Электробезопасность. Учебное пособие для академического бакалавриата. Геннадий Иванович БеляковЧитать онлайн книгу.
She had a moment’s panic when her breasts refused to cooperate, and threatened to overspill the embossed cups of the bra. It was only after some jiggling and rearranging that she finally managed to subdue them.
Her silver locket lay nestled between her breasts, and she carefully removed it and placed it on her night-stand. Then she squeezed the bracelets around her upper arms and fastened the gold slave collar around her neck. A short length of chain hung from the front and lay cold and smooth against her breast.
For a long moment, Lara just stood and gazed into the mirror, hardly able to believe it was herself reflected there. She looked like a decadent offering, designed for a man’s pleasure. Her skin gleamed pale and smooth beneath the bikini, and when she turned experimentally, the crimson cascade of fabric swirled and provided alluring glimpses of her legs. The brevity of the costume shocked her. The front and back of the metal bikini bottom were held together by gold loops, exposing her entire flank.
Turning to the side, Lara examined her profile, sucking her tummy in and then letting it out. She wasn’t overweight, but there was a slight roundness to her belly that no amount of exercise or starvation could eliminate. But the reflection in the mirror wasn’t of a pudgy girl, but a lushly curved woman. She’d always thought her breasts a bit too large for her small frame, but now the bra pushed them upward to a whole new fullness. They looked …sexy. She looked sexy. Erotic. Words that Lara would never have used to describe herself, but there was no question they applied to her now.
Lara gazed at her reflection, and a naughty thrill coursed through her. Did she dare attend tonight’s costume ball like this? Just the thought of appearing in public dressed in such a salacious way brought a flush of color to her pale skin. She could have been a character straight from one of her own erotic stories. Which inspired another intriguing thought: how would the intergalactic outlaw, Kip Corrigan, react if he saw her?
Immediately, Lara’s imagination surged, and she could almost anticipate how the fictional Kip would respond. He’d bend her backward over any available surface and feast on the bounty of exposed female flesh. Then he’d take his time removing the costume, piece by piece, until all that remained was the collar and length of chain around her neck. She could envision him wrapping the slender links around his fist and using the chain to hold her, while he plundered her sensitized breasts with his mouth.
Warm tendrils of excitement unfurled in Lara’s womb, spreading outward and causing heat to build between her legs. She realized that her hands had drifted to the soft skin of her breasts just above the embossed bra, and her breathing had quickened. Beneath the lower edge of the mask, her lips were parted and damp, as if she anticipated a lover’s kiss, and behind the eye slits, her irises shimmered hotly.
Closing her eyes, she shifted her internal focus slightly, imagining it was Graeme doing those things to her. The images in her head swam and then sharpened into stark relief, and she gasped softly. Instead of the fictional Kip, it was Graeme who stroked her heated flesh, all the while telling her in explicit, exciting detail what he intended to do to her, his Scottish burr more pronounced with his arousal.
In her mind’s eye, he fastened his mouth around the aching bud of one nipple, drawing sharply on it. When she might have protested, he tugged gently on the chain, holding her in place. Meanwhile, his free hand skated along the silken skin of her abdomen until he found her core and stroked her slick center.
Lara’s eyes flew open and she stared at her reflection, more aroused than she could recall being since …well, since the last time she’d had sex with Graeme, five years earlier. In the mirror, her breasts rose and fell in an agitated fashion, and her skin had taken on a warm, flushed glow. Her blood pulsed hot and quick through her veins, and her eyes were filled with sensual need.
With a soft groan of dismay, she picked up the small bottle of wine and drained the contents in one long swallow, then swiped her mouth with fingers that trembled.
She took a deep, calming breath, willing her pulse to slow down. What would Graeme think if he could see her now? In no way did she resemble the shy teenager she’d been when they’d first met. Lara hardly recognized herself.
She could do this; she could become the woman that Val had described; strong and sure of herself and of her own future. She told herself again that she’d moved on with her life; she had a job and a great guy who did care about her, and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself believe there was anything left between her and Graeme.
They were strangers in every sense of the word.
And while millions of women would no doubt kill to marry Graeme, she knew that divorcing him would be the first smart thing she’d done in five years.
2
THE COSTUME BALL was already in full swing by the time Lara arrived at the ballroom. Under any other circumstances, she might have felt self-conscious about entering by herself, but then she caught a barely veiled expression of lust on the face of a passing waiter. That covert look told her that she looked good. Better than good—she looked delicious. With a smile, she accepted a pink-tinted pomegranate martini from a waiter who stood just inside the entrance, and took a hearty swallow, gasping as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. With her eyes watering, she stepped into the ballroom.
The lights had been dimmed and a large stage had been set up at one end, where a tuxedoed band played dinner music. Artificial trees, sparkling with minilights, lent a magical quality to the event. Three enormous movie screens had been placed at even intervals on the far wall, and clips from the show Galaxy’s End played endlessly so that no matter where you looked, there was Graeme Hamilton in the role of deep-space convict Kip Corrigan.
For a moment, Lara stood in the doorway and just stared, transfixed by the Technicolor images. Would she ever get used to seeing his face? Would the day ever come when her heart didn’t stop at the sight? Her life would be so much simpler if seeing him didn’t affect her so much.
But it did.
With a soft groan, she gulped down the rest of the martini. She just had to keep remembering that the pictures she saw on the big screens weren’t really Graeme. They were illusions, figments of somebody’s imagination, the same way the stories she wrote were the embodiment of her own unfulfilled fantasies.
She was so done with fantasies.
Across the sea of linen-covered tables adorned with flowers and flickering candlelight, Lara could see a long buffet table where white-tuxedoed waitstaff served food to the masked and costumed ballgoers. On the parquet dance floor in front of the stage, couples dressed as various Galaxy’s End characters danced together. The costumes were so impressive and so much like the ones from the actual show that Lara had a brief moment of unease. How badly did she stick out with her Star Wars getup? She shivered, aware that her scantily-clad body drew more than several appreciative glances from the men in the room.
Lara forced herself to move through the buffet line and then, plate in hand, searched for an empty seat among the crowded tables. She finally found one right next to the dance floor. The six women already seated there were dressed in identical costumes as Kip’s onscreen love interest, a prison guard named Lily, despite the fact they were easily in their midfifties. They each gave her welcoming smiles, although Lara didn’t miss how their eyes absorbed every detail of her own skimpy outfit.
Needing a little more false courage, she stopped a waiter as he passed near their table and snagged a second martini from his tray, although the first one seemed to be doing the trick. Even now, her limbs were feeling looser and the second drink didn’t taste nearly as overpowering as the first had.
The woman closest to Lara turned to her and winked. “Now that’s what I call a costume,” she said.
Lara flushed behind the concealing mask, not sure if the woman was being sincere or sarcastic. Maybe she should have chosen a table of men. Maintaining an aura of sensuality was so much more difficult when surrounded by six matronly women, several of whom clearly disapproved of her revealing outfit, judging by their expressions.
“Thanks,”