Read Online Susan Johnson by Silver Flame (Braddock Black) - Free Book Online
Authors: Silver Flame (Braddock Black)
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calling her
“baicbíwicgye ditsirátsi,”
which he’d translated as “my fierce kitten,” when she’d cried for him frantically. He whispered he’d take care of her … and all her needs. “Stay with me,” he murmured heatedly, and he’d not meant the three weeks. But he wasn’t completely sober, she knew, because the taste of brandy was heady when he kissed her. He may be different in the morning. But right now, with his mouth trailing down her throat, she didn’t want to think about morning or any of the hundreds of problems in her life. She didn’t want to think at all.
Trey’s mouth slid down her smooth stomach and slowly drifted between her legs. Resting his cheek against her warm thigh, he looked up at her.
“Baicbíwicgye ditsirátsi,”
he whispered. “Show me where you want me to touch you,” And taking her hand, he languidly kissed each fingertip while the weight of his head pressed against her thigh. Then sucking gently on her last finger, he released her hand from his mouth and guided it the few inches toward the heat pulsing between her legs. “Here, fierce kitten?” he asked softly, sliding her small hand across her rosy, distended flesh, swollen and throbbing from his use of her and her need for him. “Tell me …”
“Oh, God …” she breathed as stabbing pleasure flooded her mind. There was no escape from the sensation. No comparison in all the former days of her life; no answer to the blind yearning, no argument, no excuse. “Please, Trey, I need you,” Empress cried softly.
And together they explored the delirious limits of passion.
* * *
Hours later, despite Trey’s glib words to Blue, he drowsily held Empress in the circle of his arms. She had sleepily said, “Thank you,” to him, a compounded gratitude: for the money; for the future her family now had; and strangely, where she should feel remorse—a muffled thank-you murmured into Trey’s warm chest … for the way she felt—wonderfully safe. And only in that instant did she realize how dreadfully frightened she’d been standing in Lily’s parlor. But no more. Breathing trustfully in Trey’s embrace, she slept.
He’d watched her then, lightly stroking the soft, sun-streaked curls coiled over his body, gazing at her lacy lashes, shades darker than her hair, lying like silk on her cheeks, deciding with a casual certainty as his glance traced the fine delicacy of her features that she was more beautiful than any woman he’d ever seen. It was an objective assessment made by a man who’d seen a great many beauties of the world—at close range. And for a virgin—he smiled faintly and tucked an errant tendril behind her ear—well, she’d disproved all the stories about green virgins. “Good night, fierce kitten,” he whispered. His voice was tender, for the words meant much more.
My Lord, he was tired, a sweet, ringing weariness of contentment, and very soon exhaustion overtook him, too, and he fell asleep peacefully.
I t seemed only seconds later, although some time had passed, when Trey felt someone shaking him awake. His fatigued, vaguely inebriated brain took a hazy moment to recall exactly where he was. Then his eyes snapped open and he groaned silently.
Flo was standing over him, vivid in crimson silk, holding a half-empty champagne bottle, whispering in a voice that would carry a mile in the storm blowing outside, “Move over, Trey, honey, I brought champagne.”
He looked quickly to see that Empress still slept, relaxed fractionally when he saw she did, then whispered back, “It’s late, sweetheart, and I’m tired. How about some other time?”
“Nope,” Flo replied with a wobbly, back-and-forth motion of her head. “Don’t want to wait. Want to have a teeny, tiny drink with you,” and so saying, she tipped the bottle up and swallowed a large gulp. “Here, your turn,” she offered cordially with a tipsy smile.
“No thanks,” Trey politely refused, warily watching her sway beside
“baicbíwicgye ditsirátsi,”
which he’d translated as “my fierce kitten,” when she’d cried for him frantically. He whispered he’d take care of her … and all her needs. “Stay with me,” he murmured heatedly, and he’d not meant the three weeks. But he wasn’t completely sober, she knew, because the taste of brandy was heady when he kissed her. He may be different in the morning. But right now, with his mouth trailing down her throat, she didn’t want to think about morning or any of the hundreds of problems in her life. She didn’t want to think at all.
Trey’s mouth slid down her smooth stomach and slowly drifted between her legs. Resting his cheek against her warm thigh, he looked up at her.
“Baicbíwicgye ditsirátsi,”
he whispered. “Show me where you want me to touch you,” And taking her hand, he languidly kissed each fingertip while the weight of his head pressed against her thigh. Then sucking gently on her last finger, he released her hand from his mouth and guided it the few inches toward the heat pulsing between her legs. “Here, fierce kitten?” he asked softly, sliding her small hand across her rosy, distended flesh, swollen and throbbing from his use of her and her need for him. “Tell me …”
“Oh, God …” she breathed as stabbing pleasure flooded her mind. There was no escape from the sensation. No comparison in all the former days of her life; no answer to the blind yearning, no argument, no excuse. “Please, Trey, I need you,” Empress cried softly.
And together they explored the delirious limits of passion.
* * *
Hours later, despite Trey’s glib words to Blue, he drowsily held Empress in the circle of his arms. She had sleepily said, “Thank you,” to him, a compounded gratitude: for the money; for the future her family now had; and strangely, where she should feel remorse—a muffled thank-you murmured into Trey’s warm chest … for the way she felt—wonderfully safe. And only in that instant did she realize how dreadfully frightened she’d been standing in Lily’s parlor. But no more. Breathing trustfully in Trey’s embrace, she slept.
He’d watched her then, lightly stroking the soft, sun-streaked curls coiled over his body, gazing at her lacy lashes, shades darker than her hair, lying like silk on her cheeks, deciding with a casual certainty as his glance traced the fine delicacy of her features that she was more beautiful than any woman he’d ever seen. It was an objective assessment made by a man who’d seen a great many beauties of the world—at close range. And for a virgin—he smiled faintly and tucked an errant tendril behind her ear—well, she’d disproved all the stories about green virgins. “Good night, fierce kitten,” he whispered. His voice was tender, for the words meant much more.
My Lord, he was tired, a sweet, ringing weariness of contentment, and very soon exhaustion overtook him, too, and he fell asleep peacefully.
I t seemed only seconds later, although some time had passed, when Trey felt someone shaking him awake. His fatigued, vaguely inebriated brain took a hazy moment to recall exactly where he was. Then his eyes snapped open and he groaned silently.
Flo was standing over him, vivid in crimson silk, holding a half-empty champagne bottle, whispering in a voice that would carry a mile in the storm blowing outside, “Move over, Trey, honey, I brought champagne.”
He looked quickly to see that Empress still slept, relaxed fractionally when he saw she did, then whispered back, “It’s late, sweetheart, and I’m tired. How about some other time?”
“Nope,” Flo replied with a wobbly, back-and-forth motion of her head. “Don’t want to wait. Want to have a teeny, tiny drink with you,” and so saying, she tipped the bottle up and swallowed a large gulp. “Here, your turn,” she offered cordially with a tipsy smile.
“No thanks,” Trey politely refused, warily watching her sway beside
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