Read Online Dance of the Crystal by Cris Anson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cris Anson
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fill.”
The spitting and soughing of the coffeepot signaled the end of the brewing. “See? The coffee’s ready.”
She shrugged. “Kismet.”
Soren just sat there, feeling like he’d been hit on the head with a two-by-four. This little firecracker had apparently set her sights on him and he wasn’t going to get out of here anytime soon.
So why was he fighting? Rolf would have had her pants off already. He’d have asked why Soren overanalyzed everything and then wound up taking no action. Hell, Crystal wanted him, he wanted her.
No questions, no commitments. So what was the problem?
Should he lie to himself and say he’d stay only because he wanted some homemade apple pie?
The clanking of silverware on china roused him from his self-flagellation. He zeroed in on the dessert plate she’d placed in front of him. The rich scent of cloves and cinnamon teased his nostrils. In spite of himself, his mouth watered. Damn, but he did want some homemade apple pie.
Picking up the fork, Soren cut off a chunk and stuffed it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and savored the taste of tangy apples, sweet brown sugar, and something heavy, a splash of brandy maybe. Mmm, heaven.
His piece of pie was almost gone before he realized Crystal stood in front of him. Holding a round carton. Smiling a bemused smile.
“I guess it’s too late to ask if you want some vanilla ice cream on it?”
He looked over at her place setting. She hadn’t even had a single bite while he’d scarfed down his pie like a shredder sucks up paper. The tips of his ears burned again. Of social graces, he had none. A gentleman would have waited for his hostess to sit down before digging in.
Soren knew he was no gentleman.
She pivoted on a bare foot—when had she shucked off her shoes?—and walked away from him. Soren almost groaned aloud at the expanse of skin she exposed when she stretched upward to set the ice cream back in the freezer.
Then she returned to stand in front of him. “Do you want some more?”
Soren fought to keep from caressing her belly, her breasts, with his eyes. He forced his gaze upward to her dark, dark eyes, eyes that seemed to be all pupil, with barely a rim of brown iris. He swallowed.
“Yeah. I want more.” But more of what, was the question he didn’t want to answer.
“Soren, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” But he wasn’t sure. Not at all.
“Are you afraid of me?”
He tried to manufacture a laugh. It came out like a scratch. “There isn’t much I’m afraid of, babe.”
There. That sounded good. Fearless.
“Excellent.” With no warning, she sat sideways on his lap and snuggled her luscious ass onto his crotch.
He was a goner.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and started placing artless kisses on his temple, his nose, his cheek, little nibbles on his ear, all the while wiggling, wiggling, as if trying to get the tip of his cock right…
there .
On a groan, Soren took hold of her waist with his big hands to lift her off his boner, but succeeded only in moving her a slight inch for a better fit. Oh God, she felt wonderful, all soft and warm, her hands touching his shoulders, his arms, then around to roam over his back.
“Bloody hell.” He half-stood and, holding Crystal by her hips, finagled their bodies so that her legs were splayed then sat down again, with her legs wide apart on his thighs and her pussy planted firmly on his rock-solid cock. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the thought that he’d make a mint if he could manufacture women’s crotchless jeans for situations like this. He couldn’t get close enough to her to suit him.
She took to lap-dancing as though she’d earned her way through college with it. She squirmed and wiggled and rubbed her pussy against his cock with seeming delight. What little finesse he’d ever learned deserted him. Instead of tackling that row of tiny buttons, he yanked up her sweater to expose her breasts.
The sight of those dusky-rose
The spitting and soughing of the coffeepot signaled the end of the brewing. “See? The coffee’s ready.”
She shrugged. “Kismet.”
Soren just sat there, feeling like he’d been hit on the head with a two-by-four. This little firecracker had apparently set her sights on him and he wasn’t going to get out of here anytime soon.
So why was he fighting? Rolf would have had her pants off already. He’d have asked why Soren overanalyzed everything and then wound up taking no action. Hell, Crystal wanted him, he wanted her.
No questions, no commitments. So what was the problem?
Should he lie to himself and say he’d stay only because he wanted some homemade apple pie?
The clanking of silverware on china roused him from his self-flagellation. He zeroed in on the dessert plate she’d placed in front of him. The rich scent of cloves and cinnamon teased his nostrils. In spite of himself, his mouth watered. Damn, but he did want some homemade apple pie.
Picking up the fork, Soren cut off a chunk and stuffed it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and savored the taste of tangy apples, sweet brown sugar, and something heavy, a splash of brandy maybe. Mmm, heaven.
His piece of pie was almost gone before he realized Crystal stood in front of him. Holding a round carton. Smiling a bemused smile.
“I guess it’s too late to ask if you want some vanilla ice cream on it?”
He looked over at her place setting. She hadn’t even had a single bite while he’d scarfed down his pie like a shredder sucks up paper. The tips of his ears burned again. Of social graces, he had none. A gentleman would have waited for his hostess to sit down before digging in.
Soren knew he was no gentleman.
She pivoted on a bare foot—when had she shucked off her shoes?—and walked away from him. Soren almost groaned aloud at the expanse of skin she exposed when she stretched upward to set the ice cream back in the freezer.
Then she returned to stand in front of him. “Do you want some more?”
Soren fought to keep from caressing her belly, her breasts, with his eyes. He forced his gaze upward to her dark, dark eyes, eyes that seemed to be all pupil, with barely a rim of brown iris. He swallowed.
“Yeah. I want more.” But more of what, was the question he didn’t want to answer.
“Soren, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” But he wasn’t sure. Not at all.
“Are you afraid of me?”
He tried to manufacture a laugh. It came out like a scratch. “There isn’t much I’m afraid of, babe.”
There. That sounded good. Fearless.
“Excellent.” With no warning, she sat sideways on his lap and snuggled her luscious ass onto his crotch.
He was a goner.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and started placing artless kisses on his temple, his nose, his cheek, little nibbles on his ear, all the while wiggling, wiggling, as if trying to get the tip of his cock right…
there .
On a groan, Soren took hold of her waist with his big hands to lift her off his boner, but succeeded only in moving her a slight inch for a better fit. Oh God, she felt wonderful, all soft and warm, her hands touching his shoulders, his arms, then around to roam over his back.
“Bloody hell.” He half-stood and, holding Crystal by her hips, finagled their bodies so that her legs were splayed then sat down again, with her legs wide apart on his thighs and her pussy planted firmly on his rock-solid cock. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the thought that he’d make a mint if he could manufacture women’s crotchless jeans for situations like this. He couldn’t get close enough to her to suit him.
She took to lap-dancing as though she’d earned her way through college with it. She squirmed and wiggled and rubbed her pussy against his cock with seeming delight. What little finesse he’d ever learned deserted him. Instead of tackling that row of tiny buttons, he yanked up her sweater to expose her breasts.
The sight of those dusky-rose
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