Whirlwind Romance

A rush of emotion dropped a veil over all but the tiny world of the two people in seats 11A and 11B, in a jet plane floating somewhere over the Atlantic, in a still moment in time.



A strange racket disturbed her dreams. A crash, followed by a shuffling noise, brought her instantly awake. There—another thud. She sat bolt upright. It came from outside her window. It must be an animal eating the raspberries. For some reason this infuriated Rose. Those were her berries. She wasn’t going to let a nasty little raccoon gobble them up. She rose from the bed and moved quietly to the window, ready to shout abruptly and scare it away. Wait! What if it isn’t a raccoon? What if it’s a skunk? Now that would sure make my day. All right, just knock on the wall. Whatever it is will be frightened off by that.

She banged softly. Nothing happened. She banged harder. The scrunching stopped. Satisfied, she turned back to bed but halted at the sound of a very loud grunt, this time closer to her open window.
One more bang should do it. But as she raised her hand to smack the paneling, a curious thing occurred. A pair of fuzzy black ears rose over the window sill. A second later, she found herself staring directly into the face of an enormous bear. An unhappy bear. A bear unaccustomed to being disturbed at its meal.

Rose screamed.Pandemonium erupted. James rushed in, followed by the professor and Harley.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

Everyone babbled, canceling each other out. Rose was so frightened she fell into James’s arms. “A…b…b…”

“A bear?” He turned to the others. In a voice struggling to sound calm, he declared, “Everything’s fine. Go back to your rooms. And—” he looked pointedly at the open window, “be sure your windows are closed and latched.” The others filed out, still chattering.

James continued to hold Rose, waiting for the trembling to stop. He whispered nonsense syllables into her hair and rocked her. She clung to him, trying not to fall into hysterics. He sat down on the bed, still holding her. “It’s all right. You scared him off, you know. He’s just a big old black bear with a fondness for raspberries.”

“I…I…” She hiccupped. “I thought it was a raccoon. I…thought it would move off when I banged on the wall.”

James chuckled. “Well, he did move off, with a little help from us, but he’ll be back. As long as there’s a berry left on the bush.”

“Oh dear.” Rose moved closer to James. “Perhaps I should change rooms?”

“Not a bad idea. Not a good one either. The inn only has nine rooms. And we’re occupying them all. I don’t think you want to sleep in the living room.”

Rose felt another wave of hysteria threaten. James started to rise but she held him closer. “Not yet. Don’t go yet. I’m so frightened.”

James made an impatient movement. “You’ll be fine. He won’t come back tonight.”

Rose tried to loosen her grip. James got one arm free but used it to stroke her hair. “Really, you’re perfectly safe now.” He bent to brush his lips across her head. Then he lifted her chin. He looked at her, concerned. Suddenly, he bent and kissed her lightly. “Are you okay?”

Rose raised her face to his. Her heart constricted. He really is handsome, isn’t he? Especially when his usually stern expression softens. Before she could say anything, though, he kissed her again, this time a little harder. In her shaky state, it felt comforting. She kissed him back. In an instant, their arms were wrapped around each other and James’s tongue had slipped between her teeth to explore the inside of her mouth. She opened for him, falling back onto the bed. He followed her, bracing himself above her, his kisses now passionate. When they broke apart, they were both panting. A split second of decision, then his fingers went to the hem of her nightgown and lifted. Rose gazed into his eyes, willing him to continue. He put his other hand out and extinguished the light.

He tried to pull the nightgown over her head. She raised her arms, but it wouldn’t come. Foiled, he took hold of the collar, tore it in two and threw the pieces on the floor. She lay on the blanket, drained of all rational thought, watching and waiting. The moon bathed the room with a misty light. In the gloom, she hoped all James could make out would be a white form, obviously female. Her breasts gleamed palely, a dark spot in the center of each one. She lay very still.

He unbuttoned his jeans and let them drop. He was naked underneath. She thought fleetingly that he must have thrown them on when she screamed. That meant he slept in the nude. She smiled at the thought, but he gave her no time for reflection. He fell on her, the length of his body pressed to hers, his arousal obvious. He kissed her hungrily, and then brushed his lips down her neck. He followed her throat down to the right breast first. She arched her back to bring her nipple closer. Her chest heaved beneath his mouth. He moved to the left breast and began to suckle. She gasped, the sensation too pleasurable for words. He lifted his head, as though praying that the sound didn’t mean she wanted him to stop. Instead, her arms went round his neck and her legs around his back, pulling him closer. He had no choice: he had to enter her. He didn’t hesitate. Surprisingly, she was wet and ready for him. It didn’t take much, she reflected. Then she stopped thinking.

