Cold Feet at Christmas. Debbie JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
head to one side, leaning in to nuzzle the soft skin of her neck. The touch was barely there; a trace of tiny kisses and nibbles under her ears, across her throat, spreading to her shoulders, finding the tiny dips and hollows in her flesh that drove her wild. She’d expected brutal and hard: instead he gave her slow and sensual, and every inch of her body was begging for his mouth.
“Rob, please…”
““For once, be quiet,” he muttered. “I’m busy.”
He pulled back, lifting his face to hers, their eyes meeting in the glow of the moonlight flooding in through the window.
Never once breaking eye contact, Rob slid his hands beneath her T-shirt, and a shudder ripped through her as he placed them on the bare flesh of her waist. His fingers softly skimmed upwards, inch by slow, torturous inch; all the time the feel of his arousal pressing into her through the flimsy fabric of her leggings. She scooted her bottom forward even more until she was almost resting on him, getting as close as she could and still wanting more.
His breathing was low and jagged as his hands moved upwards. And Leah, she was barely breathing at all, lost in the power of his eyes, the sensation of long fingers stroking their way up her body, over her stomach, her ribs, edging ever nearer to the place she needed them to be. Her nipples had tightened into hard, explosive buds of excitement, and her breasts had taken on a life of their own, pushing themselves forward to meet his searching touch.
Rob stroked the underside, the curve that jutted upwards; the delicate flesh of her areola puckering under his touch. He paused, felt the weight of her breasts in his hands, then captured one desperate nipple between finger and thumb, rolling and rubbing, sending an edge of delicious pain shooting through her body.
Leah tangled her fingers into the midnight of his hair, pulled his lips to hers, drinking in the passion and sensuality of his mouth.
“I need this,” she muttered. “Please. Don’t think about it. Just do it.”
He nodded. Tugged the T-shirt over her head. And thought he might come there and then when he saw those magnificent bosoms in all their glory; full and round and topped with perfect, hard nipples. He leaned forward, lifted one breast, and took the nipple into his mouth, tracing its contours with his tongue before sucking, gently at first, then harder, knowing from her quivering body, the feel of her fingers in his hair, that she was loving it. He moved to the other, all the while her quiet moaning begging him not to stop. As if. He couldn’t stop if he wanted to.
He lifted her slightly, pulled the leggings down, moved his hand to her parted thighs. God, the heat was amazing. She was on fire. He glanced at her face: eyes glazed, mouth open, tiny whispers urging him on.
He slid one long finger inside her, was instantly engulfed with moist heat as she started to thrust. He used his thumb to circle the swollen bud of her clitoris, all the time probing her with a steady rhythm her body was matching.
She clung on to him, hands gripping and ungripping the fabric of his T-shirt, hair wild around her face as the pleasure mounted. She realised that she was losing all grip on reality; everything was now dominated by the feel of his fingers on her and in her, on the exquisite edge of sensation that was building up in waves, bigger and nearer and closer and…Oh! Everything exploded. Everything. For what felt like minutes, the orgasm ripped through her body with such ferocity she thought she might black out.
Her face collapsed forward, buried in his chest, as he stroked her hair and kissed her and murmured her name. Eventually she took a deep breath, looked up at him. At this virtual stranger; at this man who’d just shown her everything she thought she knew about sex was wrong. That everything she’d believed to be good in the past was just a pale imitation of what it could be. This was what sex could be, should be, like.
It was a revelation.
Rob’s pupils were enormous, and she could still feel his huge erection through his jeans. He’d waited. Held off. Accepted her need, and given her what she wanted. And it must, she thought, sliding from the counter and on to her wobbly legs, be killing him.
She dropped down to her knees, unbuckled his belt and released him. Jesus. What a monster. Hard and happy and ready to go.
“You don’t have to—” he started.
“Shush. I want to. I really want to. And I think you,” she said, leaning in to run her tongue all the way along his shaft, “want me to as well.”
She took him into her mouth, licking and lapping and exploring, finding ways to pleasure him despite his size, her tongue flickering everywhere, her hands stroking and rubbing and building up in a rhythm that was clearly right for him. She reached round, gripped that improbably perfect backside of his, and urged him on even further; lifted her breasts so their soft flesh cushioned him; sucked him until he could take no more. He gasped and shuddered and finally came.
“Jesus, Leah!” he said, pulling her to her feet. “Were you trained in a bloody bordello?”
“Same could be said for you,” she replied, wrapping her arms around his waist and snuggling into his chest. “Except, you know, a bordello for boys. Happy Christmas, Rob.”
He laughed; he knew they shouldn’t have done it, but frankly he didn’t care. Sometimes the body wants what the body wants. And the brain can go to hell.
“Happy Christmas, Leah.”
She held on to him like she was drowning.
“Sorry,” she said, face still crushed against his chest, “but my legs are wobbly. I think I might need a lie down.”
“Um. Not a problem,” he said, feeling himself hardening again already. Waiting for sanity to return and realising he might be waiting a while; having Leah’s bare breasts rubbing up against wasn’t exactly a passion-killer.
He held her hand and led her towards the bedroom in the darkness. It was only when she sat down with a small ‘ouch’ that he realised she’d been limping all along.
“What is it?” he asked, hoping he hadn’t done something to unintentionally hurt her. Surely he hadn’t…Not yet, at least.
“Plate. In foot. Sorry. Got distracted earlier. Concentrating on other body parts. Probably could’ve amputated one of my toes and I wouldn’t have noticed.”
“Idiot,” he said affectionately, getting up to fetch the long-forgotten candle, along with a small bowl of warm water and a cloth. It gave him a minute to cool down. In all sorts of ways.
He kneeled down before her, lifting her foot in the candlelight to examine it, gently wiping and stroking until the tiny sliver that was wedged in her flesh came free. As he washed the small wound, face intense in concentration, Leah felt something shift in her heart.
His face was so focused; his touch so soft and tender as he worked, so careful not to hurt her. Minutes earlier he’d been an animal – all heat and need and hard sex. Now he was kind. Kind. Yep. That was the word – and that was what was her undoing. Kindness. She didn’t realise how starved of it she’d been until now, she thought, as tears sprung to her eyes. Her and Doug…they’d rubbed along okay. He’d not been cruel, not until their wedding day at least. But they’d not been close either, not cherished each other enough.
Rob looked up. He saw her crying. Saw big, round tears spilling from the corners of her amber eyes, trailing over the peach of her skin and pooling in her neck. He felt a constriction somewhere tender in his chest; in a place he thought he’d shuttered up forever.
“What is it?” he asked. “Am I hurting you?”
“No; no you’re not. It’s just…It’s been a weird couple of days. The wedding. The running away from the wedding. And now this. It’s all been quite a lot to take in. ”
“Of course it has,” he said, keeping his face neutral. If she started sobbing about how much she still loved her ex right now, he wasn’t sure his ego could take it. Most women, after kitchen lust with Rob Cavelli, only had eyes for him. Still. There