Pregnant With The Billionaire's Baby. Carol Marinelli
Читать онлайн книгу.
her hand down his flank. “I like naked.”
He could no more suppress the growl her touch evoked than he could the need to return it. He brought their mouths together again as he reached down and caressed her through the silk of her dress. All evening he had wanted to do this, to feel the curves he knew intimately through the thin fabric. Regardless of how surreal the night had been, his desire for her was as strong as always, building with each minute he was in her company.
She moaned into the kiss, arching into his touch, begging silently for more.
And more was what he was an expert at giving her. He would remind her of that. Show her that each time could be better than the last.
He continued the strokes along her breasts, the dip of her waist and bow of her hips. Over and over again, he touched the places on her body that he knew drove her wild.
Her hands were busy, too, skimming along his heated skin, kneading his chest, but best of all was when she grabbed him—her fingers digging into his shoulders with white-knuckle intensity. When she got to this point—where she could no longer concentrate on pleasuring him—he knew she was past thought. Past control.
Exactly where he wanted her to be.
IT WAS TIME to take her clothes off. He did, using the opportunity to tease and tantalize her further. But revealing her peaches-and-cream body was a double-edged sword. The light smattering of freckles over her shoulders and upper breasts were his downfall. She had none on her face, so the cinnamon dots felt secret—private—for him alone. A special knowledge shared just between them. He was tempted to count them—with kisses—every time he got her disrobed.
This time was no different.
The allure of her body for him never diminished.
He traced the light dots on her skin. “You are so beautiful.”
“You’ve got an unnatural affection for my freckles.” It might be a full sentence, but the way she said it, breathless with pauses between words, told him that she was no more in possession of her faculties than she had been a moment before.
“You think?” he asked against her silken skin, tasting the brown sugar dots that his mind told him could not be sweet but his tongue told him they were. But then, everything about her was sweet.
Dangerously so.
Her only answer was a moan as his lips trailed the natural path to one pebbled nipple. She shuddered beneath him, her body translating her every feeling with sexy clarity. She loved nipple play and he loved tasting and touching the turgid buds.
He delicately licked the very tip, then circled the peak with his tongue, moving slowly to lave her aureole despite the need riding him hard enough to make him ache. He refused to rush this. He had something to prove to her.
He kept at it until even the act of huffing a warm breath over her sensitized skin made her tremble and whimper. Then he moved to minister in the same way to its twin.
“What are you doing? Tormenting me?” she cried out as he sucked her nipple gently into his mouth.
He lifted his head and met peacock blue eyes glazed with pleasure. “I am giving you more.”
“I don’t want more. I want you in me.” Then she bit her lip as if realizing what she’d said.
“Trust me, this—” he carefully slid two fingers into her superbly lubricated, swollen channel “—this is where I wish to be also, but only when I have given you more.” He thrust with his fingers, hitting that interior bundle of nerves some women referred to as their G-spot.
She cried out, the sound adding to his own arousal, making it harder to wait, but he would.
Tonight would be spectacular.
He continued to massage her as he leaned down and once again claimed her mouth as his. Her return kisses were desperate and filled with the feminine fire he found so irresistible.
Her walls clenched around his fingers as he moved them in and out, stimulating her G-spot with each slow stroke. She undulated, her body straining toward him and moving with those tiny, involuntary jerks that enhanced her pleasure.
He could feel her need to climax rolling off her in palpable waves of sexual energy. Her little whimpers against his lips were an inarticulate form of begging he’d become addicted to their first time together.
His Faith did not play mind games or try to hide her physical needs or desires. She expressed them in a dozen different ways, all of which turned him on. Sex with this woman was volcanically hot, but it was also honest. She amazed and delighted him.
Now it was his turn.
He brushed her clitoris with his thumb, just a light movement back and forth…back and forth, but that was all she needed. Launching upward with her pelvis, she convulsed around his fingers. Her sharp little teeth bit into his lower lip as she made a keening sound in her throat, telling him without words that this was exactly what he wanted it to be.
More.
He kissed her through the orgasm, helping her to come down, but not too far. He was not done with her yet. Not nearly.
When her breathing was less ragged, he gently lifted her legs so they draped over his forearms and he used the position to spread her thighs until she was completely open to his gaze. Her entire body was still flushed from her climax, a beautiful rose red that he could not wait to spear with his own throbbing and as yet unsatisfied flesh. Diamond hard, her nipples poked straight up, pleading for his touch. A soft sheen of perspiration coated her upper chest, attesting to the level of pleasure she had already received.
He started to speak and had to clear his throat.
She smiled at him and the words came out in a masculine growl he wasn’t in any way ashamed of. “You are so incredibly beautiful like this.”
“Sated from your lovemaking?”
“You are not sated.” He tipped his pelvis, brushing her entrance with the tip of his penis, eliciting a second keening sound from her. He smiled. “You still need me.”
Something flashed in her eyes, something he could not quite read but that looked a lot like vulnerability. “Yes.”
“I need you as well.”
“I know.” But the words came out sounding bleak.
He did not like it. There was no place for melancholy in their bed.
“You are not my mistress.” He didn’t know why he said it, but he felt compelled.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“You are not my mistress. You are amore mio and my friend.”
“Yes.” The smile she gave him was still tinged with sadness, but a glimmer of hope shone in her gaze.
Why it should matter to him that it was there, that he would even desire such a thing, considering what it implied from her earlier words, he did not know. But illogical as it might be, he was glad.
“I am going to give you more now, carina. Are you ready for me?”
She nodded, her breath coming out in little pants, but her body did not tense in his hold. She trusted him completely. Amazing. Although she had climaxed, her body was ready for more. Ready for him.
He pressed forward, allowing the head of his granite-hard penis to brush her opening again, but did not go in, teasing them both. Her lips curved in a familiar smile as she seemed to simply melt against the bed, waiting on him with a sexy expectation he adored. It said she knew he would take care of her wants.
He thrust his hips, allowing his length to slide along her slick folds. It felt so good—so perfect—he