"I love Light o'Love. She is a country girl studying in the big city, but is undaunted by her new life. She's learning to control her powers and at the same time opening herself to the exciting new world of romance and sex. The girl develops into a very powerful woman."
~ Jacqueline ~
~ Jacqueline ~
Studying love and witchcraft at university was always going to be difficult, but Shirley’s life is made much more dangerous when Dr Rostov of the Dark Light stalks her. She fights him off but finally submits to being the bait in a trap to catch him.
Reader's Reviews
Coffee Time Romance
...Light o’Love is a quirky twist on the wild and crazy days of college life in the 60’s. The characters are fun and refreshing. Light goes from being a shy, intimidated country girl, to a woman in command of her powers. She loves to love, no matter the age or gender, and finds growth in each experience. This story is quite a unique take on witches and their craft, making it an all-around entertaining read.
Lototy, Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance
Author Discovery
Jacqueline George's Light o'Love is simply spectacular!
Initially, I was attracted by the interesting setting of the The Jane Flockman Institute of Political Science and Ethics, and the haunts in and around Liverpool. What I found was a memorable story about the supernatural world thriving around us.
Jacqueline's elegant prose teases readers with sensual descriptions of characters who come from all over the spectrum and each and every one are part of the Institute's eclectic family. While the story focuses on the coming of age and sexual awakening of Shirley Grainger, Light o'Love, the work features loving and amusing older characters who are the heroine's teachers and friends. It's rare to come across a work of erotic literature with mature couples but Jacqueline created such attractive and vibrant pairs I found them to be just as delightful as the young lovers!
Light begins as a pupil but she evolves into a guide for her classmates who are also studying The Craft and testing the waters of the adult world. The young women soon realize the dangers of witchcraft which come from attracting members of the Dark Light.
The heroine, with all her erotic adventures and looming perils around her and the school still has a degree of innocence derived from her altruism. Light's "voice" impressed me as being completely believable and she is such a fun character. I hope a sequel is in the works. Light's very goal is to reach out to heal people around her with love and in doing so she touched me as a reader and brought a smile to my face.
Silapa Jarun, author
Light o'Love Shines!
Enter a world in which a couple of guys from Alice, Texas, interrupt the tranquil and smooth goings on at The Jane Flockman Institute. But this is no ordinary institute. In this institute the students may study mundane subjects like Geopolitics, and Geophysics, but it is mainly an institute for those who want to perfect their witchcraft skill.
Skills that involve such things as: card reading, fortune telling, and if you are like the main character, Light o'Love herself, then you just might be one of the most powerful witches around.
Set in Liverpool, England around 1968, the story follows our Light o'Love heroine as she seeks to not only use her skills to help out her fellow man, but ultimately saves herself and the Institute from the evil claws of the villainous Professor Rostov.
For Rostov is intimidated by our Light o'Love's skill of a little mind control, and she also senses and is able to fend off evil at a moment's notice. But all that seems to change one day when Rostov captures Light o'Love.
Come and see how Light o'Love is capable of disabling a couple of 'toys', gets herself out of this dangerous situation she finds herself in with Rostov, and is still able to not only save the day, but also the Institute and her friends and other professors at the Institute.
It's a delightful tale, well told. I enjoyed reading it, and I hope you do as well.
Judy Ramsook, Author
Coffee Time Romance
...Light o’Love is a quirky twist on the wild and crazy days of college life in the 60’s. The characters are fun and refreshing. Light goes from being a shy, intimidated country girl, to a woman in command of her powers. She loves to love, no matter the age or gender, and finds growth in each experience. This story is quite a unique take on witches and their craft, making it an all-around entertaining read.
Lototy, Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance
Author Discovery
Jacqueline George's Light o'Love is simply spectacular!
Initially, I was attracted by the interesting setting of the The Jane Flockman Institute of Political Science and Ethics, and the haunts in and around Liverpool. What I found was a memorable story about the supernatural world thriving around us.
