Sacred Sex

by Kiki Howell

  Since his voice had gotten progressively lower from the swearing on, she took a deep breath and tried to form a response, though her brain felt full of cotton balls, ones wet and soaked with unwanted valentine chocolates. The crazy, albeit snarky, thought helped calm her, if nothing else.

  “I just wanted to reconnect with my husband, who has come to feel like a stranger lately. Even in your state. Which, by the way, I have supported you by giving you the room to do whatever it was you needed to do. Maybe I could have been and done better! But I wasn’t sure what to do! So I just gave you space! But, good goddess, it is Valentine’s Day. Can’t you be troubled enough to have dinner with your wife? Maybe say I love you? Make love?”

  His head dropped as he let go of his death-grip on her arm.

  “Sorry.” His voice was deep and low. He paused, shaking his head. “Just sorry. I’m sorry about the way I have been acting. But more, I am sorry that I have made my wife have to ask if I love her. I’m angry with myself, not you.” He looked up at her then. “I do love you. Please, never doubt that.” The tears falling over his cheeks were all the apology she needed. Her heart broke for him.

  “I won’t. Ever again. I love you too.”

  She kissed him on the cheek, but he pulled her mouth to his. His kiss was fire, burning not only her lips but setting her whole body to kindling as it always had before.

  “I love you.” He kind of shook gently her as he spoke. “Let’s sit down and eat this meal you have obviously spent a lot of time on.”

  Chapter Three

  The meal had proven to be just what they needed. He’d opened up to her about what he’d been feeling since he lost his job, and she was thrilled to get to know him even better after all of their years together, his good and his bad sides.

  Life had a way of forcing changes in people. Marriage, in her experience, was what you made it based on how you dealt with those times. Somewhere in the conversation, though, she had been brave enough to mention the sacred sex ritual she’d planned.

  Now he followed her up the steps with a crooked grin that told her how much he wanted her. His eyes sparkled when he looked her body up and down, sending an electric current down her spine that had all of her skin tingling.

  Since this was not their first sex ritual together, he was a more than willing partner. From the beginning, he had supported her beliefs, her ways. It was part of why she’d fallen in love with him. He was one of those rare men who accepted her for exactly who she was. He’d never tried to change her. And she would never try to change him. She just wanted him and was beyond relived to know that he still wanted her.

  She knew he was familiar with the bath ritual to cleanse them before the sex ritual began, so she didn’t need to tell him what to do at this point. Facing each other, they stripped away their clothes, taking in every inch of each other with only their eyes. The anticipation of touching was so great you could almost see the light of it glowing between them. She nodded, knowing he knew exactly how to begin.

  He started the water in the whirlpool tub in their master bedroom, a luxury they had splurged on when they built the house. It was big enough for him to sit down in with his legs crossed. He watched her every move, as, naked, she took to lighting the candles all around the room.

  When she was done, she got in, sitting on his lap, her legs wrapped around his body. In this position they were equals, with no beginning and no end, just as all the books said. The idea of it thrilled her. Even immersed in water she knew she was getting wet at her core, her body wanting his. Having already arranged rocks and the appropriate color of candles to set not only the right mood, but to alter the energy in the room specifically for them in this moment, she sprinkled rose petals around them.

  In the tub, which now served as their alter, they looked into each other’s eyes.

  “I know we just did a lot of talking, but this is the time to hold nothing back, to say whatever you need to, to me, and I to you.”

  She ran her wet hand through his silky hair, which showed many grays now. Her hand moved over his sharp cheekbones, his full lips, and then trailed his broad shoulders, playing in the valleys of his muscles.

  “I love the way you touch me,” he said, glancing at her hand on his chest. “I love how free you are in sharing your body with me. These rituals of yours, I am man enough to admit how close they bring us together. I can’t wait to see where the one you have planned for tonight takes us. I am blessed to have you beside me, in good times and in bad, that even the way I have been acting you still want me, you would still go to all of this trouble for us on Valentine’s Day. I love you, Margaret.”

