Read Online Stone Destiny (Stone Passion #3) by A.C. Warneke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: A.C. Warneke
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lips as he looked at her and gauged the distance between her and the painting. Her eyes widened in alarm as she understood at once what his intentions were, “Please, Armand, don’t look.”
He hesitated, looking once more at the canvas before letting his shoulders slump and heaving a sigh, “I'll wait until you’re ready to show me.”
Ferris breathed a sigh of relief, her tensed muscles relaxing when he promised to wait knowing that he would keep his word. Before she could relax completely, though, he looked at her with that mischievous smirk again, “However….”
He was across the room and leaping over the chaise, splattering her with paint. All she could do was laugh and try to cover her face with one arm as she blindly squirted paint at Armand with the other. “Stop! I give up!”
He laughed evilly as he tossed the empty tubes down. He then proceeded to rub the paint in, smearing it all over her shoulders and arms. With his hands occupied, she took the opportunity to create her own masterpiece on his torso, taking more enjoyment from touching him than from painting him. Lightly, she trailed her fingers over the contours of his chest, relishing the feel of his skin beneath hers. The vivid colors only enhanced his masculinity, his virility.
His shoulders were impossibly broad, capable of taking on the weight of the world and often did. His chest was carved from marble, uncompromising and beautiful. His stomach was ridged with muscles, the hard flesh unforgiving and mesmerizing. She could have spent hours tracing the lines of his body, learning him by touch and not just by sight. Her fingers trailed lower, to the soft material wrapped around his trim waist. The white robe was quickly stained by the paint on her hands and she chuckled.
Slowly, she realized that he was no longer chaffing his hands up and down her arms, across her back. Instead, his grip had tightened on her shoulders and his breathing was ragged, harsh. She looked up and met his green eyes and forgot everything. He looked at her with ravenous eyes and as she stared at him, his nostrils flared in recognition of a woman in heat. He tugged on the binder that held her hair in a ponytail, letting the long, dark strands fall to the middle of her back. Sliding his hand into her hair, cupping the back of her skull in his broad palm, he growled, “Ferris. What have you done to me?”
Then his mouth was on hers and he was consuming her whole with a kiss.
Her hands trembled as they skirted across his sizzling skin. She was afraid of touching him and discovering he was mist, an illusion, that this wasn’t real. She had dreamed about it for so long, fantasized about him for so long, that she couldn’t quite grasp that it was finally happening. She was kissing Armand! He was solid, he was real and the kiss was better than she could have ever imagined.
Sliding her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, she went up on her toes and fell into the kiss. Heat embraced her as he took her into his arms and deepened the kiss, gently pushing his tongue into her willing mouth. The taste of midnight and mint filled her senses and she was drowning. She felt the long, thick ridge of his erection against her belly and she shivered in fear and excitement.
It was finally happening.
His chest was so hard against hers, so perfect, as if they were made for one another. Her hands slid higher, into the thick silk of his hair. She pulled him closer as if even a sliver of space between them was too much. Warmth flooded her system and her body quaked.
His hands were at her waist, her ribs, and he was pulling her shirt up. Reluctantly, she broke the kiss and held her hands over her head as he tore the shirt from her body. She stepped back to resume kissing but he held her at a distance and ogled her body, the sun-kissed skin mottled with all of the colors of the rainbow, her delicate bra ruined by seven different colors. The sheer lace cupped the full weight of her breasts,
He hesitated, looking once more at the canvas before letting his shoulders slump and heaving a sigh, “I'll wait until you’re ready to show me.”
Ferris breathed a sigh of relief, her tensed muscles relaxing when he promised to wait knowing that he would keep his word. Before she could relax completely, though, he looked at her with that mischievous smirk again, “However….”
He was across the room and leaping over the chaise, splattering her with paint. All she could do was laugh and try to cover her face with one arm as she blindly squirted paint at Armand with the other. “Stop! I give up!”
He laughed evilly as he tossed the empty tubes down. He then proceeded to rub the paint in, smearing it all over her shoulders and arms. With his hands occupied, she took the opportunity to create her own masterpiece on his torso, taking more enjoyment from touching him than from painting him. Lightly, she trailed her fingers over the contours of his chest, relishing the feel of his skin beneath hers. The vivid colors only enhanced his masculinity, his virility.
His shoulders were impossibly broad, capable of taking on the weight of the world and often did. His chest was carved from marble, uncompromising and beautiful. His stomach was ridged with muscles, the hard flesh unforgiving and mesmerizing. She could have spent hours tracing the lines of his body, learning him by touch and not just by sight. Her fingers trailed lower, to the soft material wrapped around his trim waist. The white robe was quickly stained by the paint on her hands and she chuckled.
Slowly, she realized that he was no longer chaffing his hands up and down her arms, across her back. Instead, his grip had tightened on her shoulders and his breathing was ragged, harsh. She looked up and met his green eyes and forgot everything. He looked at her with ravenous eyes and as she stared at him, his nostrils flared in recognition of a woman in heat. He tugged on the binder that held her hair in a ponytail, letting the long, dark strands fall to the middle of her back. Sliding his hand into her hair, cupping the back of her skull in his broad palm, he growled, “Ferris. What have you done to me?”
Then his mouth was on hers and he was consuming her whole with a kiss.
Her hands trembled as they skirted across his sizzling skin. She was afraid of touching him and discovering he was mist, an illusion, that this wasn’t real. She had dreamed about it for so long, fantasized about him for so long, that she couldn’t quite grasp that it was finally happening. She was kissing Armand! He was solid, he was real and the kiss was better than she could have ever imagined.
Sliding her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, she went up on her toes and fell into the kiss. Heat embraced her as he took her into his arms and deepened the kiss, gently pushing his tongue into her willing mouth. The taste of midnight and mint filled her senses and she was drowning. She felt the long, thick ridge of his erection against her belly and she shivered in fear and excitement.
It was finally happening.
His chest was so hard against hers, so perfect, as if they were made for one another. Her hands slid higher, into the thick silk of his hair. She pulled him closer as if even a sliver of space between them was too much. Warmth flooded her system and her body quaked.
His hands were at her waist, her ribs, and he was pulling her shirt up. Reluctantly, she broke the kiss and held her hands over her head as he tore the shirt from her body. She stepped back to resume kissing but he held her at a distance and ogled her body, the sun-kissed skin mottled with all of the colors of the rainbow, her delicate bra ruined by seven different colors. The sheer lace cupped the full weight of her breasts,
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