Read Online Besieged Heart (No Ordinary Lovers Collection) by Jennifer Blake - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Blake
Ads: Link
and smoothed in questing circles over the flat, white surface of her abdomen.
Languor, rich and sweet, rose inside her. She lifted her hand to clasp his shoulder and found the skin firm and sun-warmed, with the muscles underneath as unyielding as a statue of bronze. She pressed her palms to him, as if she could feel more fully that way, and followed the ridges and planes of his body. Diligently memorizing, she skimmed over his chest, sensing his heart beating under his ribs and the strong lift of his breathing. She brushed over the inflexible, heated surface of his belly, and then trailed her fingertips to where the firm length of his maleness sprang. Turgid, expectant, it stirred under her fingers, fitted into her hand.
He was naked also. She might have been embarrassed had it not seemed no natural, and so wondrous. Where had their clothes gone, and how? Oh, but what did it matter? She drew a long, slow breath of infinite pleasure.
“Magic,” she whispered, and felt him stiffen as if in he were surprised she could sense it. Abruptly, there was only a room and a bed with turned back sheets, and too many confining pieces of fabric covering their bodies once more. Disappointment touched her and she made a soft sound of loss.
The sweet vision flooded back with even greater intensity. She could smell bluebells and eglantine roses mixed with woodbine, honeysuckle, and warm, warm clover. The sunlight gilded their skins, flooding them with its heat.
“Disregard whatever you don’t care for, and it will fade from your sight,” he said in quiet explanation. “Embrace what gives you pleasure, and it will be yours.”
Laughing a little in wonder and wild exuberance, she rolled against him, twining her legs with his while she flicked her tongue over the hollow at the base of his throat. Never had she felt so free or so alive. Here, no duty awaited her; there was no position to maintain, no dignity to preserve. For this brief interval, she could be truly herself.
There was glory in that realization, and also an undercurrent of pain for the knowledge that it could not last. She knew a deep need to share the miracle of it, as Rayne had shared with her the warm beauty of his fantasy.
“Shall I embrace you then?” Still smiling, she lifted her lips for his kiss.
He gave it, molding his mouth to hers, and sliding his tongue around hers in sinuous play. She took the silken strokes, letting them fuel her languid delight, and returned them with half-shy, half-bold explorations of her own. The swell of his chest against her was her reward—that and the delicate touch of his hand between her thighs. His eased a finger into her, gently teasing, stretching, while his palm closed over the center of her being in firm possession.
A ripple moved over her, like the billowing of a curtain in a soft wind. Abruptly, she felt voluptuous, abandoned—while the purest sensual glory flowed molten in her veins. In the same instant, she recognized the lap of warm water around her, sensed the nudging drift of rose petals like a thousand tiny kisses upon every inch of her exposed skin.
Slick—her body was slick with warm, rose-scented oil. She was immersed in a shallow pool lined with marble and filled with aqua-blue water from which drifted pale white wraiths of steam. Overhead arched a great corbelled roof set with thick panes of glass against which rain spattered in a drowsy cadence.
Rayne, his skin burnished to bronze magnificence by oil and water, trailed a line of kisses from her lips to the point of her chin and down the smooth white line of her throat. He brushed his face against the gentle curves of her breasts and tasted their crests with his tongue. Marking the path with the heat of his mouth, he continued lower. He licked across the wetness of her abdomen and threaded through the soft, golden-brown down adorning the juncture of her thighs, then sought delectable rose-scented petals of flesh.
Moving against each other in an oiled
Languor, rich and sweet, rose inside her. She lifted her hand to clasp his shoulder and found the skin firm and sun-warmed, with the muscles underneath as unyielding as a statue of bronze. She pressed her palms to him, as if she could feel more fully that way, and followed the ridges and planes of his body. Diligently memorizing, she skimmed over his chest, sensing his heart beating under his ribs and the strong lift of his breathing. She brushed over the inflexible, heated surface of his belly, and then trailed her fingertips to where the firm length of his maleness sprang. Turgid, expectant, it stirred under her fingers, fitted into her hand.
He was naked also. She might have been embarrassed had it not seemed no natural, and so wondrous. Where had their clothes gone, and how? Oh, but what did it matter? She drew a long, slow breath of infinite pleasure.
“Magic,” she whispered, and felt him stiffen as if in he were surprised she could sense it. Abruptly, there was only a room and a bed with turned back sheets, and too many confining pieces of fabric covering their bodies once more. Disappointment touched her and she made a soft sound of loss.
The sweet vision flooded back with even greater intensity. She could smell bluebells and eglantine roses mixed with woodbine, honeysuckle, and warm, warm clover. The sunlight gilded their skins, flooding them with its heat.
“Disregard whatever you don’t care for, and it will fade from your sight,” he said in quiet explanation. “Embrace what gives you pleasure, and it will be yours.”
Laughing a little in wonder and wild exuberance, she rolled against him, twining her legs with his while she flicked her tongue over the hollow at the base of his throat. Never had she felt so free or so alive. Here, no duty awaited her; there was no position to maintain, no dignity to preserve. For this brief interval, she could be truly herself.
There was glory in that realization, and also an undercurrent of pain for the knowledge that it could not last. She knew a deep need to share the miracle of it, as Rayne had shared with her the warm beauty of his fantasy.
“Shall I embrace you then?” Still smiling, she lifted her lips for his kiss.
He gave it, molding his mouth to hers, and sliding his tongue around hers in sinuous play. She took the silken strokes, letting them fuel her languid delight, and returned them with half-shy, half-bold explorations of her own. The swell of his chest against her was her reward—that and the delicate touch of his hand between her thighs. His eased a finger into her, gently teasing, stretching, while his palm closed over the center of her being in firm possession.
A ripple moved over her, like the billowing of a curtain in a soft wind. Abruptly, she felt voluptuous, abandoned—while the purest sensual glory flowed molten in her veins. In the same instant, she recognized the lap of warm water around her, sensed the nudging drift of rose petals like a thousand tiny kisses upon every inch of her exposed skin.
Slick—her body was slick with warm, rose-scented oil. She was immersed in a shallow pool lined with marble and filled with aqua-blue water from which drifted pale white wraiths of steam. Overhead arched a great corbelled roof set with thick panes of glass against which rain spattered in a drowsy cadence.
Rayne, his skin burnished to bronze magnificence by oil and water, trailed a line of kisses from her lips to the point of her chin and down the smooth white line of her throat. He brushed his face against the gentle curves of her breasts and tasted their crests with his tongue. Marking the path with the heat of his mouth, he continued lower. He licked across the wetness of her abdomen and threaded through the soft, golden-brown down adorning the juncture of her thighs, then sought delectable rose-scented petals of flesh.
Moving against each other in an oiled
Similar Books