Jacqueline's elegant prose teases readers with sensual descriptions of characters who come from all over the spectrum and each and every one are part of the Institute's eclectic family. While the story focuses on the coming of age and sexual awakening of Shirley Grainger, Light o'Love, the work features loving and amusing older characters who are the heroine's teachers and friends. It's rare to come across a work of erotic literature with mature couples but Jacqueline created such attractive and vibrant pairs I found them to be just as delightful as the young lovers!
Light begins as a pupil but she evolves into a guide for her classmates who are also studying The Craft and testing the waters of the adult world. The young women soon realize the dangers of witchcraft which come from attracting members of the Dark Light.
The heroine, with all her erotic adventures and looming perils around her and the school still has a degree of innocence derived from her altruism. Light's "voice" impressed me as being completely believable and she is such a fun character. I hope a sequel is in the works. Light's very goal is to reach out to heal people around her with love and in doing so she touched me as a reader and brought a smile to my face.
Silapa Jarun, author
Light o'Love Shines!
Enter a world in which a couple of guys from Alice, Texas, interrupt the tranquil and smooth goings on at The Jane Flockman Institute. But this is no ordinary institute. In this institute the students may study mundane subjects like Geopolitics, and Geophysics, but it is mainly an institute for those who want to perfect their witchcraft skill.
Skills that involve such things as: card reading, fortune telling, and if you are like the main character, Light o'Love herself, then you just might be one of the most powerful witches around.
Set in Liverpool, England around 1968, the story follows our Light o'Love heroine as she seeks to not only use her skills to help out her fellow man, but ultimately saves herself and the Institute from the evil claws of the villainous Professor Rostov.
For Rostov is intimidated by our Light o'Love's skill of a little mind control, and she also senses and is able to fend off evil at a moment's notice. But all that seems to change one day when Rostov captures Light o'Love.
Come and see how Light o'Love is capable of disabling a couple of 'toys', gets herself out of this dangerous situation she finds herself in with Rostov, and is still able to not only save the day, but also the Institute and her friends and other professors at the Institute.
It's a delightful tale, well told. I enjoyed reading it, and I hope you do as well.
Judy Ramsook, Author
Shirley gets to know Dr Rostov, the arrogant and strangely attractive lecturer who turns out to be a coldly demanding lover..
Rostov said nothing as he steered through the traffic. They turned into an anonymous city centre street and he spoke at last. "Paradise Street. Perhaps you've heard of it. You could find all the sailors brothels along here in the old days. All gone. Now there s only a couple of restaurants worth visiting."
He drove on, following side-roads, past tall, dark buildings and dirty streets. Fish and chip papers blew along the empty alleys. He pulled up in a narrow street and pointed across the road. Shirley could see nothing, just a double doorway leading, she supposed, to a storehouse.
"The Cavern Club," he said. "It used to be here, and just a few years ago you could have seen The Beatles for no more than the cost of an entry ticket. Nothing there now. It's closed. No-one's got any imagination around here."
He drove on and slowed down again in another side street. They paused opposite a pub called The Slaughterhouse. "Remember this place. Fenwick Street. They have the best steak and kidney pie in England. I wouldn't come down here during the week, it's much too busy with people from the offices, but they're open for Saturday lunch and it's still the same pie."
They drove out of the labyrinth into an area of massive stone buildings. The hub of Victorian Liverpool. "Pier Head. This is where it all used to happen. That's the Liver Building, and Cunard next to it. It's all here. Let's go and look at the ferry."
They walked down to Princes Landing Stage. In the gathering night, the whole structure made a cast iron statement of Victorian achievement. A wide sloping walkway led down to the actual landing stage, a massive floating pontoon big enough to accommodate several ferries at a time. Nothing stood between them and the dark waters of the Mersey rushing and gurgling past. The lights of Birkenhead on the other bank glimmered far away in the darkness.
