only hope they were as lucky as us.”
Eleanor kissed his cheek. “We are lucky.”
“I love you, Mrs. Bridewell. I can’t wait to whip you into shape for the Matterhorn.”
She batted at his arm. “I love you too, Mr. Bridewell. I’ll be testing your knots at every opportunity.”
He sucked her earlobe into his mouth and gave it a playful bite. “Any time, Mrs. Bridewell. Any time.”
The End.
