Read Online Four Temptations by PJ Adams - Free Book Online
Authors: PJ Adams
Tags: steamy, sexy romance, Love Stories, divorce, Erotic Romance, best friend, anal sex, stranger sex, explicit romance, sexy love stories, confessional, explicit love stories, erotic love, pick-up lines, chat-up lines
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his calf and started to slide up and down. His chinos were still damp from the rain.
I managed to raise a hand to his chest, all muscle and bone.
“You’re still wet,” I said, and then I started to giggle, manically.
He raised his head, held me close until I’d subsided, then eased me back onto the table, so that I was lying out flat and he was undoing my trousers and then sliding them down over my hips, my thighs, my calves.
As he moved up to my breasts again, I curled my legs around his waist, pincering him, pulling him hard against me, and suddenly that stiffness was against me, just his chinos and the flimsy lace of my knickers as a barrier.
I cried out, I think. I don’t know. Everything was a mad rush, just then. The sensations in my body: tightening, spasms, pulsing, my whole body alive to his hardness against me and his mouth and hands on my breasts.
“I...” I gasped. “I think I just...”
I don’t know why I said that. There was no think about it.
That hardness against me had just made me come like a locomotive.
§
Normally, I’m a pretty straightforward kind of a girl. I need to be seduced. I need more than just the physical. But then I need the physical to be considered and skilled. If I’m lucky I hit the big ‘O’ and then, in a very blokeish way, I’m content just to roll over and sleep.
Normally... there was no normal about this, about Jimmy Abel.
Even as the heavings and tightening of that climax started to ebb, I could feel that there was more to follow. Somewhere deep inside, a heat, a tension building once more.
He sensed it too, and his fingers hooked into the waistline of my knickers and pulled them down. His mouth worked down my belly, and his lips started to tug on my neatly trimmed pubes, pulling at my mound, teasing it.
We shimmied, we wriggled, and then my legs were over his shoulders, controlling and guiding him, pulling him to me, his face, his mouth, his tongue, sliding along my labia, over and over. His lips closed on me, pulling at me as he gently sucked on me, and then the tip of his tongue stole up and in, probing under that hood of flesh that covered my clitoris. He circled that hard nub once, twice, and then slide down and in, deep, so damned deep!
As his tongue curled up, pressing against the front wall of my vagina, his upper lip and nose pressed against my clit and he rocked his head from side to side, pressing and sliding against all the most sensitive spots.
I raised myself on my elbows, then, so that I could look down my body, taking in a sight that I still didn’t quite believe was real. That head, those dark curls, buried between my legs. Then his tongue swept upwards again, hard across my clit – almost too hard – and a bolt of intense pleasure raced up into my belly.
I was close again, so close. It hadn’t happened this quickly, this close together, since I was a teenager, and even then it was something I’d done to myself, my fingers and hands pressing and squeezing. That moment of surprise when the after-shocks of an intense orgasm start to shift, start to become something else, to become the build-up to another climax.
I reached down, took a handful of his hair, and pulled him up towards me.
“I need you,” I gasped, my throat hoarse – had I really been that vocal? “I need you now.”
He stood and undid his chinos, as I pulled impatiently at the buttons of his shirt, desperate not to lose that deep throbbing.
Frustrated, I lay back and buried my hand between my legs. Pressing against myself, pressing my palm against my mound, my fingers curling down, dipping inside.
All the time, his eyes never left me, roaming my body, flitting from my face to my breasts, running down across my belly to where my fingers played.
His shoulders were square, well-defined. Dark hair covered his chest, not too long or thick. He slid his chinos down over those narrow hips, hooking his thumbs into his shorts to pull them down at the same time.
The
I managed to raise a hand to his chest, all muscle and bone.
“You’re still wet,” I said, and then I started to giggle, manically.
He raised his head, held me close until I’d subsided, then eased me back onto the table, so that I was lying out flat and he was undoing my trousers and then sliding them down over my hips, my thighs, my calves.
As he moved up to my breasts again, I curled my legs around his waist, pincering him, pulling him hard against me, and suddenly that stiffness was against me, just his chinos and the flimsy lace of my knickers as a barrier.
I cried out, I think. I don’t know. Everything was a mad rush, just then. The sensations in my body: tightening, spasms, pulsing, my whole body alive to his hardness against me and his mouth and hands on my breasts.
“I...” I gasped. “I think I just...”
I don’t know why I said that. There was no think about it.
That hardness against me had just made me come like a locomotive.
§
Normally, I’m a pretty straightforward kind of a girl. I need to be seduced. I need more than just the physical. But then I need the physical to be considered and skilled. If I’m lucky I hit the big ‘O’ and then, in a very blokeish way, I’m content just to roll over and sleep.
Normally... there was no normal about this, about Jimmy Abel.
Even as the heavings and tightening of that climax started to ebb, I could feel that there was more to follow. Somewhere deep inside, a heat, a tension building once more.
He sensed it too, and his fingers hooked into the waistline of my knickers and pulled them down. His mouth worked down my belly, and his lips started to tug on my neatly trimmed pubes, pulling at my mound, teasing it.
We shimmied, we wriggled, and then my legs were over his shoulders, controlling and guiding him, pulling him to me, his face, his mouth, his tongue, sliding along my labia, over and over. His lips closed on me, pulling at me as he gently sucked on me, and then the tip of his tongue stole up and in, probing under that hood of flesh that covered my clitoris. He circled that hard nub once, twice, and then slide down and in, deep, so damned deep!
As his tongue curled up, pressing against the front wall of my vagina, his upper lip and nose pressed against my clit and he rocked his head from side to side, pressing and sliding against all the most sensitive spots.
I raised myself on my elbows, then, so that I could look down my body, taking in a sight that I still didn’t quite believe was real. That head, those dark curls, buried between my legs. Then his tongue swept upwards again, hard across my clit – almost too hard – and a bolt of intense pleasure raced up into my belly.
I was close again, so close. It hadn’t happened this quickly, this close together, since I was a teenager, and even then it was something I’d done to myself, my fingers and hands pressing and squeezing. That moment of surprise when the after-shocks of an intense orgasm start to shift, start to become something else, to become the build-up to another climax.
I reached down, took a handful of his hair, and pulled him up towards me.
“I need you,” I gasped, my throat hoarse – had I really been that vocal? “I need you now.”
He stood and undid his chinos, as I pulled impatiently at the buttons of his shirt, desperate not to lose that deep throbbing.
Frustrated, I lay back and buried my hand between my legs. Pressing against myself, pressing my palm against my mound, my fingers curling down, dipping inside.
All the time, his eyes never left me, roaming my body, flitting from my face to my breasts, running down across my belly to where my fingers played.
His shoulders were square, well-defined. Dark hair covered his chest, not too long or thick. He slid his chinos down over those narrow hips, hooking his thumbs into his shorts to pull them down at the same time.
The
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