Read Online Hidden Heart (Love Is The Law 1) by Isabella Brooke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Isabella Brooke
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over her head, ignoring
the buttons. It would stretch out of shape but she didn't care.
"Oho. If I had known you had
nothing but a sexy bra on below that cardi, I would have taken you in the
alleyway."
Emily ran her hands over his
broad chest, up onto his shoulders, and down his muscular forearms. "If I
had known that, I would have told you," she replied, encouraging him.
He stepped away to pull his own
tee shirt off, and stood still for a moment, allowing her to take in his
powerful body. She lingered, letting her eyes do the exploration. Then she
unzipped her skirt and let it slither to the floor, revealing her stockings and
simple black knickers. He didn't move, and she moved around him, drinking in
his toned torso from all angles. On his shoulder blade was a dark tattoo and
she reached up to trace it with her fingernail. "Regimental?"
"Yup."
She stayed behind him, snaking
her hands around his belly and dipping under his belt once more, teasing him
with her fingertips. He reached behind with his hands and grabbed her, stopping
her.
"What's up?"
"Let's take this to the
bedroom."
"That door there, to the
right."
He wasted no time, once in her
private room, in shedding his jeans and socks. He stood at the foot of her bed,
his arousal clearly visible beneath his smart white underwear.
"Do you want me to
undress?" Emily asked, letting her hands rest on her hips.
"Christ, if you don't, I'm
going to bite the damn stuff off you with my teeth."
And that was it; all they needed
to fall upon one another, tumbling on the bed in a flurry of limbs and passion.
He threw her onto her back, while she twisted and entwined around him. They
kissed again, not just lips but nipples, hips, back and neck. She fumbled for a
condom but he was ahead of her, tearing open a packet and taking charge. She
tried to respond as an equal player but this was Turner's game, now, and he set
the pace.
His fingers sought her spaces and
judged her readiness; she gasped out, "Yes," wanting to assure him
she'd been needing him for some time. Hours, if truth be told. She wrapped her
legs around his and tried to guide him to her.
He played, and taunted, teasing
until she was begging, before he would relent. When he finally claimed her, she
felt tears spring to her eyes and she tried to hold herself back: not yet,
oh god…
"Is that all right?" he
asked, his gentlemanly concern just a throaty growl. He went slowly, carefully.
"No," she blurted.
"More, harder, please, oh god…."
His eyes narrowed and he thrust
harder, and she squealed with each slam as the pressure built up. "Yes, that's
it - keep going - yes…" She was aware she was babbling but she'd passed
that point of caring, the point of no return, the point of ever being the same
again.
"Emily…"
Hearing her name from his mouth
was the final straw and she scrabbled her fingernails over his back as the
rising tide within her became a torrent of stars and explosions. He, too,
jerked as he could hold himself no more, and his sweat-soaked head was thrown
back as he grunted and shoved in hard, deep, holding himself as the room spun
around them both for a long, wild minute or hour or eternity.
Breathing slowed, time slowed.
Emily became aware of the weight of him upon her, and pushed at him, so that he
rolled off with a muted apology. There was the usual flurry of tissue and
re-arrangement, and then they were in an awkward embrace, both unwilling to
admit their limbs were cramped and tingling as they wrapped in each other's
arms.
She lay awake, expecting him to
leap up and demand a shower or a coffee or a taxi. But his breathing continued
to deepen and she realised that he'd fallen asleep, his left arm up above his
head and the sheets still half-tangled around his legs. She let her own eyes
close, but her mind was whizzing and awake.
Eventually the pins and needles
in her arm forced her to move, and she sat up, pulling the discarded duvet
around her body. The lamp light from the living room
the buttons. It would stretch out of shape but she didn't care.
"Oho. If I had known you had
nothing but a sexy bra on below that cardi, I would have taken you in the
alleyway."
Emily ran her hands over his
broad chest, up onto his shoulders, and down his muscular forearms. "If I
had known that, I would have told you," she replied, encouraging him.
He stepped away to pull his own
tee shirt off, and stood still for a moment, allowing her to take in his
powerful body. She lingered, letting her eyes do the exploration. Then she
unzipped her skirt and let it slither to the floor, revealing her stockings and
simple black knickers. He didn't move, and she moved around him, drinking in
his toned torso from all angles. On his shoulder blade was a dark tattoo and
she reached up to trace it with her fingernail. "Regimental?"
"Yup."
She stayed behind him, snaking
her hands around his belly and dipping under his belt once more, teasing him
with her fingertips. He reached behind with his hands and grabbed her, stopping
her.
"What's up?"
"Let's take this to the
bedroom."
"That door there, to the
right."
He wasted no time, once in her
private room, in shedding his jeans and socks. He stood at the foot of her bed,
his arousal clearly visible beneath his smart white underwear.
"Do you want me to
undress?" Emily asked, letting her hands rest on her hips.
"Christ, if you don't, I'm
going to bite the damn stuff off you with my teeth."
And that was it; all they needed
to fall upon one another, tumbling on the bed in a flurry of limbs and passion.
He threw her onto her back, while she twisted and entwined around him. They
kissed again, not just lips but nipples, hips, back and neck. She fumbled for a
condom but he was ahead of her, tearing open a packet and taking charge. She
tried to respond as an equal player but this was Turner's game, now, and he set
the pace.
His fingers sought her spaces and
judged her readiness; she gasped out, "Yes," wanting to assure him
she'd been needing him for some time. Hours, if truth be told. She wrapped her
legs around his and tried to guide him to her.
He played, and taunted, teasing
until she was begging, before he would relent. When he finally claimed her, she
felt tears spring to her eyes and she tried to hold herself back: not yet,
oh god…
"Is that all right?" he
asked, his gentlemanly concern just a throaty growl. He went slowly, carefully.
"No," she blurted.
"More, harder, please, oh god…."
His eyes narrowed and he thrust
harder, and she squealed with each slam as the pressure built up. "Yes, that's
it - keep going - yes…" She was aware she was babbling but she'd passed
that point of caring, the point of no return, the point of ever being the same
again.
"Emily…"
Hearing her name from his mouth
was the final straw and she scrabbled her fingernails over his back as the
rising tide within her became a torrent of stars and explosions. He, too,
jerked as he could hold himself no more, and his sweat-soaked head was thrown
back as he grunted and shoved in hard, deep, holding himself as the room spun
around them both for a long, wild minute or hour or eternity.
Breathing slowed, time slowed.
Emily became aware of the weight of him upon her, and pushed at him, so that he
rolled off with a muted apology. There was the usual flurry of tissue and
re-arrangement, and then they were in an awkward embrace, both unwilling to
admit their limbs were cramped and tingling as they wrapped in each other's
arms.
She lay awake, expecting him to
leap up and demand a shower or a coffee or a taxi. But his breathing continued
to deepen and she realised that he'd fallen asleep, his left arm up above his
head and the sheets still half-tangled around his legs. She let her own eyes
close, but her mind was whizzing and awake.
Eventually the pins and needles
in her arm forced her to move, and she sat up, pulling the discarded duvet
around her body. The lamp light from the living room
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