Read Online The Defiant One by Danelle Harmon - Free Book Online Page B

his arousal through the blanket, touching him, squeezing him, inciting him, and Andrew thought he was going to explode into a thousand pieces.  He wanted her to rip the blanket off.  He dreaded what would happen when she did.  His eyes began to close.  His fingers all but left dents in the tabletop.  She bent her head, and he felt her silky hair against his belly, felt her fingers cupping his testicles, and knew he was lost, even as she reached out and pulled the bunched blanket from his slackening fist and slowly dragged it down, off his hips, and off his huge and very hot erection.
    Andrew, his senses all at sea, could do nothing to resist.
    Absolutely nothing.
    Her hand found him.  His knees buckled and, letting go of the table, he sank to the floor in defeat, pulling her with him, kissing her desperately.
    "The devil take it . . ."
    They fell sprawling into a pile of drawings.  Andrew groaned, trying, with the last part of his mind that could still reason, with the last shreds of will that remained to him, to slide backward away from her ruthless seduction, from her maddening touch, but he couldn't hear himself think, couldn't feel himself feel, and knew nothing but the sweetly torturous feel of her hand, her gentle, exploring fingers.  It was too much, even for him.  His outflung hand managed to snare the leg of a chair; he tried to pull himself to safety, but he was trapped by his own passion.  He let go of the chair.  He let go of his will.  And then, catching Celsiana around the waist, he yanked her up and atop him, rucking up her petticoats as he slid his hand beneath them and up her long, smooth-as-silk thighs.
    Oh, God, she was right.  Warm and wet . . . oh, so very, very wet. . . .
    He heard her moan deep in her throat, felt her sigh against his cheek as his fingers sank into her moist cleft and began to stroke her.
    "Yes, oh, that feels so much better," she breathed, showering fervent, inexperienced kisses all over his brow, his nose, and finally, his mouth.  Andrew claimed her lips, quickly showing her how it was done, devouring the innocent sweetness of her mouth.  His own breathing grew shallow.  Erratic.  He felt her palming his abdomen, and now her hand slid down to wrap itself around the base of his manhood, squeezing him oh so gently, oh so firmly.  He sucked in his breath on a raw gasp; but when her fingers started to flicker over the engorged tip, he knew it was all over for him.  His eyes flying open, he drew his lips back in a silent scream and made a wild grab for the chair leg to anchor himself.
    It came over with a crash, hitting the table, then the floor near his ear, with a sound that nearly deafened him.  A beaker fell and shattered on the floor, along with several bottles and a half-finished cup of tea.  "Bloody hell," gasped Andrew.  "Sweet, bloody hell!"  And as he shut his eyes and tried, oh dear God, tried to delay his climax, Celsie began making little sobbing gasps that heralded her own coming release.  The sound was enough to annihilate Andrew's control.  Feverishly he seized her around the waist with both hands, plunked her down atop his rigid manhood as she helped guide him in, and, impaling her all the way to the hilt, began thrusting up into that tight, blessedly wet haven with desperate, frenzied, abandon.
    "Oh!" she cried.  "Oh, I think that is what I needed . . . what I wanted — oh, please . . ."
    She met his savage thrusts with equal abandon.  Her kisses rained down upon his hot forehead, his lips, his face.  "Oh, please, Andrew — go faster!"
    Her voluminous skirts and petticoats shrouding his body, her hair swinging wildly about his face as she rode him for all she was worth, he felt her inner muscles beginning to contract all around him.
    " Faster! "
    "Oh, Goddddddddddd — " Andrew shouted through clenched teeth as the white-hot explosion finally ripped through his loins.  Carried along by her movements, he gave a final upward thrust, his senses