For once, Rostov showed some signs of enthusiasm. "This place is fantastic! I love it. It's so big, such engineering for the time. Look, we're floating and only held onto land by the walkways. It moves up and down with the tide and the river level. And it flexes, look at the waiting room."
Shirley looked along the front of the waiting room and the landing stage stretching away up the river. Sure enough, as the sea waves moved up the estuary, the landing stage flexed like a snake and the waiting room lifted up and down as if it too, could bend. It fascinated her, and she tried to understand how it worked.
Suddenly, in a cloud of spray and acrid smoke, a ferry came to them out of the night. Powering up against the current, it pushed firmly against the stage and a sailor dropped a noose of woven cable over a bollard. The gangways banged down and passengers disembarked on two levels. Minutes later the sailor recovered his cable and the current swept the ferry back and away into the centre of the river.
Rostov showed her the details of the landing stage. "All riveted together, they had plenty of people then and no welding. You see, each one taking two men to set. And, the decoration, it's beautiful. Look at these lamp standards, that's real artistry in iron. Just imagine what they must have looked like when they were gas-lights. Hard to think that they all came out of a foundry."
He led her back to the car. "Now we will go and eat," he announced, "Salad, black bread and pickled fish."
"From Romania?"
"No, not Romania. But the fish and the bread you will find in Danzig. Or Gdansk, if you prefer."
He took them away from the city centre along streets Shirley did not recognise. Finally, he turned into a gateway with imposing sandstone pillars. Beyond them lay not a Victorian mansion like Smethwick Hall but an ugly glass and concrete box. "Collins Hall. My flat is at the back here."
His front door opened directly from the yard. He took her coat and ushered her into his front room. The decoration declared severe good taste. She sat and looked around as Rostov busied himself. He had painted the walls bravely in apricot, with cream ceiling and trimmings. A large minimalist pastel of a nude girl reading at a desk filled the space over the gas fire. The artist had enjoyed the flow of lines and curves in the girl s back. Rostov turned on the stereo, a futuristic turntable, a thin aluminium platter with heavy golden posts to support the disc. When he turned it on, the golden posts started to flash hypnotically past as the turntable gathered speed. He lifted the Perspex cover and lowered the counter-weighted arm delicately onto an LP. Mellow sax filled the room.
"Getz," he said, "and Gilberto. The best!" He disappeared into the kitchen.
Suddenly, she felt adult. Rostov had invited her to his flat and taken her seriously. He returned in a moment with a bottle and two small glasses to set on the coffee table.
"Vodka. Specially from Poland." He did not offer to pour but returned to the kitchen. She looked at the bottle. Wyborowa Wodka. She did not recognise the name.
He brought a tray of food and settled beside her. She was surprised at how elegant the tray looked. He had arranged small pieces of pickled herring and continental sliced cucumber on one plate, and thinly sliced black bread on another. Between them sat a small bowl of chopped tomato and herbs.
Rostov filled the two small glasses with neat vodka and offered her one. "Now, drink up. The first one you must finish instantly. The next one can be sipped. So cheers!" He raised his glass, tipped his head back and the vodka disappeared.
It would be childish to object. She put her doubts aside and copied him. The vodka came as a shock. It bit her throat and made her eyes water, but she survived. A warm glow grew in her stomach. He re-filled the glasses. She did not think she could drink one too.
"Now, we will have a Prussian snack to go with your Prussian history. Or a Polish snack because Prussia has disappeared." He manoeuvred a piece of herring and a slice of cucumber onto some bread with a fork. She copied him. Sharp, clean flavours hit her, the sourness of the cucumber, vinegar from the fish and the bitter grainy flavour of the rye bread.
She was enjoying herself. Sitting on the sofa next to Rostov felt good, and she liked eating the foreign food and drinking vodka as she had never done before. It was exciting. She helped herself to more food and cautiously sipped at her glass.
