Read Online Four Weddings and a Fireman by Jennifer Bernard - Free Book Online Page A

doing its own tango of excitement.
    â€œFire away, Teach.” He tilted her head back and mumbled the words against the skittering pulse in her throat. Farther down, with no apparent effort, his other hand gripped her buttocks and moved her in a smooth circle against the hard rise of his erection. She let out a deep groan, the kind of noise she made only in Vader’s presence.
    â€œSoren?” She heard his question vaguely, past the savage pounding of the blood in her ears.
    â€œGone,” came her answering squeak.
    â€œGood.” And he swung her backward, so her feet flew off the ground and the breath whooshed out of her. She clung to his wide shoulders, which had become her only anchor. Her hair came loose from its bun and tumbled down her back.
    â€œYour hair says it wants me,” said Vader in a growl that seemed to rise from deep in his chest. He bent over her, the way he had at the photo booth, hovering his mouth over hers.
    â€œMy hair talks too much.” She giggled, but her eyes had gone wide from the desire pounding through her. Held securely in his arms, she felt herself being transported across the room, toward the couch. But the couch was full, she’d stashed her coffee table on top of it . . .
    With an awesome demonstration of sheer muscle power, Vader shifted her so he held her in one arm, while with the other he plucked the table off the couch and set it on the floor with a clatter. Then she was swooping through the air onto the crushed sapphire velvet surface of the couch, which was soft as kitten’s fur against her skin.
    â€œHere’s what I want,” said Vader, hands on hips, standing over her like some kind of conquering Viking. “I want to see your red hair spread across that blue couch, with all your white skin in between. Naked white skin,” he added, with a meaningful lift of his eyebrow. He bent over to put his hands to the waist of her skirt.
    â€œVery patriotic.”
    â€œGod bless America.” A few deft movements of his hands and her skirt was gone, tossed through the air like so much dandelion fluff. He paused, and she glanced up at him. The perplexed look on his face as he surveyed her leotard made her burst out laughing.
    â€œHit a roadblock, Mr. Universe? Has the mighty Vader been brought down by a ballet outfit?”
    â€œDown, but not out.” He crouched down before her and slid his big thumb along the leg hole, where fabric met skin. Being on the curvy side, her flesh swelled outward from the leotard. With some ­people, she might be shy about that fact. But she knew Vader appreciated every excess inch of her. His thumb traveled in a slow traipse across the sensitive skin of her groin, across the taut tendon, and into the valley where arousal already ached.
    His hot gaze met hers as he investigated her wetness. She didn’t have time to be embarrassed, because he found her pulsing clit and circled it with his knowing thumb. Her lips opened on a moan. Slowly, with ruthless teasing intent, he moved aside the damp fabric and the panties she wore underneath, pulling her open, exposing her completely to his voracious scrutiny. Lightning flashes of taunting pleasure streaked through her being. With her hands flung to either side, she clutched at the couch, the soft velvet slipping through her fingers. Her body was so eager for him, she felt the climax already building, that bright sun rising behind her eyelids.
    He slowed his strokes; she whimpered in disappointment. “Baby, I could keep this up all day. I’d sacrifice my left nut to make love to you like this. But I had that picture in my mind, and remember how I said ‘naked’? That means no clothes, not even something as sexy as this.” And he stroked her sensitized cleft until she cried out. “Cute as this little outfit is, you’re even cuter naked.” He withdrew his hand and gave her a little pinch on the thigh.
    She tried to glare