She moved under him. It felt to her as though they were on an escalator, one which changed direction every few seconds. Up, up, up. Then down. It began to roll faster. Now they were both steaming in the same direction, but, instead of flying off at the top of the stair, they met and came together. Rose let out a mewling sound like a baby eagle and went rigid in midair. James held her up, ignoring the laws of gravity for just long enough to reach the moment of pure ecstasy. Then they plummeted. Quiet. Peace. Comfort. It could not last long.

Rose’s eyes flew open. “What did we just do?” she whispered. If James was wondering the same thing, he wouldn’t let on.


“I mean…I mean…” She trailed off. James gave her one more deep kiss before pushing himself off her. He shook his head. “I don’t know. It just happened. Sometimes it does. You were scared, you needed comfort. That’s all. Forget about it.” He looked out the window. She looked over his shoulder at the sky. The moon had gone down. It must be near dawn. He turned to her. “The bear is gone. I’ll take my leave as well.”

Lost and Found, by M. S. Spencer Red Rose Publishing (2010) eBook, 69,000 words,  Buy links: www.redrosepublishing/books/product_info.php?manufacturers_id=282&products_id=654


“Exactly what I was thinking.”
Across the river the lights of Fort Washington dotted the water with pinpricks of phosphorescence. Behind the couple on the bench the strings of silver bulbs outlining George Washington’s home shone brightly, creating long black shadows down the lawn. Two heads nestled together. Milo purred.
“Are you cold?”
“A little.”
“You want to go in?”
“No. I’m too content to move.”
She heard the chuckle in his voice. “It’s been a…nice day, hasn’t it?”
She snuggled closer under his arm. “Very.”
He kissed the top of her head tentatively. “Do you mind?”
“Uh uh.”
He pulled her chin toward him and softly kissed her lips. She was too relaxed, too happy to argue. Tristram peered at her. “I can’t see your face. Are you smiling?”
For an answer, she reached up and pulled him to her. A few minutes later he placed a gentle hand on her breast and tickled the nipple through the layers of fabric, making her heart spin.
“Let’s go home.”
The familiar words brought her back to reality. “What about Ursula?”
“Ursula? What about her?”
“Don’t you live together?”
He paused. “No.” The unspoken words were clear. No more questions.
On the drive back, her tranquil state gave way to anticipation. Tristram whipped his Jaguar in and out of the sleepy parkway traffic, never overly reckless, but enough to get her heart beating faster. He didn’t speak. For some reason, his silence aroused her even more. What is he thinking? Is he going to make love to me or drop me off like so much used tissue?
They pulled up in front of Tristram’s townhouse on Lee Street. The last time they’d been together, the surroundings had paled before other, more pressing needs. Now, as he handed her out, Milo paused to survey the park that lay between them and the river. The sky opened up here, a change from the tall, impendent row houses and narrow streets of Old Town. Stars flashed in the Milky Way, and the moon grinned at her as she shivered in the chill breeze.
Tristram took her arm. “Do you think we’ll have a white Christmas this year?”
The question first hit her as so unromantic, she worried her little dream would dissipate into the night, but then the words took on a cozy kind of comfort, like the chitchat of an old established couple. “I don’t know.”
He sniffed the air. “Smells like snow. Come on, Milo.”
She followed him, stifling both the disappointment and her desire. He’s going to offer me a drink and send me home. And that’s okay. I’ll be fine. Oh, but look at that butt and those shoulders. Is he sexier in Armani or L.L. Bean?
He closed the door behind her, ran his arms around her middle, and kissed the back of her neck. The little hairs rose to meet him. Electricity shot through her like a high-tension power line. He touched the top of her head and slowly spun her around to face him. His eyes burned into hers, and her mouth went dry.
“Yes, Tristram?”
“Do you know where you are?”
“Um…your house?”
He grinned. “Just checking. You didn’t remember much about our last…encounter, and I want to make sure you are conscious during every single minute you spend here.”
Yeah, right. Forget the small talk and take me to bed, you big gorgeous lug.
Oh my God, I said that out loud! Shit.
It was too late to take back. He didn’t appear to be listening anyway. He dropped her coat on the floor and lifted her, taking the stairs two at a time. Translucent shafts of light from a recessed panel illuminated the California king that took up most of the room.
Tristram lit a tall, white candle on the bureau and touched her shoulder. “Milo? May I?”
One hand went to the buttons on her blouse, and he undid them carefully. Why did he have to be so polite? Why didn’t he just rip her clothes off like he did the last time? Not that I remember. She let the blouse fall, her breath coming in short gasps. He reached out and cupped one of her breasts, encased in delicate orchid lace. He pulled the lace down with his index finger, allowing the nipple to lift its hungry head. He flicked at it until it stood up hard and ready for something more substantial. Obligingly, he leaned down and licked it. Then he gently unhooked the bra and licked the other nipple. Milo didn’t think she could stand much more.
His hand moved to the button of her jeans. She tightened her abdomen as he unzipped them and let his hand reach in and cup the mound. She fought the urge to press against it but gave in when he started to knead. Her vulva inflamed, releasing the juices like slow-moving lava, soaking the thin material of her bikini.
He pulled the jeans off and knelt before her. His fingers wormed their way under the panties and tickled her yearning lips. Her mind emptied of everything but the aching in her vagina. He rolled the bit of lace off, tossed it in a corner, and began to suck. Slurping and swallowing, he twisted the sensitive flesh and sent his tongue to palpate her clitoris. Milo spread her legs wider, her pussy riding his mouth like a rodeo cowgirl. The candle flickered, shimmering on his desire-glazed eyes. She shouldn’t have looked at his face—it brought her to instant orgasm. She held a hand to her mouth to stop the scream. He pulled away from her, dribbling wet kisses down the inside of her thighs.
Then her lover moved lightning fast. He tore his clothes off, pushed her onto the bed, and moved up to close with her. His cock, hard and healthy, inserted itself into her. She folded her legs around his back and began the delectable climb to climax. He slid in and out, his penis scratching the itch inside her vagina. There. Almost there. Almost…arggggh.
He collapsed on top of her.