Rostov sat back and put his arm around her. That felt good too. She liked the size of him, his maturity and even his arrogant self-confidence. She leant against him and did not resist when he lifted her face to kiss her.
His touch and the smell of him overwhelmed her. Her heart raced and she felt suddenly clumsy in his strong, confident arms. Nothing she had done prepared her for this. Rostov was a man and completely eclipsed the boys she had kissed before.
She surrendered everything to him, happy to follow where-ever he led. He pulled her closer. His kisses made her body sing and she reached up to hold his head. She wanted more of him.
His fingers worked at the buttons of her cardigan and blouse. He did not hurry or fumble. As they kissed, she felt her heart rise in her throat and a warm open flowering within her. She was light-headed, half drunk from his kisses.
She felt the steady flick-flick-flick as he released her buttons. He reached inside her blouse to cup her breast and stroke her nipple through her bra. She shivered and moaned as he crushed and twisted her nipple between finger and thumb. She could feel the twisting deep in her stomach.
Still kissing her, he pushed the coffee table back and turned to kneel between her feet. He reached around her, and pulled her blouse out of her jeans. He sat back to look at her and his dark eyes shone for her. "Beautiful!" he said, and unbuttoned her cuffs. She sat silently under his gaze; there was nothing she could say.
She felt no shame with him. It felt natural to sit forward as he pushed her sleeves off her shoulders, and reached around to unhook her bra. He examined her, delighting in her nudity. He took her hands in his and lifted her arms wide.
"Beautiful! Truly Beautiful!" He bent to kiss her breasts and tease her nipples with his teeth. Shirley jumped at the first sensation of his moist lips on her, and then moved to press her breast against his mouth. She let her head fall back as waves of excitement rushed through her. He held her breasts and sucked her nipples, one after the other, and rolled pleasure into them with his tongue. As he sucked and tormented her, she barely felt him pulling off her shoes, jeans and panties. She was naked before him, presenting her pussy to his gaze. She was conscious of a tightening between her legs, and in her mind her pussy loomed large and swollen.
He sat beside her again, holding her and reaching under her. She caught her breath as she felt his fingers slide over her thighs and into her wetness. She sat back to lift herself to him and he rubbed slowly, exactly as she wanted to be rubbed. His fingers pushed inside her, and at the same time he rubbed her with long, slow strokes. Her hips were moving against him, opening herself and seeking more of him inside her. She heard herself panting, and she buried her face in his neck as she lost control again and again.
The storm he stirred inside her with his fingers left her hardly able to think. His fingers continued to play as he took her hand and put it into his open trousers. He helped her to unravel his cock and pull it out into the open. It stood out of his trousers, long and white, and its swollen purple head shone.
His hand left her and now he pushed her down, pushing her head towards his cock. She had an instant to look at it before it butted against her lips and she took his cock into her mouth. She sucked at it, gripping the shaft with both hands and rolling her tongue around its head. Vaguely she could hear Rostov gasping.
He pulled her away. "Let's go into the bedroom." He led her by the hand into his room and steered her onto the bed. Rolling her onto her side facing him, he stood beside the bed and presented his cock to her. She took it in her hands and suckled on it, comfortable and happy to receive. She raised a knee to open herself and invite him. He reached for her again, strumming her clit rhythmically, firmly, continuously. Her pleasure mounted rapidly.
He began to pant again as she worked on his cock. She heard him whisper, "So good. Oh, so good…" and he pulled away from her.
Without speaking, he helped her from the bed to her feet and led her to the dressing table. Standing behind her, he bent her forward until her elbows rested on the table. The top of the table was polished, and nothing stood on its surface. She felt him reach under her to take something from the drawer. A quick fumble and he was entering her. His cock pushed into her and she welcomed its presence, drawing it into her and wanting it to fill her completely. His hands gripped her hips and he moved in and out of her, firmly, deliberately, slowly.
She could see them both in the mirror. Her own face looked flushed and swollen. Rostov stood behind her, still fully dressed, working on her and searching for his pleasure. His eyes were half closed and his hair had begun to fall wildly.
