Her Lover's Touch
by Allen Dusk
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2012 by Allen Dusk
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Lightning splintered through turbulent black clouds. Thunder rumbled through vast rooms a split-second later. Volleys of hail hammered against Spanish tiles and clogged vintage gutters with perilous weight. Electricity filled the sky again, illuminating a woman's nude silhouette standing beside the master suite window. Panes of glass rattled from the explosion just outside.
The tallest tree near the driveway smoldered from the strike. Its once magnificent branches lay scattered around a fractured trunk. Howling winds ferried flaming leaves through the night.
"Oh well." Katelyn sighed, staring at the debris thrown about her once perfectly manicured lawn. "I suppose the gardeners will tend to that first thing in the morning."
She turned away from the drafty panes and walked toward her four-poster bed. The storm had wiped out power hours before, leaving her to rely on pillar candles scattered about the room to guide her through the darkness. Flickering wicks kissed her perfect, smooth skin with their golden auras. She grasped her hairbrush and began the tedious process of brushing her wavy, chestnut hair.
Katelyn glanced toward the nightstand. Her husband's blue eyes returned a yearning stare from within a scalloped frame. William should be there with her, warming her bare flesh and tending to the cravings only his body could ever fully satisfy. His lips were beautiful, sculpted with perfection beneath the silver accents of his mustache. Her forearm grazed her breast as she passed the heavy brush through her hair. Tingles chased the desire growing between her thighs.
Nobody would be home for hours; nobody ever was this time of night. The servants would be gone until morning and William often spent long hours in the operating room. He was the best plastic surgeon on the West Coast. When his skillful hands were not busy healing the afflicted, they were holding her, fondling her. Her fingers drifted down, followed her thin strip of pubic hair, and caressed the glistening, delicate folds of flesh between her legs.