Read Online Mocha Latte (Silk Stocking Inn #3) by Tess Oliver, Anna Hart - Free Book Online
Authors: Tess Oliver, Anna Hart
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and take me with you.”
My soft cry circled the carriage, and I hardly knew it had come from my own lips. My body shuddered beneath him. As I came in shattering waves, he increased the speed and intensity of his movements. Each time, it nearly started the orgasm afresh, nearly bringing me over the edge into a seemingly endless climax.
The muscles in his arms tightened, and he rammed his cock deep inside of me one last time. “Fuck yeah,” he growled as he came.
He stayed there, buried deep inside of me for a few minutes, while our breathing and heart rates returned to normal. The light wind ruffled his thick hair, making him look nothing short of glorious, as he gazed down at me.
The night sky was navy blue with white diamonds and nature’s nighttime music vibrated around us. It was almost impossible to believe that this was happening.
“I’ve never done anything quite like this before,” I said quietly.
“Well, Spunky, that’s cuz you were waiting for me.” He lowered himself down and kissed me.
Chapter 13
My extremely accommodating coachman drove me back to the house and carried me back up the stairs, depositing me reluctantly at my bedroom door.
“I need to take Riley and the carriage back.” He kissed me again. “If you need anything, or if the creaks and noises in this old house make you uneasy, I’ll be right there across the hallway in my big, comfortable bed. Where there’s plenty of space for a sleep buddy.”
His boots clacked the wood floor as he walked back down the hallway and stairs. I could still hear them in the entryway as he walked out the front door. I smiled to myself. A girl sure could get used to the sound of boot heels in the house.
The wine, the late hour, the abundance of fresh air and the incredible sex had pushed me easily into a deep sleep where visions of a certain hot cowboy danced in my head. But a harsh sound, a noise that mimicked sharp nails on glass, woke me from my dreams.
I sat up, reeling for a moment, trying to remember exactly where I was. As the darkness turned to the silhouettes of Coco’s antique furniture, my mind cleared enough to remind me that I was at the Silk Stocking Inn. The unsettling sound startled me again. It was followed by a ghostly howl that seemed to circle the entire house.
I put my feet on the cold floor and plodded over to the window. With some trepidation, I pushed back the heavy drapes. Trees were curled over as if invisible strings had been tied to their tips and were being pulled at the same time. Another rushing sound followed that pushed against the house, making it groan loudly in protest.
Long, thin fingers clawed at my window, and I stumbled back with a gasp. The howling sound quieted and the clawing fingers morphed into the branches of the tree growing outside the window. It was a wind storm.
I headed back to the bed, my heart still racing from the earlier scare. It was strange how quickly the wind had kicked up. Just hours earlier, Jackson and I had been rolling through a completely quiet, calm landscape that had been disrupted only by the occasional breeze. But now gusts of wind that could upturn trees, if given the opportunity, blew in gale force around the inn.
I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was four in the morning. Late by even the most ardent bar-hopper’s standards. There was no doubt my neighbor across the hall was fast asleep in his big bed. I leaned back against the pillows, pulled the quilt up tight beneath my chin and tried to imagine how breathtaking Jackson must look sleeping. Naked, most likely.
I took a deep, calming breath. My head grew heavy with sleep again. Another gust of wind and the horrid scratching at the window snapped me back to fully awake.
This time it was not just a burst of wind but a long, stretched-out onslaught of violent air. The windows rattled. I could almost hear the roof shingles being peeled away from the top of the century old house.
I held tightly to the blanket,
My soft cry circled the carriage, and I hardly knew it had come from my own lips. My body shuddered beneath him. As I came in shattering waves, he increased the speed and intensity of his movements. Each time, it nearly started the orgasm afresh, nearly bringing me over the edge into a seemingly endless climax.
The muscles in his arms tightened, and he rammed his cock deep inside of me one last time. “Fuck yeah,” he growled as he came.
He stayed there, buried deep inside of me for a few minutes, while our breathing and heart rates returned to normal. The light wind ruffled his thick hair, making him look nothing short of glorious, as he gazed down at me.
The night sky was navy blue with white diamonds and nature’s nighttime music vibrated around us. It was almost impossible to believe that this was happening.
“I’ve never done anything quite like this before,” I said quietly.
“Well, Spunky, that’s cuz you were waiting for me.” He lowered himself down and kissed me.
Chapter 13
My extremely accommodating coachman drove me back to the house and carried me back up the stairs, depositing me reluctantly at my bedroom door.
“I need to take Riley and the carriage back.” He kissed me again. “If you need anything, or if the creaks and noises in this old house make you uneasy, I’ll be right there across the hallway in my big, comfortable bed. Where there’s plenty of space for a sleep buddy.”
His boots clacked the wood floor as he walked back down the hallway and stairs. I could still hear them in the entryway as he walked out the front door. I smiled to myself. A girl sure could get used to the sound of boot heels in the house.
The wine, the late hour, the abundance of fresh air and the incredible sex had pushed me easily into a deep sleep where visions of a certain hot cowboy danced in my head. But a harsh sound, a noise that mimicked sharp nails on glass, woke me from my dreams.
I sat up, reeling for a moment, trying to remember exactly where I was. As the darkness turned to the silhouettes of Coco’s antique furniture, my mind cleared enough to remind me that I was at the Silk Stocking Inn. The unsettling sound startled me again. It was followed by a ghostly howl that seemed to circle the entire house.
I put my feet on the cold floor and plodded over to the window. With some trepidation, I pushed back the heavy drapes. Trees were curled over as if invisible strings had been tied to their tips and were being pulled at the same time. Another rushing sound followed that pushed against the house, making it groan loudly in protest.
Long, thin fingers clawed at my window, and I stumbled back with a gasp. The howling sound quieted and the clawing fingers morphed into the branches of the tree growing outside the window. It was a wind storm.
I headed back to the bed, my heart still racing from the earlier scare. It was strange how quickly the wind had kicked up. Just hours earlier, Jackson and I had been rolling through a completely quiet, calm landscape that had been disrupted only by the occasional breeze. But now gusts of wind that could upturn trees, if given the opportunity, blew in gale force around the inn.
I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was four in the morning. Late by even the most ardent bar-hopper’s standards. There was no doubt my neighbor across the hall was fast asleep in his big bed. I leaned back against the pillows, pulled the quilt up tight beneath my chin and tried to imagine how breathtaking Jackson must look sleeping. Naked, most likely.
I took a deep, calming breath. My head grew heavy with sleep again. Another gust of wind and the horrid scratching at the window snapped me back to fully awake.
This time it was not just a burst of wind but a long, stretched-out onslaught of violent air. The windows rattled. I could almost hear the roof shingles being peeled away from the top of the century old house.
I held tightly to the blanket,
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