Moving faster now, he slammed against her with each stroke. He moved faster and faster. She knew that soon he would come. His cock flew in and out of her now, and the table rattled against the wall. She watched his face, contorted in pain, striving for release. And then it was happening. His expression hardened in animal ferocity as his cock jumped and spat inside her, and he pulled her hard against him. He stood still, rigid, holding her in a grip of steel against him. She felt only the pulsing of his cock deep inside her. Then he relaxed and slipped out of her.
Smoothly, he stripped off his condom and tied a knot in the neck, and hid his cock in his trousers again. Shirley had not moved. She remained resting on her elbows, trembling.
"Come," he said, taking her arm. "Let's sit down again."
He took her to the sofa and refilled their glasses. "Your very best health," he offered and Shirley sipped her drink again.
Suddenly she wanted to dress, but he put his hand on her arm. "Don't. You look very pretty like that. Here - have some more fish."
"But, I don't…" She felt uncomfortable sitting naked beside him, but she took the bread he offered and scooped up a piece of herring and some cucumber. She drew a deep breath. "I think I should go…"
Rostov said nothing as he steered through the traffic. They turned into an anonymous city centre street and he spoke at last. "Paradise Street. Perhaps you've heard of it. You could find all the sailors brothels along here in the old days. All gone. Now there s only a couple of restaurants worth visiting."
He drove on, following side-roads, past tall, dark buildings and dirty streets. Fish and chip papers blew along the empty alleys. He pulled up in a narrow street and pointed across the road. Shirley could see nothing, just a double doorway leading, she supposed, to a storehouse.
"The Cavern Club," he said. "It used to be here, and just a few years ago you could have seen The Beatles for no more than the cost of an entry ticket. Nothing there now. It's closed. No-one's got any imagination around here."
He drove on and slowed down again in another side street. They paused opposite a pub called The Slaughterhouse. "Remember this place. Fenwick Street. They have the best steak and kidney pie in England. I wouldn't come down here during the week, it's much too busy with people from the offices, but they're open for Saturday lunch and it's still the same pie."
They drove out of the labyrinth into an area of massive stone buildings. The hub of Victorian Liverpool. "Pier Head. This is where it all used to happen. That's the Liver Building, and Cunard next to it. It's all here. Let's go and look at the ferry."
They walked down to Princes Landing Stage. In the gathering night, the whole structure made a cast iron statement of Victorian achievement. A wide sloping walkway led down to the actual landing stage, a massive floating pontoon big enough to accommodate several ferries at a time. Nothing stood between them and the dark waters of the Mersey rushing and gurgling past. The lights of Birkenhead on the other bank glimmered far away in the darkness.
For once, Rostov showed some signs of enthusiasm. "This place is fantastic! I love it. It's so big, such engineering for the time. Look, we're floating and only held onto land by the walkways. It moves up and down with the tide and the river level. And it flexes, look at the waiting room."
Shirley looked along the front of the waiting room and the landing stage stretching away up the river. Sure enough, as the sea waves moved up the estuary, the landing stage flexed like a snake and the waiting room lifted up and down as if it too, could bend. It fascinated her, and she tried to understand how it worked.
Suddenly, in a cloud of spray and acrid smoke, a ferry came to them out of the night. Powering up against the current, it pushed firmly against the stage and a sailor dropped a noose of woven cable over a bollard. The gangways banged down and passengers disembarked on two levels. Minutes later the sailor recovered his cable and the current swept the ferry back and away into the centre of the river.
Rostov showed her the details of the landing stage. "All riveted together, they had plenty of people then and no welding. You see, each one taking two men to set. And, the decoration, it's beautiful. Look at these lamp standards, that's real artistry in iron. Just imagine what they must have looked like when they were gas-lights. Hard to think that they all came out of a foundry."
He led her back to the car. "Now we will go and eat," he announced, "Salad, black bread and pickled fish."