  The tears in her eyes made her voice hoarse. “I love you too, Michael. And for so many reasons: You are a fantastic husband, one who is not afraid to speak his mind, unconcerned with how it sounds. For years now, you have always made it a point to say I love you whenever we pass by each other, to touch me in little secret ways when the kids are in the room, to steal a moment to wink, to kiss… I have missed that these past months. So easily it fades if we let it. I gave you space, but I want that back. I want you close again.”

  “You will have it. I am so sorry for the way I have been acting. I know I have your forgiveness, but I am grateful for the second chance. I won’t blow it. I promise you that.”

  Staying seated with his erection making itself known under her ass, she soaped up all of him she could reach without breaking their position. He did the same for her, paying special attention to her breasts, giving them a thorough cleaning until her nipples were hard despite the warmth of the water.

  After they were rinsed, she turned on the jets, laid her chest against his, wrapped her arms around his neck, and rested her head against his. In this full body hug, she closed her eyes, just feeling his body against hers, the warm water and the sounds soothing her.

  After quite some time that way, he whispered, “Do we have some special massage oil for tonight? I would love to run my hands all over you.”

  “Ah, we do. Aunt Minnie made up a special love oil we can use.”

  “I don’t think I need anything else right now to make me love you or want you more, but I am willing to give it a try. Is this some special Valentine’s Day potion?”

  “Maybe,” she laughed.

  Drying each other off, she noticed his cock was already hard enough she could hang the towel off of it to dry. Yet she forced herself to move on, even though she was more than ready to hop on and give him a ride.

  He led her into the bedroom, pulling her arm so she would lie down on the blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace. It was gas, and she watched as he lit it. After all these years, she was still amazed at the view when the man bent over, naked, his ass and thighs perfectly framing his hanging balls and cock.

  “Relax a moment.” He soothed her with a hand running along her back. “I will move the candles in here.”

  On her stomach, she propped her chin on her hands, and watched the small flames. She enjoyed the glimpses of him, naked and setting candles around the room. Just dried from the bath, she was wet between at the apex of her thighs, again. The muscles in his legs flexed, as did the ones in his arms and stomach with his movements. At forty-four years of age, he was still a wall of hard muscles, an image of masculinity to behold.

  Finally, he came to sit on her ass, his hard cock lying heavily between her cheeks. He oiled his hands with the potion she had set out, and she sighed as his hands pressed into her lower back, just inches on each side of her spine, the sacred space of energy. She had trained him well, she thought, as his palms moved up toward her neck. A massage was usually part of the rituals, just like a bath, to relax the body as well as get the energy flowing.

  She breathed deeply, in and out, getting lost in the spot where his hands met her flesh. She concentrated on the connection. Any tiny bits of tension left after the bath, oozed out of her in ribbons of sexual energy.

  He massaged her ass, her thighs, her legs and feet before tur
ning her over. From her face to her feet he rubbed again. She was moaning now, her body squirming on the blanket, but still focusing in on the contact between them.

  “Is this safe for internal use?” he whispered in her ear.

  “Yes,” she said, a smile taking over her face. “All natural and gentle oils, I was assured.”

  He spread her legs, bending her knees and pushing them apart a bit further. His oiled hands rubbed over her mound in circles. He grabbed the skin lightly, making her hips lift off the ground.

  “Focus and breathe, Margaret.”

  Oh, he is good! She obeyed, feeling each touch as he massaged down her folds and around her wet flesh at her opening. He slipped in two fingers, moving them gently along her inner walls at the same time he went back to massaging her ass. Another of his well-lubed fingers circled her puckered hole, slipping in a bit and moving out before circling again.

  Just when she felt the orgasm building, he took his hands from her.

  “Your turn to torture—I mean, pleasure me.” He laughed.

