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could hear now as he found the front clip of the garment and gently unhooked it.
She could feel herself swelling, and he wasn't even touching her yet. His fingers
rested on the clip as the bra parted in front and began to peel away.
He lifted his head, finding her eyes, paralyzing her with the sweet warmth of that
possessive gaze, while his fingers tortured her with slow, expert movements.
"All I want is to touch you, stroke you a little," he said in a voice as lazy and sultry
as a summer night.
"Don't!" she cried, biting her lip hard as his free hand began to move the bra away
from soft flesh. "Please don't do this to me, Keegan!"
"Why are you so afraid of it?" he asked gently, searching her wild eyes. "You're a
woman now, not a child. Four years older, wiser, experienced yourself. This is just
an interlude. Share a little pleasure with me, Ellie. Let me bring back the
memories."
"They were terrible memories," she reminded him on a caught breath. "You hurt
me!"
"I know, baby," he said softly, and his eyes for an instant were haunted. He bent
and brushed his mouth gently over her forehead. "Once, but never again, never. Lie
still, baby, and let me touch you."
She wanted to stop him. To cry out, to protest. He'd hurt her pride so desperately,
and he was only playing with her. But he was calling her "baby," just as he had on
that night, and she remembered the feel of his hair-roughened chest against her taut
breasts, the smooth, hard muscles of his bare legs against her own, the unexpected
steely strength of his body as he held her down and overwhelmed her in the
moonlit darkness....
How could she want this, after the way he'd hurt her? But she did; she wanted it,
her body was gently arching, and his hand was tracing her rib cage, taunting her,
teasing her. "Shhhh," he whispered again. The arm supporting her lifted her a little
closer to his chest, turning her so that her hot face could fall against his neck.
She shuddered helplessly and raised her hands, tangling them gently in me slightly
curly hair at die nape of his strong neck. She couldn't breame properly, and she
couldn't hide it. She moaned again, a breath of sound mat barely reached his ear.
His cheek brushed against hers. His mourn touched her ear, her cheek, her nose.
"Ellie," he whispered, and his lips found hers, probing them delicately apart, biting
at them.
It was just like that night. Explosive. Blazing. Frightening, a brushfire that hardly
needed its own spark to ignite.
"Keegan," she moaned against his lips, shaking all over. Her eyes opened,
anguished, and found a matching torment in the blue depths.
"Nothing's changed," he whispered, his deep voice a little husky with emotion.
"Touching you excites me so. This, with you, is as satisfying as lovemaking. You
make such sweet noises when I do this....'*
"This" was an achingly slow tracing around her breast until his fingers brushed the
taut hardness and made it throb with pleasure. Her body jerked and she moaned
against his mouth. He reveled in the trembling hunger he could feel in her. Lost,
burning up with remembered passion, he opened his mouth and gendy thrust his
tongue into her mouth. It was surprising, the way she tensed, as if she weren't used
to this kind of kissing. Surprising, and wildly arousing.
His hands teased her body until he felt her fingers at his wrist, pleading, guiding.
Surges of pleasure shot through him like fire as his hand found her, so gently, and
she froze in the tender embrace, her breath catching as he took the delicate weight
and found the hardness with his thumb. She jerked at that brushing contact,
shuddering with obvious pleasure.
"Do you like it like that?" he whispered. "Does it please you when I touch them
this way? Or is it better like this?"
His thumb and forefinger contracted, and she arched back, groaning, abandoned.
And he went crazy.
She felt her body being forced down against the hard ground, felt the weight of his
body as he kissed her fiercely, and was powerless to stop him. She was caught in
the power of what they were sharing, in the sweet, warm beauty of it. Her mouth
felt bruised when he finally lifted his head, and her eyes opened lazily to look up at
the passion-hard face of the man above her. "I'm going to look at you," he
whispered, catching the hem of her blouse while she lay helpless under his body. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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