Read Online Biker Billionaire #3: Riding the Heir by Jasinda Wilder - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jasinda Wilder
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breast...it was different than the other times. He'd always touched me gently, hungrily, appreciatively, in a way that made me feel beautiful. This was reverent, almost hesitant, delicate. As if seeing me for the first time...or seeing me with eyes that had come to accept something important about me.
I didn't pursue that line of thinking. I let him look, let him touch. He dragged his fingertips across every inch of my skin, from face to waist, shoulder blades to calves, kneeling in front of me, standing behind me, palms sliding, eyes devouring, lips kissing.
He moved to kneel in front of me, and I knew what he had in mind, so I stopped him.
"My turn," I said.
I pushed his jacket off his broad, thick shoulders and set it aside, then unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time, watching his eyes all the while. Sparks had always flown between us, our eyes had always met in a way that communicated as much as a thousand words, but for some unfathomable reason, this night was different. His eyes seemed to shimmer with a million unspoken thoughts, shadowed with potent emotions. I couldn't parse the tangle in his gaze, and didn't try. I knew by now that he'd tell me when he was ready.
I slid his shirt off next, and spent an eternity paying lip service to his skin, the bulky muscles of his torso, touching, kissing, worshipping. He stood as I had, stone-still and absorbing every look, every kiss, every touch.
I moved to his pants next, unbuckling the narrow black leather belt, unclasping the pants, unzipping them with aching slowness, drawing them down, then his boxer-briefs so he was naked in front of me. I kissed and touched every portion of his lower half except the obvious, except his manhood. I cupped the solid globes of his ass, the thick trunks of his legs, his belly to either side of his cock, his hips, his thighs.
The curtains were open, letting in silver light from the full moon. We stood naked in front of each other, bathed in a pool of molten silver. The light caught the giant sapphire of the necklace and was refracted around in the room in glinting glimmers.
Shane wrapped his arms beneath my buttocks and lifted me up. I slipped my legs around his thighs and my arms around his neck. Our lips met in the same moment that he penetrated me, his tongue stealing into my mouth as his manhood slipped into my warm, wet folds. We gasped together, and then he lifted me, his palms on my buttocks, my legs resting on his hipbones to lever me higher. I held myself up, drawing him almost out, our eyes locked together and shimmering with anticipation of the downward plunge.
I moaned as I sank down onto him, letting my weight droop lower so he throbbed deeper and deeper until there was no farther he could go. His strength was the root of my pleasure, vulnerable to his power in this position, held aloft by his arms. I tangled my fingers in his hair, kissed everywhere I could reach as he slowly rocked his hips to pull out and drive in.
We found a pattern, then, a rhythm: plunge, and I kissed his throat; plunge, and I kissed his lips; plunge, and I kissed his shoulder.
Always before with Shane orgasms had come quickly and easily, drawn from me one after another. Now, again, it was different. His thrusts were slow, hard, and deep, and the pressure in my inner muscles built slowly, a gradual burgeoning toward inexorable detonation. Shane's breathing was coming harder, his muscles beginning to tremble as he held me aloft. We were inches from the bed, but he refused to put me down, and I didn't suggest it. He continued to course into me, and I continued to explore his upper body with kisses at every motion.
Finally he moved backward and sank down on the edge of the bed, then toppled backward with me on top of him. Now, riding him, the pressure built more quickly within me, each roll of my hips driving me onward, upward, closer to the edge. Shane felt the increase of my rhythm and he knew I was close; he pulled my hips down with his
I didn't pursue that line of thinking. I let him look, let him touch. He dragged his fingertips across every inch of my skin, from face to waist, shoulder blades to calves, kneeling in front of me, standing behind me, palms sliding, eyes devouring, lips kissing.
He moved to kneel in front of me, and I knew what he had in mind, so I stopped him.
"My turn," I said.
I pushed his jacket off his broad, thick shoulders and set it aside, then unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time, watching his eyes all the while. Sparks had always flown between us, our eyes had always met in a way that communicated as much as a thousand words, but for some unfathomable reason, this night was different. His eyes seemed to shimmer with a million unspoken thoughts, shadowed with potent emotions. I couldn't parse the tangle in his gaze, and didn't try. I knew by now that he'd tell me when he was ready.
I slid his shirt off next, and spent an eternity paying lip service to his skin, the bulky muscles of his torso, touching, kissing, worshipping. He stood as I had, stone-still and absorbing every look, every kiss, every touch.
I moved to his pants next, unbuckling the narrow black leather belt, unclasping the pants, unzipping them with aching slowness, drawing them down, then his boxer-briefs so he was naked in front of me. I kissed and touched every portion of his lower half except the obvious, except his manhood. I cupped the solid globes of his ass, the thick trunks of his legs, his belly to either side of his cock, his hips, his thighs.
The curtains were open, letting in silver light from the full moon. We stood naked in front of each other, bathed in a pool of molten silver. The light caught the giant sapphire of the necklace and was refracted around in the room in glinting glimmers.
Shane wrapped his arms beneath my buttocks and lifted me up. I slipped my legs around his thighs and my arms around his neck. Our lips met in the same moment that he penetrated me, his tongue stealing into my mouth as his manhood slipped into my warm, wet folds. We gasped together, and then he lifted me, his palms on my buttocks, my legs resting on his hipbones to lever me higher. I held myself up, drawing him almost out, our eyes locked together and shimmering with anticipation of the downward plunge.
I moaned as I sank down onto him, letting my weight droop lower so he throbbed deeper and deeper until there was no farther he could go. His strength was the root of my pleasure, vulnerable to his power in this position, held aloft by his arms. I tangled my fingers in his hair, kissed everywhere I could reach as he slowly rocked his hips to pull out and drive in.
We found a pattern, then, a rhythm: plunge, and I kissed his throat; plunge, and I kissed his lips; plunge, and I kissed his shoulder.
Always before with Shane orgasms had come quickly and easily, drawn from me one after another. Now, again, it was different. His thrusts were slow, hard, and deep, and the pressure in my inner muscles built slowly, a gradual burgeoning toward inexorable detonation. Shane's breathing was coming harder, his muscles beginning to tremble as he held me aloft. We were inches from the bed, but he refused to put me down, and I didn't suggest it. He continued to course into me, and I continued to explore his upper body with kisses at every motion.
Finally he moved backward and sank down on the edge of the bed, then toppled backward with me on top of him. Now, riding him, the pressure built more quickly within me, each roll of my hips driving me onward, upward, closer to the edge. Shane felt the increase of my rhythm and he knew I was close; he pulled my hips down with his
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