Read Online Southern Spirits by Edie Bingham - Free Book Online

it back with her and set it on the bed, this time lying down fully rather than sitting up. She watched the rise and fall of her chest for a moment, before closing her eyes and settling back. The gentle rhythm ofthe train was steady, hypnotic, enticing, like resting her head on the chest of a lover. She imagined feeling the heat from his skin, catching his scent, maybe shifting her mouth to dart her tongue out and taste his bare flesh again. She loved tasting a man after they’d had sex, especially after a good, hard fuck.
    Dios , this was going to be hard. She’d been feeling hot since the night before, had almost masturbated in the shower that morning, but foolishly changed her mind. She’d hardly find many opportunities this weekend for self-gratification.
    She ached inside her panties, but resisted the urge to respond immediately. Her hands moved over her T-shirt, fingertips trailing over the outline of the bra beneath, past the firmer underwire to the softer, frillier borders of the cups. She felt the slow peaking of her nipples within the lace material, the goosebumps rising on the surrounding soft skin as if caressed by a cool breeze rather than her own touch.
    Cat closed her eyes and wet her lips; the gentle rhythm of the train seemed to seep into her body even more now. She also felt the pull of drowsiness, like the steadily encroaching waves of a rising tide as it engulfed more and more of her. Her mention of lack of sleep was no lie. But she had more immediate concerns.
    She pulled her T-shirt out of her jeans, bared some of her bronzed belly as her fingertips stroked her flesh. A moment’s decision, and she rose up on one elbow, reaching under herself to unclasp her bra. Then with a practised manoeuvre admired by more than one past lover who’d witnessed it, she quickly extricated herself from the offending garment and cast it aside without removing her shirt.
    Cat settled down again, her hands moving under her T-shirt to trail her fingertips in wide lazy figure of eights, moving up along her stomach. Her breasts lay flat on her chest, and her fingertips reached the undercurves, then drew outwards to the sides, her mind’s eye noting every detail, good or bad, real or imagined. She pictured they were Nathan’s hands, his strong fingers exploring her, his eyes lighting up with delight and desire, his lips whispering words of appreciation and determination.
    When her touch lingered around one of her nipples, making it pucker further, her sex cried out once more for attention. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured breathlessly to herself – and to Nathan. Apologising for not being able to chance having what they both wanted. Their one and only fuck together had been far from ideal. Wonderful, yes, but not ideal. Another one . . . would be far too risky. But she could fantasise. And did. Her fingers quickened, as her other hand moved to her other breast from outside her T-shirt, caressing more forcefully.
    As she felt the familiar, welcome responses between her legs, she stopped, undid the belt and brass tabs on her jeans, one after the other, approving of how quickly and easily theyresponded to her touch. With both hands now, she slid her jeans and black satin panties down, down over her hips and buttocks, lifting the latter up off the bed to accommodate the movement.
    With her feet flat on the mattress and her knees pointed up, Cat drew her jeans and panties down to just below her knees, leaving them there. She knew she could pull them back up again in a hurry if she had to – but she also knew that it looked and felt twice as rude to leave them there like that than if she just removed them entirely. She regarded the trimmed wedge of her bush, her steepled bronzed thighs and the outline of her pussy barely concealed beneath.
    She felt hot, wet and pliant, and her nerve endings seemed charged. And when her hands moved over the tops of her thighs, fingertips sliding together as if trying to