Read Online About That Night by Beth Andrews - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Beth Andrews
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heaven. She wanted to rub against him, imprint the feel of him on her skin, absorb his scent into her pores.
She pushed him back, trapping him between her and the back of the couch. His hands raced down her back, then smoothed up her torso, his thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts. She shifted, lifting her leg only to give a grunt of frustration when her skirt trapped her. Not breaking the kiss, she rose onto her knees and pulled the material up her thighs, then straddled him so they were connected, chest, belly and pelvis. He lifted his hips, had the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her.
She playfully bit his lower lip, then ran her tongue over it before fusing her mouth to his again. He felt wonderful. Even better than she’d imagined. All lithe muscles and carefully contained strength and power.
She couldn’t wait to make him lose that control. To be the one to unleash that power.
He pulled her shirt out of her waistband, slid his hands under the fabric, his nails lightly scraping her spine. She tore at his buttons, her fingers clumsy. Frantic. One button snagged, and she jerked it clear, leaving it to dangle by a string. She worked the rest free, shoved the shirt down his arms, where the sleeves bunched at his wrists.
Breaking the kiss, he sat up and yanked the shirt off, tossing it aside. He leaned back, the ridges of his abs bunching, his pecs well-defined. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders. Combed her fingers through the springy golden hair covering his broad chest.
She kissed him. His lips. His cheeks and chin, then along the sharp line of his jaw. His cologne was intoxicating, the taste of his skin enticing. She nipped at the pulse that was beating rapidly at the side of his neck, then slid lower, her belly brushing his hard length as she worked her way down his chest. She flicked her tongue over one nipple, and he groaned, so she repeated the action on the other side. Opened her mouth over it and rubbed it with the flat of her tongue. His breathing quickened. His hand shot to her head, his fingers digging into her scalp.
With a satisfied smile, she trailed her mouth lower. She swirled her tongue, tasting his skin, then leaned back so she could watch her forefinger follow the light trail of hair disappearing into his pants. She dragged her finger up to his belly button then added a second for the return trip. Up and down again, two fingers became three. This time when she went up, she laid her hand flat on him, felt his muscles jump under her touch.
She lifted her gaze to his. He watched her through hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. She drew her hand down, down, down. When she reached his pants, she raised the heel of her hand, her fingers skimming over his belt buckle before she settled her palm on him.
He inhaled with a sharp hiss, pushing himself harder into her hand.
Indulging herself for a moment, she cupped his impressive length, reveling in his groan. She slid down to kneel between his legs, her fingers at his belt, loosening the buckle, eager to feel the heat of his skin, the weight of him.
He stood suddenly, in one smooth move, and she squeaked and grabbed hold of his shoulders as he lifted her. His hands went under the backs of her thighs, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist as he strode toward the bedroom.
She complied, looping her arms around him and threading her hands in his hair as she pressed her face against the crook of his neck. “I was just getting to the good stuff.”
“Bed.” The word was more of a growl than actual speech. She lifted her head. Grinned. She’d reduced the man to barely decipherable, monosyllabic grunts.
She shouldn’t be so pleased, but damn it, she was.
He stepped into the room, shifted her weight to one arm and flipped the switch on the wall, turning on the lamp next to the king-size bed.
“For what I want to do to you, cowboy,” she murmured, flicking his earlobe with her tongue, “we don’t need a
She pushed him back, trapping him between her and the back of the couch. His hands raced down her back, then smoothed up her torso, his thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts. She shifted, lifting her leg only to give a grunt of frustration when her skirt trapped her. Not breaking the kiss, she rose onto her knees and pulled the material up her thighs, then straddled him so they were connected, chest, belly and pelvis. He lifted his hips, had the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her.
She playfully bit his lower lip, then ran her tongue over it before fusing her mouth to his again. He felt wonderful. Even better than she’d imagined. All lithe muscles and carefully contained strength and power.
She couldn’t wait to make him lose that control. To be the one to unleash that power.
He pulled her shirt out of her waistband, slid his hands under the fabric, his nails lightly scraping her spine. She tore at his buttons, her fingers clumsy. Frantic. One button snagged, and she jerked it clear, leaving it to dangle by a string. She worked the rest free, shoved the shirt down his arms, where the sleeves bunched at his wrists.
Breaking the kiss, he sat up and yanked the shirt off, tossing it aside. He leaned back, the ridges of his abs bunching, his pecs well-defined. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders. Combed her fingers through the springy golden hair covering his broad chest.
She kissed him. His lips. His cheeks and chin, then along the sharp line of his jaw. His cologne was intoxicating, the taste of his skin enticing. She nipped at the pulse that was beating rapidly at the side of his neck, then slid lower, her belly brushing his hard length as she worked her way down his chest. She flicked her tongue over one nipple, and he groaned, so she repeated the action on the other side. Opened her mouth over it and rubbed it with the flat of her tongue. His breathing quickened. His hand shot to her head, his fingers digging into her scalp.
With a satisfied smile, she trailed her mouth lower. She swirled her tongue, tasting his skin, then leaned back so she could watch her forefinger follow the light trail of hair disappearing into his pants. She dragged her finger up to his belly button then added a second for the return trip. Up and down again, two fingers became three. This time when she went up, she laid her hand flat on him, felt his muscles jump under her touch.
She lifted her gaze to his. He watched her through hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. She drew her hand down, down, down. When she reached his pants, she raised the heel of her hand, her fingers skimming over his belt buckle before she settled her palm on him.
He inhaled with a sharp hiss, pushing himself harder into her hand.
Indulging herself for a moment, she cupped his impressive length, reveling in his groan. She slid down to kneel between his legs, her fingers at his belt, loosening the buckle, eager to feel the heat of his skin, the weight of him.
He stood suddenly, in one smooth move, and she squeaked and grabbed hold of his shoulders as he lifted her. His hands went under the backs of her thighs, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist as he strode toward the bedroom.
She complied, looping her arms around him and threading her hands in his hair as she pressed her face against the crook of his neck. “I was just getting to the good stuff.”
“Bed.” The word was more of a growl than actual speech. She lifted her head. Grinned. She’d reduced the man to barely decipherable, monosyllabic grunts.
She shouldn’t be so pleased, but damn it, she was.
He stepped into the room, shifted her weight to one arm and flipped the switch on the wall, turning on the lamp next to the king-size bed.
“For what I want to do to you, cowboy,” she murmured, flicking his earlobe with her tongue, “we don’t need a
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