The Princess Bride. Diana Palmer
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see her nipples peaking under that silky soft fabric. The pulse in her throat was quick, too, throbbing. She was coming-of-age tonight, in more ways than one.
He reached beside him and slowly, blatantly, turned off the engine before he turned back to Tiffany. There was a full moon, and the light of it and the subdued light of the instrument panel gave him all the illumination he needed.
“King,” she whispered shakily.
“Don’t panic,” he said quietly. “It’s going to be delicious.”
She watched his hand move, as if she were paralyzed. It drew the strap even further off her arm, slowly, relentlessly, tugging until that side of her silky bodice fell to the hard tip of her nipple. And then he gave it a whisper of a push and it fell completely away, baring her pretty pink breast to eyes that had seen more than their share of women. But this was different. This was Tiffany, who was virginal and young and completely without experience.
That knowledge hardened his body. His lean fingers traced her collarbone, his eyes lifted to search her quiet, faintly shocked face. Her eyes were enormous. Probably this was all new to her, and perhaps a little frightening as well.
“You’re of age, now. It has to happen with someone,” he said.
“Then…I want it to happen…with you,” she whispered, her voice trembling, like her body.
His pulse jumped. His eyes darkened, glittered. “Do you? I wonder if you realize what you’re getting into,” he murmured. He bent toward her, noticing her sudden tension, her wide-eyed apprehension. He checked the slow movement, for an instant; long enough to whisper, “I won’t hurt you.”
She leaned back against the leather seat as he turned toward her, her body tautening, trembling a little. But it wasn’t fear that motivated her. As she met his smoldering eyes, she slowly arched her back, to let the rest of the bodice fall, and saw the male desire in his dark eyes as they looked down at what the movement had uncovered.
“Your breasts are exquisite,” he said absently, that tracing hand moving slowly, tenderly, down one tip-tilted slope, making her shudder. “Perfect.”
“They ache,” she whispered on a sob, her eyes half closed, in thrall to some physical paralysis that made her throb all over with exquisite sensations.
“I can do something about that,” he mused with a brief smile.
His forefinger found the very tip of one small breast and traced around it gently, watching it go even harder, feeling it shudder with the tiny consummation. He heard the faint gasp break from her lips and looked up at her face, at her wide, misty eyes.
“Yes,” he said, as if her expression told him everything. And it did. She wanted him. She’d let him do anything he wanted to do, and he felt hot all over.
She moved against the seat, her body in helpless control now, begging for something, for more than this. Her head went back, her full lips parting, hungry.
He slid his arm under her neck, bringing her body closer to his, his mouth poised just above hers. He watched her as his hand moved, and his lean fingers slowly closed over her breast, taking its soft weight and teasing the nipple with his thumb.
She cried softly at the unexpected pleasure, and bit her lower lip in helpless agony.
“Don’t do that,” he whispered, bending. “Let me…”
His hard lips touched hers, biting softly at them, tracing them warmly from one side to the other. His nose nuzzled against hers, relaxing her, gentling her, while his hand toyed softly with her breast. “Open your mouth, baby,” he breathed as his head lowered again, and he met her open mouth with his.
She moaned harshly at the wild excitement he was arousing in her. She’d never dreamed that a kiss could be so intimate, so sweetly exciting. His tongue pushed past her startled lips, into the soft darkness of her mouth, teasing hers in a silence broken only by the sounds of breathing, and cloth against cloth.
“King,” she breathed under his lips. Her hands bit into his hair, his nape, tugging. “Hard, King,” she whispered shakily, “hard, hard…!”
He hadn’t expected that flash of ardor. It caused him to be far rougher than he meant to. He crushed her mouth under his, the force of it bending her head back against his shoulder. His searching hand found first one breast, then the other, savoring the warm silk of their contours, the hard tips that told him how aroused she was.
He forgot her age and the time and the place, and suddenly jerked her across him, his hands easing her into the crook of his arm as he bent his head to her body.
“Sweet,” he whispered harshly, opening his mouth on her breast. “God, you’re sweet…!”
She cried out from the shock of pleasure his mouth gave her, a piercing little sound that excited him even more, and her body arched up toward him like a silky pink sacrifice. Her hands tangled in his thick black hair, holding him there, tears of mingled frustration and sweet anguish trailing down her hot cheeks as the newness of passion racked her.
“Don’t…stop,” she whimpered, her hands contracting at his nape, pulling him back to her. “Please!”
“I wonder if I could,” he murmured with faint self-contempt as he gave in to the exquisite pleasure of tasting her soft skin. “You taste of gardenia petals, except right…here,” he whispered as his lips suddenly tugged at a hard nipple, working down until he took her silky breast into his mouth in a warm, soft suction that made her moan endlessly.
His steely fingers bit into her side as he moved the dress further down and shifted her, letting his mouth press warmly against soft skin, tracing her stomach into the soft elastic of her briefs, tracing the briefs to her hips and waist and then back up to the trembling softness of her breasts.
She found the buttons of his jacket, his silk shirt, and fumbled at them, whimpering as she struggled to make them come apart. She wanted to touch him, experience him as he was experiencing her. Without a clue as to what he might want, she tugged at the edges until he moved her hand aside and moved the fabric away for her. She flattened her palm against thick hair and pure man, caressing him with aching pleasure.
“Here,” he whispered roughly, moving her so that her soft breasts were crushed against the abrasive warmth of his chest.
He wrapped her up tight, then, moving her against his hair-roughened skin in a delirium of passion, savoring the feel of her breasts, the silkiness of her skin against him. His body was demanding satisfaction, now, hard with urgent need. His hand slid down her back to her spine and he turned her just a little so that he could press her soft hips into his, and let her know how desperately he wanted her.
She gasped as she felt him in passion, felt and understood the changed contours of his body. Her face buried itself in his hot throat and she trembled all over.
“Are you shocked, Tiffany?” he whispered at her ear, his voice a little rough as if he weren’t quite in control. “Didn’t you know that a man’s body grows hard with desire?”
She shivered a little as he moved her blatantly against him, but it didn’t shock her. It delighted her. “It’s wicked, isn’t it, to do this together?” she whispered shakily. Her eyes closed. “But no, I’m not shocked. I want you, too. I want…to be with you. I want to know how it feels to have you…”
He heard the words with mingled joy and shock. His whirling mind began to function again. Want. Desire. Sex. His eyes flew open. She was only twenty-one, for God’s sake! And a virgin. His business partner’s daughter. What the hell was he doing?
He jerked away from her, his eyes going helplessly to her swollen, taut breasts before he managed to pull her arms from around his neck and push her back in her seat. He struggled to get out of the car, his own aching body fighting him as he tried to remove himself from unbearable temptation in time.
He stood by the front fender, his shirt open, his chest damp and throbbing, his body hurting. He