She continued to eye him….He began to shift his weight from foot to foot. It made him even sexier, like watching Muhammad Ali dance. She didn‘t want to let him off the hook just yet, but it was getting harder and harder to hold herself in check. She wanted him so badly her stomach hurt.
Her continued silence did the trick. She‘d definitely rattled him. Look, I know I owe you an explanation. I‘ll tell you what I can. But first, I have to do this.
Before she could step back, he crossed the chasm that separated them and put his arms around her. His mouth came down on hers and she was lost. Six months of worry, of Émile, of separation, vanished and she drifted into a world of pure pleasure. Set loose from her body, she hovered on the ceiling above the couple below.
My heavens, they do seem to be enjoying that kiss. She watched, dreamy and disconnected, as the man pulled the woman back toward the couch. They sat, still in each other’s arms, then stood up, only to better tear each other’s clothes off. Or at least some of the clothes. The man grew impatient and thrust the woman back onto the couch, lifted up her skirt and tore off the panties underneath. The woman didn’t seem to mind. She pulled the man closer, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and manhandled them to his knees. As he knocked them off, his mouth deposited kisses down her stomach, then back up to her breasts. She floated back down into her body, the better to feel what was happening.
He kissed her nose and her eyes. He lifted her gently, planting kisses behind her knees and between her thighs. She began to shake with desire. She folded her legs about him, reveling in her heat. He moved up to close with her. They climbed onto a different plane, riding waves of frenzied passion. At the climax, she almost screamed, but he rammed his mouth down on hers. Stillness fell, and both bodies came to rest.
Chloe lay, eyes closed, ignoring the sharp object — a pencil? — stabbing her in the small of her back. She didn’t want to think about anything. She just wanted to feel that warm, raspy skin and smell the scent of love. Michael lay still as well, but only for a minute. He rolled off her onto his side, his back against the couch. I don‘t think I can have a conversation with you that lasts more than two minutes before I have to jump you. He breathed a contented sigh. 

