Wild Fantasy. Janelle DenisonЧитать онлайн книгу.
with the ambrosial scent of sweet apricots and chocolate, a rare delicacy he had every intention of sampling deeper. Very, very soon.
Threading his fingers through the thick, silky strands of her hair, he smoothed his thumbs beneath her jaw to keep her face tipped up and her mouth poised right below his. Holding her slumberous gaze, he closed the distance between their bodies, gradually easing his hard length against her ultrasoft curves until he’d imprinted her from breast to thighs with scorching heat and pulsing awareness.
This time, it was him that groaned, at the rightness of this woman in his embrace, and the primitive need that gripped and consumed him. Done tormenting them both, he settled his mouth over hers. His tongue flicked out to taste and tease and gather the exotic flavor that was uniquely hers, and her lips parted on a breathy sigh, giving him the invitation he sought.
Tipping her head just slightly, he slanted his mouth across hers. His tongue delved deep inside in a slow, thorough invasion that was as sensual as it was possessive. He kissed her languidly, and with consummate, insatiable patience, until she grew pliant and just as needy as he.
He swallowed the raw whimper that rumbled in her throat, but there was nothing he could do to stop the restless way she moved against him. Not that he wanted her to stop, but she was making him harder and more aroused than he could ever remember being. She raised her hands, sliding them between their bodies—not to push him away, but to press her palms to the flat planes of his belly, explore along his waist, and caress the slope of his back. Her open and honest touch kindled a fever in his blood, caused his heart to beat a heavy cadence, and spurred him to higher levels of desire.
Their kiss turned hungry, rapacious—deep and wet and every bit as sexual as the currents arcing between them. Loosening the fingers of one hand tangled in her hair, he glided his palm down the smooth column of her throat and swept his thumb over the rapid pulse at the base. She shuddered and parried her tongue with his, leaving him aching with anticipation and overwhelmed with need.
Wanting to experience more of her, as much as she’d allow, he continued his downward journey and cupped the lush softness of her breast in his hand. She groaned and arched and offered more. He felt her nipple tighten and bead against his palm, and guessed that she was wearing a very flimsy bra—one of those sheer, lacy numbers that was more for show than substance. The erotic images leaping to life in his mind, combined with the reality of the moment, nearly sent him over the edge.
He rubbed his finger over the straining tip, wishing she was naked to his gaze, so he could take her in his mouth, finesse the budding hardness with his teeth and tongue, and taste her as he’d thought about earlier. A low growl erupted from him and he almost lost it completely when she skimmed her hands over the curve of his buttocks, clenched her fingers in the tight muscles encased in denim, and rocked her hips against his. Sensations bordering on pleasure and pain ricocheted through him, demanding he make a choice between release or restraint, and quickly, or else his body would make the decision for him.
There was nothing remotely responsible, respectable or strait-laced about what they were doing, as she’d accused him of being. Which reminded him of his purpose in seeking seclusion and deliberately playing this seductive game. Indisputably, he’d proved that he could be just as reckless and daring as her, but there was one other concession still left unresolved between them, and he meant to revel in that victory, too.
His breathing was harsh and ragged when he finally, reluctantly, stopped the madness and broke their kiss. Instead of withdrawing completely, he let his lips drift along her jaw and down the side of her throat. Seemingly lost in the haze of passion, her head fell back to give him better access as he scattered hot, damp kisses up to her ear.
“Call me Mitch,” he murmured, his voice a husky command. Nuzzling the sensitive hollow where neck met shoulder, he laved her fragrant skin with his tongue and wasn’t surprised to taste the delectable essence of sweet, ripe apricots. He lifted his head and stared deep into her eyes. “Say my name, Nicole.”
Her tongue slid across her lower lip, pink and swollen from their ardent kisses. “Mitch…” she complied on a hushed moan.
It was as much of an acquiescence as he could expect from her, and he’d take it for now. “I knew you had it in you, sweetheart. And now that we’ve established that we’re equally competent and qualified, and extremely compatible, there’s only one thing left to do.”
As if she just realized what her palms were fondling, she dropped her hands from his buttocks and planted them flat against the wall behind her. The silvered moonlight highlighted the becoming flush that swept along her cheekbones. “And what’s that?”
He grinned at her uncharacteristic show of modesty, especially after how uninhibited she’d been with him only moments ago. “All that’s left is for us to sign up as a team, and then the games begin.” He winked at her.
Grabbing her hand, he led her back to the reception, taking their return slow and easy so she could regain her equilibrium and so his own libido had time to cool. A few people eyed them, noting their reappearance, but considering this fantasy island and the charity’s purpose was to bring couples together, he figured their tryst was acceptable. And it served to clearly stake his claim on the woman beside him.
Nicole was unusually silent and obviously distracted as they filled out the paperwork that would bind them together for the week. When he suggested that they enjoy a few more dances or find other entertainment on the island for the next hour or so, she politely declined his invitation.
“I think I’m going to turn in for the night,” she said abruptly and tossed a saucy glance his way. “I suggest you get some rest, too. You’re gonna need it to hold your own in the competitions tomorrow.”
He chuckled at her parting remark, immensely relieved to see that their newfound intimacy hadn’t altered Nicole’s impetuous attitude at all.
HIS STROKING, skillful hands were cool on her hot, bare flesh, arousing feminine nerve endings to a fevered awareness. She reached for him, desperate to sate the empty yearning deep within her. Whispering her name on a soft groan, he covered her body with his, his mouth eliciting a heady rush of sensation as his lips and tongue found and lavished slow, exquisite attention on all her most sensitive pleasure points. Her breasts swelled and ached with each decadent swirl of his tongue along the velvety crest of her nipple, and the muscles in her abdomen contracted when his warm lips skimmed lower, and lower still.
The erotic touch of his mouth against her inner thigh, the damp heat of his breath, caused her to tremble. The caress of his tongue sent her to the verge of paradise and kept her poised on the threshold of a stunning climax. She shifted restlessly to try to accommodate him, but he’d somehow trapped her legs against the heavy weight of his hard thighs, keeping her from experiencing the ultimate possession of him burying himself deep inside her and pushing her over the sharp precipice of release….
Nicole awoke with a start. She blinked her eyes open to find herself alone in the king-size bed in her cottage, cheery rays of morning sunshine filtering into her room through the double slider leading to the beach. Her breathing was aroused and labored, her entire body throbbing with unfulfilled desire—a hunger Mitch had instigated last night, and one that had obviously carried over into her sleep.
She groaned at the injustice of having woken up before she’d had the chance to enjoy the end result of her sensuous dream. While she knew it would be incredibly easy to take the edge off the tension thrumming through her, self-gratification just didn’t appeal when she was coveting someone else’s touch.
Mitch’s touch.
Hoping the gentle pulses reverberating through her body ebbed soon and on their own, she attempted to roll to the side of the bed to get up and realized her legs really were confined. The cool cotton sheets were twisted around her waist and ankles, which explained the sensation her mind had conjured. The early dawn breeze drifting in through the window fluttered across her skin and the silk of her chemise, accounting for the fleeting kiss of an ardent lover.
All fanciful illusions—not Mitch, as she’d imagined in her dream.
With