Read Online Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male by Sally Wentworth - Free Book Online
Authors: Sally Wentworth
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jetty,
leaving the canoe securely tied, and drove unhurriedly back to London, to
Brett's house.
Tasha wanted to see everything, to
hear about the restoration work he'd done and see all his before and after
photos of the place. Her interest was gratifying but he was on tenterhooks; it
was only a month since they'd met and she'd said it had to be at least three
months before she'd let him make love to her. But had she changed her mind? Was
she sure enough of him, of her own feelings to…?
Brett found himself clenching his
fists in hope and fear of disappointment.
In the sitting-room he had a huge
settee that nearly filled the room, even bigger than the one Tasha had in her
flat. He put on a CD and got drinks and she snuggled up to him like a child.
They talked about the day for a while but then he kissed her longingly. Tasha
put her drink aside, put her arms round his neck and sent his senses reeling as
she returned the kiss more ardently than ever before. And this time, when his
fingers began to undo the buttons of her shirt, she didn't stop him.
Her breasts were beautiful; not
full enough to fill his unsteady hands but soft and rounded, the pale pink
nipples at first unawakened but then hardening
delightfully as he gently caressed them with his fingertips. They tilted pertly
at him then, and he was unable to resist bending his head to gently take them
each in turn into his mouth, to toy with them, kiss them, caress
them with his tongue. Satisfied at last, his lips moved on to trail across her
shoulders and kiss her neck. Tasha sighed and lifted her head, squirmed deliciously
as he bit her earlobe, and whispered his name as he took her mouth at last.
By now his
senses were on fire, but Brett kept them banked; it was early yet and he fully
intended to make love to her all night, so there was time to linger, to
lengthen each moment, to enjoy each new discovery to the full. Tasha returned
his kiss, her hands with a delicate fingertip touch on each side of his face.
Her kiss was warm, tender, responsive, but that was all. The passion had died, there was no eager searching, no hunger. At first he
thought that she, too, was holding desire in check, but then recognised her
kiss for what it was: participation but not encouragement. Raising his head,
Brett looked at her questioningly.
'That was
nice.' She smiled at him—and reached for her clothes.
'"Nice?"'
For a moment he was angry and, reaching out, caught her wrist. 'Is that all? Just "nice"?'
She became
still, her eyes fixed on his face. 'You know the terms, Brett.'
'Damn it, I
thought—' He broke off, biting his lip. 'Does there have to be terms? Does
there have to be a time limit?'
Tasha looked
away from him for a moment, then lifted her head to
look steadily into his eyes. 'Yes, I'm sorry, but there does.' Drawing her
wrist from his hold, she reached for her bra and put it on, covering up all the
loveliness that he thought had been his.
Getting to
his feet, Brett strode over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink, his
hand shaking.
'Do you make a habit of this?'
he demanded, desperately trying to control his disappointment.
'Of what?'
'You know damn well what! Of leading a man on and then slapping him down.' He turned
and saw that she was completely dressed and standing up, her hands thrust into
the pockets of her jeans.
'You
think it unfair, do you?'
'Yes,
of course I do.'
She grew suddenly angry. 'And
do you think it fair to kiss me and caress me and turn me on when you know that
I want to wait?'
He stared at her in surprise.
'But that must mean that…'
'That I want you? Yes, of
course it does. Did it never occur to you that I might want you as much as you
want me? I told you that you were special!'
Putting down his glass, Brett
strode over and took hold of her arms, desperate pleading in his face. 'In that
case what is there to wait for? I ache for you, Tasha. I long to—'
'No!' She pushed him angrily
away. 'Why won't you listen to me? All
leaving the canoe securely tied, and drove unhurriedly back to London, to
Brett's house.
Tasha wanted to see everything, to
hear about the restoration work he'd done and see all his before and after
photos of the place. Her interest was gratifying but he was on tenterhooks; it
was only a month since they'd met and she'd said it had to be at least three
months before she'd let him make love to her. But had she changed her mind? Was
she sure enough of him, of her own feelings to…?
Brett found himself clenching his
fists in hope and fear of disappointment.
In the sitting-room he had a huge
settee that nearly filled the room, even bigger than the one Tasha had in her
flat. He put on a CD and got drinks and she snuggled up to him like a child.
They talked about the day for a while but then he kissed her longingly. Tasha
put her drink aside, put her arms round his neck and sent his senses reeling as
she returned the kiss more ardently than ever before. And this time, when his
fingers began to undo the buttons of her shirt, she didn't stop him.
Her breasts were beautiful; not
full enough to fill his unsteady hands but soft and rounded, the pale pink
nipples at first unawakened but then hardening
delightfully as he gently caressed them with his fingertips. They tilted pertly
at him then, and he was unable to resist bending his head to gently take them
each in turn into his mouth, to toy with them, kiss them, caress
them with his tongue. Satisfied at last, his lips moved on to trail across her
shoulders and kiss her neck. Tasha sighed and lifted her head, squirmed deliciously
as he bit her earlobe, and whispered his name as he took her mouth at last.
By now his
senses were on fire, but Brett kept them banked; it was early yet and he fully
intended to make love to her all night, so there was time to linger, to
lengthen each moment, to enjoy each new discovery to the full. Tasha returned
his kiss, her hands with a delicate fingertip touch on each side of his face.
Her kiss was warm, tender, responsive, but that was all. The passion had died, there was no eager searching, no hunger. At first he
thought that she, too, was holding desire in check, but then recognised her
kiss for what it was: participation but not encouragement. Raising his head,
Brett looked at her questioningly.
'That was
nice.' She smiled at him—and reached for her clothes.
'"Nice?"'
For a moment he was angry and, reaching out, caught her wrist. 'Is that all? Just "nice"?'
She became
still, her eyes fixed on his face. 'You know the terms, Brett.'
'Damn it, I
thought—' He broke off, biting his lip. 'Does there have to be terms? Does
there have to be a time limit?'
Tasha looked
away from him for a moment, then lifted her head to
look steadily into his eyes. 'Yes, I'm sorry, but there does.' Drawing her
wrist from his hold, she reached for her bra and put it on, covering up all the
loveliness that he thought had been his.
Getting to
his feet, Brett strode over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink, his
hand shaking.
'Do you make a habit of this?'
he demanded, desperately trying to control his disappointment.
'Of what?'
'You know damn well what! Of leading a man on and then slapping him down.' He turned
and saw that she was completely dressed and standing up, her hands thrust into
the pockets of her jeans.
'You
think it unfair, do you?'
'Yes,
of course I do.'
She grew suddenly angry. 'And
do you think it fair to kiss me and caress me and turn me on when you know that
I want to wait?'
He stared at her in surprise.
'But that must mean that…'
'That I want you? Yes, of
course it does. Did it never occur to you that I might want you as much as you
want me? I told you that you were special!'
Putting down his glass, Brett
strode over and took hold of her arms, desperate pleading in his face. 'In that
case what is there to wait for? I ache for you, Tasha. I long to—'
'No!' She pushed him angrily
away. 'Why won't you listen to me? All
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