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They sat down on the narrow gravel path, hip to hip. His arm snaked around her shoulder. She let him. Together they gazed out over the water. Great cliffs rose opposite them on the District side. Several modest bungalows perched on top. She had once explored the tiny cul-de-sac where half a dozen families had lived for generations. The cheerful little village of parents and grandparents and toddlers and dogs and cats stood in marked contrast to this side of the river where only two houses—Dieter’s and the Cabots’—sat on almost ten acres of woods. She woke from her daydream to feel Luc nibbling her neck.
She turned her head and found his lips in the way. The kiss started softly, then hardened and turned hungry. Luc whispered, “Miranda, I want you. Now.” His hands wandered over her shoulders and down to her breasts, breasts that still heaved from her run and her fright. He cupped one, leaned down, unbuttoned her blouse with his teeth and kissed the soft bulge just above the bra. She rose to meet him, pressing the nipple between his lips. He held on, suckling, as he gently he laid her down. She ignored the sharp prick of a stone, took her other breast out of its nest and held it for him. He shot a quick look at her from under the black brows and took her offering in his mouth.
She lay, reveling in the tingling, pulling sensation. Sparks trailed down from her nipples to her belly and her vulva. She could feel it begin to pulse, opening and closing in anticipation. Luc lay full on top of her, grinding her suffering buttocks into the gravel. She didn’t mind. His hand undid the buttons of his jeans, then took hold of the hem of her skirt and lifted it to her waist. His head darted out of sight and she felt his lips pull her lace panties down. Dreamily she thanked her personal cupid for making her choose the sheer black lace bikini tied with a sensual red ribbon today. Luc mumbled something. “What?”
“Do you always wear such sexy underthings? I won’t be able to think of anything but this bit of black lace whenever I see you.”
She giggled. Miranda! You’re too old to giggle. And you should stop him now before…unnnngh. Too late. She bucked against his tongue, and spread her legs wide and wantonly so he could reach the sweet spot. “Faster, harder, oh Luc!” The climax came swift and hot. She held her body off the ground, milking his tongue. “More, more,” came through gritted teeth. The sucking stopped. “Luc! Don’t stop, don’t stop, please.” She was begging but didn’t care. So close.
“No, dear Miranda. We come together.” His face appeared before her. His lips were wet and she could smell her juices on him. It sent her into paroxysms of desire. He deliberately held her shoulders down. She writhed in heat, then froze. His penis had rammed into her. She was so wet it slid all the way to the hilt. Slowly he pulled out. The walls of her vagina felt his hard rod scrape the sides, driving her to fresh heights of ecstasy. He entered her again, and slowly pulled out. Again and again. They fell into a rhythm, she rising to meet his shaft and falling away, only to wait in delirious anticipation of the next penetration. She felt her orgasm grow and opened her eyes.
“Luc, I’m coming.”
“At last, dearest.” His rhythm increased to fever pitch, in and out, urging, demanding that she meet him. Just as she arrived at the point of inevitable release he checked in midair and let out a great sigh. A flood of warm liquid gushed into her.
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An hour later, Jack paid and they walked arm in arm out to her car. Both Dagne’s stomach and heart were replete. Night had fallen. “The traffic should have cleared by now. Why don’t I give you a ride back to…I’ve forgotten where you’re staying?”
“It’s a B and B in New Church. Not far. Thanks.” They got in. As Dagne searched for her keys, Jack’s arm settled on her shoulder. She backed out of the parking lot and headed down the dirt road. His hand rubbed her neck gently. She pressed back. It felt so good. She didn’t even mind when his other hand began to wander down toward her breast but thought it prudent to suppress the urge to help him. His breath came huskily in her ear. “Dagne, I want you. Now.”
“Jack, we’re in a car!”
“On a deserted road. Out in the wilderness.”
“It’s a farm. Somebody’s farm.”
“Yeah, I know. Perfect. Pull over.”
Anticipation clouded her judgment. She could feel different parts of her body begin to tingle—whether at the secret thrill of the exotic location or the nearness of him, she couldn’t tell. He pulled her out of the car, opened the back door and pushed her onto the back seat. His hot breath seared her belly where he’d pulled up her sweatshirt. A tongue tickled her navel, then licked upwards till it reached her bra. His hand moved on her back and an instant later, she felt the sweet release of her breasts from the underwire. They weren’t free for long. His mouth fastened on her nipple and began to suckle. Dagne writhed in ecstasy. “Jack, no. You are too bad. No, don’t.”
For answer, he moved to the other nipple. When he lifted her skirt something cold and hard ground into her. The seat belt buckle gouged her naked thighs. Fortunately fingers distracted her from the pain as they pulled her silk panties aside—“Mmmm, silk. You know what that does to me, Dagne”—and pressed inside her. A second later, they were replaced by a mouth that began to massage her labia, blowing softly on the engorged lips. She felt his tongue dart inside, licking and sucking, setting the tender flesh on fire. Her orgasm crackled upward and sucked all the oxygen out of the tiny space.
“Jack…Jack…oh my God…Jack.” She fell to earth. As she lay panting she heard the sound of a zipper. Where his fingers had roamed there infiltrated a most welcome, rough, hard cock that beat up her thigh and entered her. It moved in and out, hardening with each thrust, faster and faster. She fell into the rhythm and they rocked, the car rocking in tandem with their motion.
Jack’s voice came urgently, muffled in her hair. “Dagne, come with me, come with me.”
“I will.” What else could she say? She rose to meet him and in a great whoosh they met and melded into one perfect creature, undivided. He let his body gently settle on hers and they lay quietly. Just as Dagne began to drift off to sleep, a light hit her eyes and the sound of a truck engine broke the stillness. “Jack, Jack, get off me! Quick! It’s the tow truck!”
Jack scrambled to the side, pulling his jeans up. He let out an oath and she heard a sucking sound. “Damned zipper.” Meanwhile she pulled both her sweatshirt and her skirt down, scrambled out the door and dove for the front seat. Just in time for the driver to pull off the road behind the Subaru.
“You the one needing a tow, Lady?”

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