The Case of the Season

Chapter Twenty-Two

For the rest of the night, they alternated between making love and lying in each other's arms talking.

He thoroughly worshipped her breasts with his hands and mouth, then took her on her side, her thigh slung over his, his eyes glued to her bouncing cleavage. After, he told her about the first case he'd ever solved. She told him how she'd decided to write mystery novels.

When she realized that he'd risen to the occasion again during their conversation, she pushed him onto his back and rode him to completion, much to his delight.

She laid on his chest when she was done and listened to him describe one of the most interesting cases he'd ever taken. She started to discuss ideas she had for stories that she hadn't used yet. He ended up going to her desk and finding something to write on as they brainstormed.

But, at a certain point, they put the paper and ink aside to tangle around each other again. Both thoroughly satisfied and exhausted, they fell asleep nestled together.

Of course, when Sherlock woke the next morning with her exquisite naked form in his arms and noticed the peaks of her pink nipples jutting out from her lush breasts, he wanted her all over again, despite how many times he'd had her the night before.

He traced one nipple with his finger, tilting his head and watching it swell under his gentle touch. She sighed and arched her back slightly, her eyelids fluttering.

He traced the other nipple, pinching it teasingly when he was finished. She bit her lip as she moaned and stretched, her eyes slowly opening.

He smiled at her and bent his head to kiss each nipple while she ran her hands through his mussed curls. "My insatiable husband," she murmured.

"I am your husband, aren't I?" he whispered huskily, winking at her as he pushed her breasts together and swirled his tongue between both of her nipples, sucking one, then the other.

Her legs parted beneath him and he paused for a moment to guide his already throbbing length to her entrance. He slipped inside her easily.

He had much more to learn, but he was confident that he knew her body well enough now to not be nervous anymore.

She clung to him desperately, letting him do all the work this time, whimpering as he started to move, his pace tender and unhurried, his mouth and hands still focused on her breasts.

The advantage of this position was that he could hear every single noise she made with perfect clarity. She panted, gasped, and whined as he drove into her over and over, going as deep as he could each time.

When she came, she held onto his shoulders and squeezed tightly as she cried out his name repeatedly. That tipped him over the edge into his own release. As he pushed into her and held himself there, he buried his face in her soft, inviting breasts.

They laid there like that for a few minutes until he peeked up at her from her cleavage, making her giggle. He moved so he was lying on his side next to her and gathered her up in his arms.

"That's quite a lovely way to wake up," she decided, leaning in for a kiss.

He obliged her, then slid out of bed when there was a knock on the door. "That's breakfast," he informed her, pulling on his breeches and heading to answer it that way.

"Well, as famished as I am, I don't need you scandalizing the servants!" she called after him.

The sight of her extremely attractive husband shirtless and delightfully disheveled was bound to cause a stir, if not outright swooning, as she well knew.

He returned a few moments later with a picnic basket. He set it on a chair and began to pull items out as she wrapped a blanket around herself and rose to join him.