Read Online April North by Lawrence Block - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lawrence Block
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living flame that seared the roof of her mouth and seemed to set her own tongue on fire. She moaned softly, pressing still closer, and her lips and teeth closed around his tongue, imprisoned it, sucked on it and refused to let it escape.
The kiss lasted a long time.
When he released her she nearly fell to the floor. She was limp as the dishrag her mother always carried, limp and lifeless. And at the same time she was a woman on fire, a woman with the beginnings of a desperate craving burning in her.
“Craig—”
“Don’t talk,” he said.
He took her arm and led her across a room, down a hall, through a doorway. She looked around. They were in a bedroom and no room that she had ever seen was so completely bed-oriented. There was one bed the size of three beds, one huge brass bed that dominated a room which was large in its own right. He flicked a switch—evidently the whole house was wired for sound—and music came over the hidden speakers.
Not jazz—not this time. Not music like anything she had heard before. This was weird music, weird and wild and wonderful music.
Bedroom music.
He touched another switch. The overhead light went out, and a soft pale green glow from the walls illuminated the room. He turned once more to her, reached for her, and she went to him. And again he burned her mouth with a kiss.
The green dress buttoned in front. The silk top part had buttons, that is, and the top one was between the tops of her breasts. He opened the button and the blouse burst apart a bit. She felt the cool air on her breasts and drew in her breath sharply, excited by the sensation—excited, too, by his eyes on her breasts.
He opened each button in turn. The blouse fell all the way open and her breasts were exposed. He looked at them, admiration shining in his eyes, and his fingers reached out carelessly to brush the cherry tip of each soft white mound. Instantly her nipples reacted, stiffening and jutting forward. She was so excited she could barely breathe.
He cupped her breasts in his hands now. His thumbs and fingers manipulated the globes of flesh and she shivered all over.
Then he pushed her dress all the way down.
“Naked,” he whispered. “Naked for me, April.”
She could not speak.
“Naked and beautiful, April.”
He kneeled before her and his hands went all over her body. Then he stood up, shrugged off his jacket, whipped off his tie, tore off his shirt. He had hair on his chest, she saw. And she threw her arms around him so that she could feel his hairy chest against her soft, tender breasts.
He released her again. She stood before him, trembling, and watched him remove the rest of his clothing. When he was nude she studied him, looked from his face to his feet. Her eyes locked again with his. Then, slowly, he moved closer. His arms encircled her body, lifted. He carried her to the bed and set her down gently upon a pale blue bedsheet.
He joined her there.
His hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, exciting. Her breasts tingled with the ecstasy of his touch. His mouth kissed hers, and then his lips left hers to plant a trail of hungry kisses down her throat to her breasts.
When he kissed her breasts something snapped inside her. She turned in to a hurricane, a cyclone, a whirlwind. Her hips churned spasmodically and her pulse soared. An aching need grew in her groin and spread throughout her entire body until she was aware of nothing but her need for him, of nothing but a tremendous aching void that needed to be filled.
His lips.
His hands.
Everywhere. Normal sensations withered away. The sensual music still played but she did not hear it. She saw nothing, smelled nothing, tasted nothing. She could only feel, and the intensity of her feeling was unbelievable. He touched her and she vibrated like a taut wire. He stroked her and she arched her back like a bow, ready for him, needing him too much to wait any longer.
“Now,” he said.
And it began.
His mouth was glued to her
The kiss lasted a long time.
When he released her she nearly fell to the floor. She was limp as the dishrag her mother always carried, limp and lifeless. And at the same time she was a woman on fire, a woman with the beginnings of a desperate craving burning in her.
“Craig—”
“Don’t talk,” he said.
He took her arm and led her across a room, down a hall, through a doorway. She looked around. They were in a bedroom and no room that she had ever seen was so completely bed-oriented. There was one bed the size of three beds, one huge brass bed that dominated a room which was large in its own right. He flicked a switch—evidently the whole house was wired for sound—and music came over the hidden speakers.
Not jazz—not this time. Not music like anything she had heard before. This was weird music, weird and wild and wonderful music.
Bedroom music.
He touched another switch. The overhead light went out, and a soft pale green glow from the walls illuminated the room. He turned once more to her, reached for her, and she went to him. And again he burned her mouth with a kiss.
The green dress buttoned in front. The silk top part had buttons, that is, and the top one was between the tops of her breasts. He opened the button and the blouse burst apart a bit. She felt the cool air on her breasts and drew in her breath sharply, excited by the sensation—excited, too, by his eyes on her breasts.
He opened each button in turn. The blouse fell all the way open and her breasts were exposed. He looked at them, admiration shining in his eyes, and his fingers reached out carelessly to brush the cherry tip of each soft white mound. Instantly her nipples reacted, stiffening and jutting forward. She was so excited she could barely breathe.
He cupped her breasts in his hands now. His thumbs and fingers manipulated the globes of flesh and she shivered all over.
Then he pushed her dress all the way down.
“Naked,” he whispered. “Naked for me, April.”
She could not speak.
“Naked and beautiful, April.”
He kneeled before her and his hands went all over her body. Then he stood up, shrugged off his jacket, whipped off his tie, tore off his shirt. He had hair on his chest, she saw. And she threw her arms around him so that she could feel his hairy chest against her soft, tender breasts.
He released her again. She stood before him, trembling, and watched him remove the rest of his clothing. When he was nude she studied him, looked from his face to his feet. Her eyes locked again with his. Then, slowly, he moved closer. His arms encircled her body, lifted. He carried her to the bed and set her down gently upon a pale blue bedsheet.
He joined her there.
His hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, exciting. Her breasts tingled with the ecstasy of his touch. His mouth kissed hers, and then his lips left hers to plant a trail of hungry kisses down her throat to her breasts.
When he kissed her breasts something snapped inside her. She turned in to a hurricane, a cyclone, a whirlwind. Her hips churned spasmodically and her pulse soared. An aching need grew in her groin and spread throughout her entire body until she was aware of nothing but her need for him, of nothing but a tremendous aching void that needed to be filled.
His lips.
His hands.
Everywhere. Normal sensations withered away. The sensual music still played but she did not hear it. She saw nothing, smelled nothing, tasted nothing. She could only feel, and the intensity of her feeling was unbelievable. He touched her and she vibrated like a taut wire. He stroked her and she arched her back like a bow, ready for him, needing him too much to wait any longer.
“Now,” he said.
And it began.
His mouth was glued to her
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