  “Mmm, it will be my pleasure to take the energy up another notch in here,” she said, her body buzzing, and yet complaining from the loss of his hands.

  Touching his body helped her to channel all the energy she was giving off in the right way, with thoughts of how much she loved and adored this man, how much she still craved his body against hers. It was no trouble to go slow, re-learning every muscle and what it needed from her. Yet, when she got to his cock, she still had the most fun. It was rock hard now, standing straight up, reaching for her.

  She massaged its head, running her oily hands around the tight rim, over the hole on the top. He groaned deep inside his chest, making her moan in response. At first, she ran both of her hands up and down over his shaft as she watched the veins bulge. Twisting her one hand, letting her palm move up and down over him, her other hand took to massaging his balls, grabbing them, squeezing them with just enough light pressure to drive him nuts.

  When it seemed he could take no more, she whispered for him to sit up. She had pillows on the bed and against the wall so they could both be propped up, relaxed and across from one another with mere inches between them. “Remember to breathe, in and out. Look at me as a goddess, as I look at you as a god. Be conscious, but let your gaze shift and change, so my body becomes both brilliant and fades before your eyes. Then let the meditation deepen. There is no thought to be ashamed of or stop. Let all the intimacy of our lifetime together be present here between us in vibrational sex rather than frictional. When I move in to touch you, just follow my lead, do as I do.”

  He smiled as he sat back. The moment took them both. She could feel it in the subtle pulse over her skin, the way her heart continued to race and to beat, it seemed, just for him. Time stood still as their union without touch continued. The energy in the room became palatable, changed the hues of everything she saw. It was like losing consciousness, falling asleep, but still being in control of the dream. There was no discord, just harmony. She swore she could hear his heart beating in time with hers. She felt his eyes on her like she had felt his hands just moments ago. Every part of her was ready to receive him. Her nipples pebbled, became so tight it was almost painful. Her pussy throbbed as wetness ran onto her thighs. She opened her legs more for him.

  When he growled, she re-focused on the sound. The vibration tore through her stomach, tightening the muscles there. She could see his need for her clearly. His cock stood up, skin tight and reddish, between his thighs. She could smell the musk of his skin mixing with the candles, spicy and sweet. There was a vulnerability as her man became a golden god before her eyes. She wondered at the gift of having him, yearned for him, mind and body, spirit and soul.

  She scooted toward him. He followed suit. Just her fingertips she let linger over his skin, his face, his abs, his cock. His fingers feathered touches over her lips, lingered on her breasts, then moved between her legs.

  She moved his legs until he was seated cross-legged again as he had in the tub. Seating herself on him, this time she lowered herself over his erection. She let his cock slid up inside her slowly, then let her legs circle around him again. They became one in a new way. Without words, he followed her movements, the rocking on him so natural, so rhythmic, she could hear music that didn’t play. Time seemed to stand still as they moved.

  Her nipples kept brushing his chest. His hands caressed her face, combed through her still wet curls. Energy pulsed up from where their bodies were intimately connected together. The force was so strong she felt she could reach out and grab it. Her inner walls squeezed him, and his groan played along with that imaginary tune playing in her head.

  “This feels a bit surreal, but I feel so connected to you right now,” he whispered in her ear. “I hope you feel the same.”

  “I do, like nothing can ever come between us.”

  “Nothing ever will. I would die for you in a heartbeat, because without you, mine would cease to beat, even if I were still to have the misfortune of breathing.”

  As her breath caught, there was no distinction left between them. This must be what the book her aunt had given her had called the blooming of the genitals. It was a moment described as there being no penis, no vagina, just a fiery moment of creation. She felt the like waves were crashing against the shore, thunderstorms were rolling over them, volcanoes were erupting. Yet, they were safe and secure in each other’s embrace, riding out the worst the world could throw at them as one unit. Their own world solidified in the next moments of ecstasy. They came together slowly, orgasms melding together like musical instruments in crescendo of the climax of a wondrous song, one that touches the very soul of the listener and musician.

