Read Beds and Blazes for Free Online

plus-size Betty Crocker?” she offered.
    “A goddess. A goddess from the Old Country, living and breathing in my arms. Venus…Ceres…Diana…” Dora untied her apron and tossed it aside, then pulled her T-shirt over her head. Lowell’s jaw dropped. “You are Persephone,” he breathed. “She of the golden apples.”
    “Triple Ds,” Dora informed him. “All natural.” She lifted his hand and placed it over one lace-covered breast.
    He stroked the pad of his thumb over her stiffened nipple, rosy pink beneath a sheer swath of dove grey lace. “The brassiere is beautiful,” he said haltingly, “but perhaps…if you don’t mind…”
    Dora reached behind her back and unhooked the bra. A stricken sound came from Lowell’s throat as she slid the pale garment off and set it aside. His jaw worked, but no words came from his mouth. She took his hands in hers and placed one on each heavy tit. “You can touch them, Lowell. I’d like for you to.”
    He caught her eye briefly, and seeing his own excitement mirrored in her face, he hefted her breasts in his hands and licked his lips. “No guests are coming?” he murmured. “No more retirees in matching warm-up suits?”
    “Not until later today,” Dora answered. “And, even then, I don’t need to bother with them.” She walked to the kitchen door and locked it with a sliding bolt, then turned back to him. Her breasts, each crowned by a hardened peak, hung heavy and soft above her narrow waist and wide hips. Her skirt swished about her thighs as she walked back to him. “I have an idea, Lowell.” A sly smile curled her lips. “If you really don’t mind getting dirty, that is.”
    “With you?” He chuckled. “Never.”
    She picked up a small piece of glazed crockery. “This is a French butter dish.” She took off the top of the crock to reveal a bowl filled with a pale yellow substance. “It keeps butter fresh and at room temperature, so it’s easy to spread.” Lowell cocked one eyebrow at her. “You’re awfully good at kneading,” Dora whispered. “You’re a natural. I was starting to get jealous of the dough…” She offered the butter dish to him, then sat on the middle rung of her step chair next to the chopping block. With a practiced hand, she tugged the fold-out steps from beneath it to serve as a footrest.
    Lowell chuckled and shook his head. “I’d be a boor to let you feel ignored,” he said, “especially since I’ve much more affection for these lovelies of yours than I do for a bit of beer and flour.” He scooped an ample amount of butter from the dish and rubbed his palms to coat them. “Slippery.” Dora’s eyes fell shut when his buttered hands met her body. Lowell spread the stuff over her skin, taking extra time to play with the greased nubs of her nipples. Humming to himself, he slipped his fingers in the folds beneath her breasts and massaged her skin reverently. “So warm,” he murmured, “and so silky.”
    Dora arched her back and sighed, then reached behind her on the chopping block. Lowell watched, spellbound, as she held a glass jar with a metal cap at neck level. She tipped the jar and sprinkled a sparkly brown powder on each thickened nipple. “Try it.” She rolled her shoulders so that her breasts moved enticingly before his mouth. “It’s sweet.”
    Lowell felt hypnotised. “Oh, woman,” he growled. “You’re a temptress of the best sort.” He cupped one full breast in his hands so that the spice-dusted nipple pointed up to his lips, then looked up at Dora. She nodded, eyes glimmering with excitement, and leaned towards him. He bent over and gave her breast an experimental lick, then, groaning, pulled the stiff peak into his mouth. Dora exhaled and brought her fingers to his head, tugging him closer to her chest. Lowell curled his tongue around her nipple, swallowed and sucked harder.
    He grunted in surprise when Dora found his erection with her hands, then let her breast slide from his mouth.