Tom callously retracted his hands, robbing Holly of all sensation. ‘You’re still not reading,’ he said.
‘Do I get nothing if I don’t?’ Holly asked impishly. ‘You know, I could just make dinner like I was supposed to.’
Tom leaned over, placing his hands on the counter and trapping Holly with his body. ‘Do you want me to go?’
The look they exchanged morphed from playful to lustful in a heart-racing moment. She kissed him, treating her tongue to a quick explore of his mouth, then bit his lip as she pulled away.
‘No,’ she said.
Now incentivised, Holly soon found the page. ‘The Two Brothers,’ she began. ‘There were once upon a time two brothers, one rich and the other…’
Tom returned his lips to her neck, beginning the game of composure. Holly’s breathing lightened as her nephew’s tongue flicked over the erogenous zone.
‘…poor, ‘ she continued, ‘The rich one was a goldsmith and evil-hearted. The poor one supported himself by making ohhh…’
His tongue had once again migrated to her ear, lapping at its outer and inner helix, creating an intoxicating wet echo inside her head.
‘…brooms,’ she said, regaining her composure, ‘and was good and honourable. He had two…’ She floundered again as Tom’s hands went back to her tits. ‘…children, who were twin brothers and as like each other as two drops of water. The two boys… oh, wow.’
Tom’s cock had swelled in his jeans and was insistently poking Holly’s arse. She gyrated her hips, teasing him with some friction while he kissed her. It had the desired effect; he lost focus on her ear to moan his pleasure.
‘You like that?’ she purred, increasing the pressure on his crotch.
He stepped back from her. ‘Keep reading, Aunt Holly.’
‘The two boys went in and out of the rich house, and often got some of the scraps to eat. It happened once when the poor man was going into the forest to fetch brushwood, that he saw a bird which was quite golden and more beautiful than any he had ever chanced to meet with.’
The absence of contact eased her recital, but she found herself wanting to be challenged, and Tom knew. The longer he did nothing, the stronger her desire became for him to tear off her clothes and fuck her against the counter. He enjoyed her obvious longing, content to stand back while she read herself to frustration.
When he thought she’d suffered enough, he crouched on his haunches, level with her arse. She sensed his movement and bent over a little more, willing him to play with a part of her that he’d — relatively — so far ignored.
He was happy to oblige, and lowered her jeans to reveal a genuine surprise.
‘A thong, Aunt Holly?’
Pausing reading, she said, ‘I put it on after you said you were ill.’
‘You bad girl.’
As she continued the fairy tale, Tom pulled at the lace and tanned her skin, then slid down the thong to join the jeans around her ankles. The aroma of her aroused pussy hit him straight away, and he knew he could easily slide balls-deep into her if he wanted. As tempting as that was, however, he had other plans for their Boxing Day encounter.