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After Dinner on the Chesapeake

copyright 1999, by Running With Deer

Disclaimer:    The characters Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling were created by Thomas Harris.  They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect.  No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit, of any kind, is made by the creator, maintainer or contributors to this site.

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He tasted the drop of Chateau d’Yquem, and underneath it, the fragrant bouquet that was Clarice Starling. The wine, and the nipple, he drew unhurriedly into his mouth, allowing the liquid to make its own way to his throat. He swallowed, and began again. Above his head, he heard her exhalation. She shifted slightly in the chair. He paused, then trailed his tongue slowly from right to left, and back again along the sensitive underside of her nipple.

This time, there was a shaky intake of breath from Clarice. She held it a moment, and in that interlude, he caught the sound and vibration of her heartbeat, suddenly very strong and fast. When she finally let her breath go, a soft whispered moan was contained within it.

Dr. Lecter took his time, savoring her response, thinking all the while. He had not planned the evening beyond dessert, although he had prepared to ask her to dance with him. Her offered breast had been a great and pleasant surprise, but Hannibal Lecter was not a man who valued spontaneity, other than his own peculiar brand. Knowing now where the night would end, he wanted to carefully plot its course.

He flicked his tongue lightly at the very tip of her breast, and went with her body as it shifted more toward the horizontal. He looked up at her face and added this new expression—furrowed brow, the barest sheen of perspiration at the temple, the pleading, parted lips-- to the gallery in his memory palace.

He breathed warmth into the hollow of her décolleté, sampled the salty, moist skin there. Slowly, tentatively, her hands left the arms of the chair that she had been gripping, and floated to his shoulders. She stroked him through his shirt, with the barest pressure, as if perhaps afraid to touch him.

Dr. Lecter rose slightly and fingered the collar of the jacket that covered the straps of Clarice’s gown. He easily coaxed the fabric back to her shoulders. With some reluctance, she moved forward from the chair so that he could slide the jacket over her arms. He helped her by putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him. The jacket safely out of the way, he allowed her to recline again. He knew that if she stayed upright, she would begin seeking his kiss. He was determined to delay their lips meeting until the time he entered her, certain that his mouth pressed to hers would bring her immediately to orgasm. He wanted that to happen when he was already inside, with her legs around his hips.

Clarice promptly resumed her caresses, now tracing the muscles at the base of his neck, climbing upward, exploring his hair, smoothing it. He nuzzled aside the half of her gown covering her other breast, and used his hand to lift her out. His other hand provided a warming presence on the fullest part of her belly. She sighed with pleasure and stretched her legs, raising her pelvis a few inches, seeking him. He teased her nipple with his tongue and scraped it with the edge of his top teeth. One of her hands went to his shoulder and squeezed it convulsively.

He reached back and found her arms, coaxing them to lock together behind his neck. When she had a secure hold, he again grasped the small of her back and stood gracefully, bringing her up with him, his mouth at her shoulder, feeling her face close to his, she silently willing him to turn to her.

When they had gained their feet he continued his artful evasion, stroking her face with his hand, and marveled at how she closed her eyes and leaned back, showing absolute trust that he would hold her, trying all the while to invite his lips to hers. He did kiss her collarbone, and her jaw, her ear and hairline. Her shyness was rapidly dissipating as she brushed his knees with her own and swayed in his arms.

Gently, he brought her head forward and to the side, so that she could rest in the hollow of his shoulder. His lips found the back of her neck; he breathed her name, and she shivered. Her light hair threw off golden strobes in the firelight. He brushed it gently aside and found the delicate zipper of the gown, drew it slowly, deliciously downward, his other hand following behind, mapping her fine-boned shoulders, muscled back, and finally the downy, perfect curve of her buttocks. No brassiere, of course, but he found that she also had forgone undergarments below, allowing unlimited access to his exploration. She pressed against him; he heard the breath high in her throat. The rich scent of her pheromone drifted to his nostrils. He had noticed it coming from her increasingly over the last few days; now it was at its peak, and glorious.

He came back up along the sides of her waist, briefly cupped her breasts when he reached them and moved her back so he could again look into her face. She seemed to open her eyes with effort; in them, he saw delirium, the extremity of her desire.


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