"From Romania?"
"No, not Romania. But the fish and the bread you will find in Danzig. Or Gdansk, if you prefer."
He took them away from the city centre along streets Shirley did not recognise. Finally, he turned into a gateway with imposing sandstone pillars. Beyond them lay not a Victorian mansion like Smethwick Hall but an ugly glass and concrete box. "Collins Hall. My flat is at the back here."
His front door opened directly from the yard. He took her coat and ushered her into his front room. The decoration declared severe good taste. She sat and looked around as Rostov busied himself. He had painted the walls bravely in apricot, with cream ceiling and trimmings. A large minimalist pastel of a nude girl reading at a desk filled the space over the gas fire. The artist had enjoyed the flow of lines and curves in the girl s back. Rostov turned on the stereo, a futuristic turntable, a thin aluminium platter with heavy golden posts to support the disc. When he turned it on, the golden posts started to flash hypnotically past as the turntable gathered speed. He lifted the Perspex cover and lowered the counter-weighted arm delicately onto an LP. Mellow sax filled the room.
"Getz," he said, "and Gilberto. The best!" He disappeared into the kitchen.
Suddenly, she felt adult. Rostov had invited her to his flat and taken her seriously. He returned in a moment with a bottle and two small glasses to set on the coffee table.
"Vodka. Specially from Poland." He did not offer to pour but returned to the kitchen. She looked at the bottle. Wyborowa Wodka. She did not recognise the name.
He brought a tray of food and settled beside her. She was surprised at how elegant the tray looked. He had arranged small pieces of pickled herring and continental sliced cucumber on one plate, and thinly sliced black bread on another. Between them sat a small bowl of chopped tomato and herbs.
Rostov filled the two small glasses with neat vodka and offered her one. "Now, drink up. The first one you must finish instantly. The next one can be sipped. So cheers!" He raised his glass, tipped his head back and the vodka disappeared.
It would be childish to object. She put her doubts aside and copied him. The vodka came as a shock. It bit her throat and made her eyes water, but she survived. A warm glow grew in her stomach. He re-filled the glasses. She did not think she could drink one too.
"Now, we will have a Prussian snack to go with your Prussian history. Or a Polish snack because Prussia has disappeared." He manoeuvred a piece of herring and a slice of cucumber onto some bread with a fork. She copied him. Sharp, clean flavours hit her, the sourness of the cucumber, vinegar from the fish and the bitter grainy flavour of the rye bread.
She was enjoying herself. Sitting on the sofa next to Rostov felt good, and she liked eating the foreign food and drinking vodka as she had never done before. It was exciting. She helped herself to more food and cautiously sipped at her glass.
Rostov sat back and put his arm around her. That felt good too. She liked the size of him, his maturity and even his arrogant self-confidence. She leant against him and did not resist when he lifted her face to kiss her.
His touch and the smell of him overwhelmed her. Her heart raced and she felt suddenly clumsy in his strong, confident arms. Nothing she had done prepared her for this. Rostov was a man and completely eclipsed the boys she had kissed before.
She surrendered everything to him, happy to follow where-ever he led. He pulled her closer. His kisses made her body sing and she reached up to hold his head. She wanted more of him.
His fingers worked at the buttons of her cardigan and blouse. He did not hurry or fumble. As they kissed, she felt her heart rise in her throat and a warm open flowering within her. She was light-headed, half drunk from his kisses.
She felt the steady flick-flick-flick as he released her buttons. He reached inside her blouse to cup her breast and stroke her nipple through her bra. She shivered and moaned as he crushed and twisted her nipple between finger and thumb. She could feel the twisting deep in her stomach.
Still kissing her, he pushed the coffee table back and turned to kneel between her feet. He reached around her, and pulled her blouse out of her jeans. He sat back to look at her and his dark eyes shone for her. "Beautiful!" he said, and unbuttoned her cuffs. She sat silently under his gaze; there was nothing she could say.