  The explosions inside their bodies permeated every atom of her being. Still seated, still connected, their bodies held each other up, lax, shuttering.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day, My Love,” she whispered in his ear.

  “Even though the holiday has ended, can we find time to do this again tomorrow?”

  She smiled at the perfection of her world. She’d never before felt so beautiful, so loved.

  “This is a Valentine’s Day I will never forget, and one I hope to recreate as often as we can, no matter what day of the year it is. Actually, we still have dessert. Passion fruit with orange and honey. Even whipped cream if we wish to feast off of each other.”

  “Later,” he breathed out.

  He moved her then, picking her up, throwing her down on the bed. Entering her again, savagely, lovingly, she let him take her…

  Turn the page for a taste of Whiskey & Witchcraft...

  A Taste From Whiskey & Witchcraft

  Ciaran Byrne is suddenly thrust into the public eye as the face of the Byrne family by the death of his father, also inheriting his family’s scandals. Unfortunately, a legacy of misused magick runs like fire through his veins, and a demon trapped inside of him by a spell turns him into a beast like no other.

  He knows no way around the demon failsafe his father had planted inside him. Still, over a decade later, he's convinced somewhere in him a better man lurks.

  As if everything else isn't reason enough to keep his blood pressure high and his nights sleepless, Allanah Adams, the woman he’d once been forbidden to love, roams into his life.

  He can see she assumes what the media tells her is true. He begs--no, orders--her to let him prove he can be different from his family, but can he prove it to himself and everyone else around him?

  Chapter One

  His heart skipped a beat, stopped a full, breath-stealing second, as if anticipating his death, before it began to thump again in his chest, hard enough to knot his stomach and build a throb in his head. He sucked in a burning rush of air, his lungs frantic for breath as his eyes widened, fixed on the source of the terror moving his way.

  The crash of an ocean wave below echoed eerily through his home. An electric current raced over his skin the same moment the lightning of an impending storm lit the
sky, reflected across the wall of windows in his great room, and blurred his view for a few lingering seconds. The heat of panic crawled over his neck as he waited for his vision to clear.

  As he blinked his eyes in rapid succession, momentarily blinding himself, he hoped to eliminate what had to be an apparition of his drunken mind. Before he could stop it, a throaty burst of laughter escaped him as the need to move made his muscles jump despite the fact he remained frozen in place. If anyone paid him any mind, he didn't notice. His eyes focused in on the origin of his horror. Any attempt at false bravado dripped away like the sweat burning his neck, soaking the shirt on his back. He thought to take a large gulp of whiskey, desiring the curing of his dry mouth, erasing the unpleasant toxic taste left there. Only, he dared not move his trembling hand as he white-knuckled the glass in it, fearing it might slip from his clammy grip before reaching his quivering lips.

  A California palm frond slammed against the window at his back, making his stiff body jump, his pulse tremble as he fought to catch his still sporadic breath. He stood rooted in place, couldn't move even if he wanted to. Still, his leg muscles tightened as if ready to run from the spectacular horror he faced, lied to himself that it must be a hallucination, drunken insanity bringing his past into the present. Healthy fear ignited all of his senses beyond the hissing sort of hum in his ears from his blood pressure, so high a heart attack imminently threatened his young, thirty-something, hours-spent-in-the-gym body. Clenching his free hand into a fist, he refused to let this split second in time be a measure of the man he knew himself to be. No man, no matter how powerful, how rich, how strong, and he was all of these things in spades, could endure such a terrifying experience.

  "Why, Ciaran Byrne, you do look like you've seen a ghost."

  Her voice, soft, yet deep for a woman, rushed over him, along with a measure of dark, unhealthy lust which fired from each nerve ending. He became acutely aware of every inch of the ethereal being standing before him. Of this world, not of this world, his senses still couldn't decipher which as his mind played tricks, attempted to dismiss the truth despite all facts and exquisite figures within his reach.