"Then," Creagon said, moving quickly off the bed and coming to a standing position in front of his wife, "if the mountain won't come to Muhammad, then vice versa."

The two came into each other's arms by mutual consent. Marne's hands slipped around her husband's waist and down along Creagon's muscled back to a resting on the man's solid ass buns. Creagon's hands slid down along the slippery softness offered by the apricot-colored fabric clinging to his wife's voluptuous figure.

Marne's mouth found Creagon's mouth, her lips coming open with the pressure. Marne felt the gently exploring probes of Creagon's tongue, first against the inside of her lips, then on her gums and teeth. Marne had always liked the way Creagon kissed-one of several things she had liked about him from the beginning. He didn't come on like the mouth that swallowed Chicago. There were no sudden yawning lips threatening to suck up her head to her neck. On the other hand, there wasn't any timidity to his kissing either. Creagon achieved a nice balance between aggressiveness and passivity. His mouth remained firm. The exchange of saliva (Creagon's mouth always managed to taste of the peppermint lozenges he sucked), was always a subtle thing, never an obvious flooding that threatened to drown every sinus cavity.

The two bodies merged closer, separated only by the sheerness of Marne's negligee. But the material didn't hide the fact that Marne's nipples were rock hard, pressing outward. Creagon's nipples were hard, too: dime-size brown buttons on the tanned muscled contours of his chest.

Creagon ground his hard belly into his wife's softer one. The upjutting stomach of Creagon's cock was pressed lengthwise along the concealed slice of his wife's pussy mouth.

"You know," Creagon said, after the kiss was finally broken and he had turned his face so that his mouth brushed his wife's right ear, "if we don't get you out of that sexy thing you're wearing pretty soon, it's going to end up getting cock tracks all over it."