His Mistress With Two Secrets. Dani CollinsЧитать онлайн книгу.
for balance, shivering lightly, head instantly swimming. Was that it? She swallowed and wet her lips then parted them, inviting a more thorough goodbye than that.
He started to smile and she knew his move had been a deliberate tease to make her want more. He moved in like a damned marauder then covered her mouth fully, angling to plunder. Claiming.
She curled her fingers against his shoulders, feeling them tense as he drew her closer. She moaned as she kissed him back, quickly over her head and suddenly drowning. He buffeted her senses, filling her brain with the faint scent of aftershave and masculinity, enfolding her as she melted under a flood of arousal. His tongue came into her mouth and she tasted dark chocolate and darker intention.
He wanted her. She could feel how hard he was against her stomach. Her own body grew hot and achy in seconds. Longing struck her loins and she looped her arms fully around his neck to mash her breasts against his chest.
Too much, she thought as she did it, knowing it was a signal of receptiveness, but it was pure instinct. Wanton need.
She drew back, gasped once for air, then found herself kissing him again. Just once more. Okay twice. The third time she might have found her willpower, but the solidness of a wall arrived at her back. He ran his lips down her throat and slid his hand to cradle her breast.
“Oh,” she breathed, loving the gentle way he massaged, then found her nipple through the fringe, circling and teasing. Her knee came up to his thigh of its own accord, making space for him to settle against her aching mons.
He growled his approval and ran his hand up her thigh, taking the hem of her dress up to her waist, hooking his forearm behind her knee and caressing her bottom as she picked her hips up off the wall and met his suggestive thrust.
He kissed her deeply, tongue delving into her mouth as he fondled her breast and the skin of her bottom exposed by her thong. They rocked in mock lovemaking, their sighs too low to be heard over the noise of the crowd and music drifting in from the open doors of the balcony.
This was so not her. She liked sex, but she had never behaved like this. It had never felt like this. She might actually climax fooling around fully clothed, grinding herself against him if he kept up that perfectly delicious rhythm. The hard length of him was right where it needed to be, rubbing against her most sensitized flesh. She was so turned on and really tempted to let it happen. It was like they were dancing. The song’s beat was picking up, growing more intense. Tension was gathering in her abdomen and lower, in the flesh he was stimulating so erotically.
Dropping her head back against the wall, she bit her bottom lip, one hand bracing on his shoulder. They had to stop. They were practically in public and she was so close!
He whispered something in French that sounded like encouragement and reached one hand to lock the door. “It’s okay. Come.”
“I’m not—”
“Oui, chérie, you are. Very close. I can feel you trembling. It’s exciting. Come.”
She wanted to tell him he didn’t know how she felt, but he kissed her like he had the first time, barely grazing her mouth so she turned her head, seeking further contact and clinging to his lips with her own.
“Let me give you this,” he whispered as he broke away and shifted to bring his hand between them, gently tracing her tender flesh through the damp layer of black silk.
She stopped breathing. Anticipation held her very still as he drew light patterns over the silk of her thong. Her entire being narrowed to the touch of his fingertip, which was so light, yet made her throb with need. She waited in agony for his caress to steal beneath the elastic and...
“Mmm,” she moaned when he finally did it.
“You like?” He stroked her exactly the way she needed, unhurried, kissing and drawing away, stoking her arousal, kissing her more deeply, gently penetrating, then whispering praise, promising to make it so good for her. “Come. I want you to.”
She was going out of her mind, but his control was equally crazy making. She wanted to let go but she couldn’t stand that he was doing this to her.
“Do you have a condom?” she gasped when he let her breathe again.
He stilled, eyes a silvery glimmer in the low light, gaze burning into hers.
“You want to make love?” he asked on a rasp.
Oh, please. His hand was in her knickers. He knew what she wanted. She was dying. But she wanted climaxing to be something they did together.
She slid her hands down to his fly, hands shaking so much with anticipation she was clumsy as she tried to open his pants.
He removed his hand and hooked her thong to peel it down, letting her leg drop so the silk slid to her ankles. Then he shrugged out of his suspenders and finished opening his pants, bringing a condom from his pocket before he hitched his pants low on his hips and revealed himself.
It ought to have been the moment she woke up and realized this was way beyond where it was supposed to go. Across the suite, the doors were open to a crowd of famous faces, hidden just below the rail.
Her world became a narrow, shadowed one where her blood was on fire. Every breath she drew was filled with his spicy, masculine scent. She admired the shape of him in the low light as she watched him roll the condom down his length. She was so filled with anticipation her loins clenched in pangs of yearning.
He nudged his feet between hers, stepping the thong off her ankle as he settled against her again, the heat of his body a type of deliverance. She gathered her skirt and lifted her leg, hooking her calf against his buttocks, offering herself. He bent his knees and glided to caress, teasing her a moment, wetting the tip before he nudged for entry. He pressed, finding no resistance, and thrust smoothly into her slick channel, so she dug her nails into the back of his neck and made a keening noise at the intensity of his thickness filling her.
“Hurt?” he grunted with surprise, pulling back a little.
“Oh, no,” she breathed. “So good.” She tightened her foot into the back of his thigh, urging him deeper.
He growled a noise of agreement and pressed all the way in, giving her a moment to greet his intrusion with little rippling hugs of her inner muscles, joyous at the invasion of that hot, hard length. So rock hard. They kissed like that, joined, barely moving as they stood against the wall, tongues laving against each other, bodies quaking with holding back, hot, so hot.
She had never been so overcome by desire that she stood against a damned wall with a stranger. She had never felt so desperate for more. She nudged to signal him that he was making her wait too long. Her arousal was a screaming pitch of need.
He breathed a soft laugh against her mouth and began to move with heavy purpose, not rough, but thorough, drawing out each movement so the pleasure went to its furthest degree each time, dragging tingles to the tips of her extremities. It was so sweet it made her teeth ache. She kept thinking it couldn’t possibly get better, then he thrust heavily, landing deep, and it was fantastic.
She ceased thinking about where she was or who he was. Their lovemaking became her entire focus. Nothing mattered except that he was moving within her in that exquisitely perfect way. It was earthy and uncivilized, yet so finely tuned it was art. She wanted him with her in this place where he’d propelled her, where nothing existed except this pleasure.
She ran her tongue up his neck and sucked his earlobe and angled to take him as deeply as she could. She kissed him back with abandon and brought his hand up under her dress to her breast, then slid her own under his shirt to caress his tense stomach. She whispered, “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
He said something in French, his whole body shaking, as though he was in the same state of straining to hold back because this was too good to release.
“You’re killing me, chérie. I can’t hold on. Are you ready?”
“I don’t want it to end,” she gasped, turning