Flirting With Forever by Gwyn Cready (new books to read TXT) 📕

Her experience was broad. There wasn’t a position or surface she hadn’t tried, but to luxuriate here in his adoring gaze, while he rol ed the tiny seed pearls of her bra between his thumb and her tender flesh, was beyond any pleasure she had ever known.

His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes held hers, unblinking. She didn’t want to think about what would come next. Whatever they could have, she would have here, now.

He found the bow, and in an instant her breasts were loose. She felt him thicken as he brushed the lace and boning away. With a groan, he jerked his hips and the weight of her flesh bounced against her chest. He caught each nipple between knuckles and tortured her, plucking the burning flesh until fire scorched a path between her thighs.

Then his hands left her chest. He brought them to her shoulders and down her arms. He drew his thumbs along her chin and over her cheekbones. She closed her eyes to hold on to the moment, but it was flying too far in front of her to catch.

“No,” she whispered, and he stopped.

“No, no,” she cried, and began to ply her hips on her own. Each circuit brought the cool metal of his loosened belt under her overheated flesh. He stroked her knees, bringing his hands up her straining thighs until at last he palmed her buttocks. She could feel the panties’ crystals as they swayed, and she knew he could feel them, too.

“Harlotry,” he said, smiling.

“Yes.”

“I shal never forget you.”

He sat straighter, pul ing her tight against him. They were rocking in tandem now, feverish, slow sways that fil ed her with a fiery, heartbreaking joy. It was as if he were trying not so much to possess her as disappear into her, and she opened her arms and legs to offer him safe harbor.

He lifted her now to his own purpose, and Cam began to sway dizzily, the overwhelming mixture of fire and sorrow and affection separating her from her senses. She wanted to stop time, to hold him here, safe in her arms forever. She closed her eyes, and he brought her down his length, again and again, in a thumping staccato. When she clasped his shoulders, he kissed the val ey between her breasts. He held her there, fil ing her with his desperate hope, until there was nothing but two hearts, wedded in a fire she could no longer contain.

“Oh, oh, ” she cried.

His thumb found her bud and he held her at the peak, twitching her higher and higher until her breath stopped and her lungs burned and the conflagration between her legs consumed her.

A long, shuddering moment later, when she realized she hadn’t died and that her limbs stil functioned, she saw he had not finished. She brought him close, losing herself in the thick brown-black waves of his hair. She moved reverential y, stretching out each moment like taffy. Only when she laid a hand on his cheek did she feel he was crying.

“Oh, Peter. I shal never forget you, either.”

He brought himself high into her, pressing her almost to standing with his need, and his groan echoed in her ears.

His body jerked reflexively, once and again, but his shoulders, cool and damp under her touch, did not relax.

“Don’t move,” he said. “Don’t move.”

She saw their reflection in his mirror, his back as straight as a castle wal , his lips on her glistening breast, and her long white skirt streaming from the couch. It was a wedding night fantasia, and she tried to capture it forever in her mind’s eye as a replacement for the wedding night she would never have with him.

With an easy heave, he moved her from his lap to her back on the couch, where he found purchase in the midst of the silk. He laced his fingers in hers, their rings touching, and looked in her eyes.

“Tel Jacket he is to have you, but not until I am done. For now, for