Read Online Rich Bitch: Everything's Going to the Dogs by Nancy Warren - Free Book Online Page A

Imposing.
    He felt so good when she curled her fingers around him. She squeezed lightly, and there was no give. He was like warm, smoothly polished granite.
    She played with him until he cursed softly, his feet shifting like a stallion about to race, and suddenly he was yanking her nightgown up and over her head.
    Panting. They were both panting.
    She felt the relative coolness of air against her skin like a wave as he pulled the gown over her head.
    The wisp of silk floated to the floor, and by the time it landed, Vince had shucked his boxers and tossed them much less ceremoniously to the ground.
    A shiver of anticipation danced over her bare skin. What would he be like? Feel like? Taste like? Now they were relative strangers; soon they’d be as intimate as a man and woman could be. She was dying to get on with it even as she wanted to stretch out this moment of anticipation.
    The moment was soon gone, however. Vince pulled her against him and started touching her naked body, bending down to kiss her. When their height differences frustrated him, he scooped her up with thrilling machismo and laid her on his bed. His big bed where she’d napped, and where the scent of him clung to the bedding.
    “You’re so small,” he said in a voice of wonder, running his hands down her body. Actually, he was the one who was big. Everywhere.
    A tiny doubt niggled at her that she’d be able to accommodate him inside her body, but she did her best to quell it. She was a Frenchwoman, after all. The blood of the greatest courtesans and mistresses in history ran through her veins. She’d yet to meet the man who was too much for her—in any way.
    She was small boned, but on the tall side for a woman, at five feet, seven inches. In France, men tended to be built on a smaller scale, so she was accustomed to feeling tall. But Vince dwarfed her and made her feel tiny and dainty.
    When she snuggled up against him, she fit her mouth to his mouth, breast to his chest, and ended up with the hot pressing length of him against her belly. Her feet ended not far past his knees.
    As he touched her, he talked. Silly, foolish statements. “You have a swimmer’s muscles.” He was right, she did. “Your skin’s so soft.” Oh, and the way he was stroking it, she’d soon be purring. “Your nipples taste so good.” Which was nothing on how his mouth and tongue felt against her sensitive skin.
    She didn’t know a lot of men who talked in bed, but it was a nice quality, she decided. She liked the 
brush of warm air touching her skin when he spoke against it. Enjoyed the earthy praise he scattered along with his kisses.
    “You’re so slight, I can count your ribs.” Then he did. Kissing the lowest one and running his tongue along the ridge of bone. “One,” he muttered, then climbed to the next rib, “Two,” and so on until he
was licking the underside of her breast, and he’d muddled his counting dreadfully.
    When he shifted so he was between her thighs, she opened for him, spreading herself wide both physically and emotionally. That’s how she was about sex. It was never just physical for her, and sometimes it didn’t work out and there was pain afterward, but oh, the pleasure in between.
    So, she opened herself completely, and he entered her slowly, as though making love with her this first time was something he wanted to remember forever. The sky lightened a little more, and a streak of pink lit up the room so she saw the planes of his face more clearly, the dark gleam of his eyes, watching her.
    Then he began to move. Slow at first, and so careful of her as their passion built quietly, until she needed more friction, more speed. She grabbed his hips, digging her fingers into the wonderful tight muscles of his butt and pulling him into her, increasing the rhythm until they were both breathing hard and a drop of warm sweat hit her cheek.
    “Oh, you feel so good.”
    “Yes. Oh, yes.” She felt very, very good. And then better, and