Read Online A Touch of Heaven by Portia Da Costa - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Portia Da Costa
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choice, and whatever it is, I know he’s made it with my welfare in his mind and his heart. All I have to do is believe that and trust him. It’s so simple.
I finally understand what a leap of faith is all about. And I’m ready to take mine alongside Patrick by making love.
Still kissing me, he rolls across me, and I feel his erection hard and hot against my thigh through my nightgown. I press myself against him, moving to caress him by hitching my body against his cock. His low growl against my lips tells me he likes it.
We kiss on, and on, our hands roving over each other as our mouths press and flex and savor and taste. Whatever fears and forebodings I might have had are firmly secured in the casket marked believe and trust. I can only enjoy and revel in Patrick’s body.
The fact that I can touch him now, and pleasure him, adds dimensions of joy to the experience. I stroke his buttocks and he purrs and moves against me. I touch his cock and he gasps and growls my name. It occurs to me, as he leans back for a moment so he can peel off my nightdress, that technically he’s a virgin. But that small yet awesome fact doesn’t seem to impede his ability to make love. He seems imbued with all knowledge, all skill, all instinct.
The glide of his hands subdues me, yet at the same time sends me soaring. His touch seems to be everywhere, exploring, delighting. Intense sensations make me grab involuntarily at his shoulders, his ass. I might have broken the skin there, but he doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, my abandoned fervor only seems to drive him on to greater heights and more vocal expressions of response.
Eventually, he moves between my thighs, and a sly whisper of reality intrudes itself.
Should we use a condom? Do we need one? Why would we need one?
He’s a perfect, pure virgin angel and I know for a fact that in that respect, at least, I’m completely healthy, even if unlikely to conceive. And if I were to? Well, if that happens, that’s good too.
He pauses, no doubt reading those thoughts, so I smile up at him and clasp his buttocks, urging him on. The resulting light in his eyes, and the way he smiles at me, are nothing short of heavenly. “Oh, my love, my love,” he sighs, then thrusts.
Tears fill my eyes as my body yields to him, my silky channel stretching around his heat and hardness. His cock feels magnificent inside me. Bigger, harder, hotter than any of the very few I’ve previously welcomed, but even if he’d been average, he’d still have delighted me—because he’s Patrick.
Thrust in to the hilt, he groans, and I experience a moment of fear.
Believe. Believe. Trust.
With happiness, I do, and I start to soar, rejoicing anew. Patrick’s body is still real, alive and full of magical substance as he presses against me, in deep, and then starts to thrust again. He moves smoothly, rhythmically, perfect in this as in all things. Is he still an angel? Is he human? Is he both, yet neither, maybe the sum of many parts?
But as we rock and writhe against each other, our bodies moving in a sweet, synchronized dance, such philosophical questions become irrelevant. We’re just a man and woman in love, joining our bodies in pleasure.
I try to hold out, to save my climax to match his, but he has the better of me. When he kisses my neck and then angles his body anew, going in deep, he works my clitoris with his swiving plunge, and I’m lost, lost, lost.
Pleasure is incandescent, and I rise through layer after layer of it, floating up as if I were the angel, as if I had wings. “Patrick. Oh, Patrick,” I cry, holding onto him, and even in the midst of sublime sensation, I experience more wonder.
I’m holding onto him, one hand clasping at his bottom, the other hooked around his shoulder. My pussy is clenching again and again on his cock, but even so, I feel a strange glowing, effervescing sensation in my hand and I’m compelled to slide it down from his upper back towards his waist.
I hear a
I finally understand what a leap of faith is all about. And I’m ready to take mine alongside Patrick by making love.
Still kissing me, he rolls across me, and I feel his erection hard and hot against my thigh through my nightgown. I press myself against him, moving to caress him by hitching my body against his cock. His low growl against my lips tells me he likes it.
We kiss on, and on, our hands roving over each other as our mouths press and flex and savor and taste. Whatever fears and forebodings I might have had are firmly secured in the casket marked believe and trust. I can only enjoy and revel in Patrick’s body.
The fact that I can touch him now, and pleasure him, adds dimensions of joy to the experience. I stroke his buttocks and he purrs and moves against me. I touch his cock and he gasps and growls my name. It occurs to me, as he leans back for a moment so he can peel off my nightdress, that technically he’s a virgin. But that small yet awesome fact doesn’t seem to impede his ability to make love. He seems imbued with all knowledge, all skill, all instinct.
The glide of his hands subdues me, yet at the same time sends me soaring. His touch seems to be everywhere, exploring, delighting. Intense sensations make me grab involuntarily at his shoulders, his ass. I might have broken the skin there, but he doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, my abandoned fervor only seems to drive him on to greater heights and more vocal expressions of response.
Eventually, he moves between my thighs, and a sly whisper of reality intrudes itself.
Should we use a condom? Do we need one? Why would we need one?
He’s a perfect, pure virgin angel and I know for a fact that in that respect, at least, I’m completely healthy, even if unlikely to conceive. And if I were to? Well, if that happens, that’s good too.
He pauses, no doubt reading those thoughts, so I smile up at him and clasp his buttocks, urging him on. The resulting light in his eyes, and the way he smiles at me, are nothing short of heavenly. “Oh, my love, my love,” he sighs, then thrusts.
Tears fill my eyes as my body yields to him, my silky channel stretching around his heat and hardness. His cock feels magnificent inside me. Bigger, harder, hotter than any of the very few I’ve previously welcomed, but even if he’d been average, he’d still have delighted me—because he’s Patrick.
Thrust in to the hilt, he groans, and I experience a moment of fear.
Believe. Believe. Trust.
With happiness, I do, and I start to soar, rejoicing anew. Patrick’s body is still real, alive and full of magical substance as he presses against me, in deep, and then starts to thrust again. He moves smoothly, rhythmically, perfect in this as in all things. Is he still an angel? Is he human? Is he both, yet neither, maybe the sum of many parts?
But as we rock and writhe against each other, our bodies moving in a sweet, synchronized dance, such philosophical questions become irrelevant. We’re just a man and woman in love, joining our bodies in pleasure.
I try to hold out, to save my climax to match his, but he has the better of me. When he kisses my neck and then angles his body anew, going in deep, he works my clitoris with his swiving plunge, and I’m lost, lost, lost.
Pleasure is incandescent, and I rise through layer after layer of it, floating up as if I were the angel, as if I had wings. “Patrick. Oh, Patrick,” I cry, holding onto him, and even in the midst of sublime sensation, I experience more wonder.
I’m holding onto him, one hand clasping at his bottom, the other hooked around his shoulder. My pussy is clenching again and again on his cock, but even so, I feel a strange glowing, effervescing sensation in my hand and I’m compelled to slide it down from his upper back towards his waist.
I hear a
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