She felt no shame with him. It felt natural to sit forward as he pushed her sleeves off her shoulders, and reached around to unhook her bra. He examined her, delighting in her nudity. He took her hands in his and lifted her arms wide.
"Beautiful! Truly Beautiful!" He bent to kiss her breasts and tease her nipples with his teeth. Shirley jumped at the first sensation of his moist lips on her, and then moved to press her breast against his mouth. She let her head fall back as waves of excitement rushed through her. He held her breasts and sucked her nipples, one after the other, and rolled pleasure into them with his tongue. As he sucked and tormented her, she barely felt him pulling off her shoes, jeans and panties. She was naked before him, presenting her pussy to his gaze. She was conscious of a tightening between her legs, and in her mind her pussy loomed large and swollen.
He sat beside her again, holding her and reaching under her. She caught her breath as she felt his fingers slide over her thighs and into her wetness. She sat back to lift herself to him and he rubbed slowly, exactly as she wanted to be rubbed. His fingers pushed inside her, and at the same time he rubbed her with long, slow strokes. Her hips were moving against him, opening herself and seeking more of him inside her. She heard herself panting, and she buried her face in his neck as she lost control again and again.
The storm he stirred inside her with his fingers left her hardly able to think. His fingers continued to play as he took her hand and put it into his open trousers. He helped her to unravel his cock and pull it out into the open. It stood out of his trousers, long and white, and its swollen purple head shone.
His hand left her and now he pushed her down, pushing her head towards his cock. She had an instant to look at it before it butted against her lips and she took his cock into her mouth. She sucked at it, gripping the shaft with both hands and rolling her tongue around its head. Vaguely she could hear Rostov gasping.
He pulled her away. "Let's go into the bedroom." He led her by the hand into his room and steered her onto the bed. Rolling her onto her side facing him, he stood beside the bed and presented his cock to her. She took it in her hands and suckled on it, comfortable and happy to receive. She raised a knee to open herself and invite him. He reached for her again, strumming her clit rhythmically, firmly, continuously. Her pleasure mounted rapidly.
He began to pant again as she worked on his cock. She heard him whisper, "So good. Oh, so good…" and he pulled away from her.
Without speaking, he helped her from the bed to her feet and led her to the dressing table. Standing behind her, he bent her forward until her elbows rested on the table. The top of the table was polished, and nothing stood on its surface. She felt him reach under her to take something from the drawer. A quick fumble and he was entering her. His cock pushed into her and she welcomed its presence, drawing it into her and wanting it to fill her completely. His hands gripped her hips and he moved in and out of her, firmly, deliberately, slowly.
She could see them both in the mirror. Her own face looked flushed and swollen. Rostov stood behind her, still fully dressed, working on her and searching for his pleasure. His eyes were half closed and his hair had begun to fall wildly.
Moving faster now, he slammed against her with each stroke. He moved faster and faster. She knew that soon he would come. His cock flew in and out of her now, and the table rattled against the wall. She watched his face, contorted in pain, striving for release. And then it was happening. His expression hardened in animal ferocity as his cock jumped and spat inside her, and he pulled her hard against him. He stood still, rigid, holding her in a grip of steel against him. She felt only the pulsing of his cock deep inside her. Then he relaxed and slipped out of her.
Smoothly, he stripped off his condom and tied a knot in the neck, and hid his cock in his trousers again. Shirley had not moved. She remained resting on her elbows, trembling.
"Come," he said, taking her arm. "Let's sit down again."
He took her to the sofa and refilled their glasses. "Your very best health," he offered and Shirley sipped her drink again.
Suddenly she wanted to dress, but he put his hand on her arm. "Don't. You look very pretty like that. Here - have some more fish."
"But, I don't…" She felt uncomfortable sitting naked beside him, but she took the bread he offered and scooped up a piece of herring and some cucumber. She drew a deep breath. "I think I should go…"
