Read Online The Muscle Part Two by Michelle St. James - Free Book Online Page B

Egyptian cotton, her body bare for his eyes and his hands and his fingers and his mouth.
    As if reading his mind, she took his hand. “Come, my love.”
    He let her lead him into the bedroom, forcing himself not to sweep her in his arms and ravish her on the spot. She needed to feel in control a little, especially in the bedroom. It was new for him, but it was a small thing to make her feel better. To give her the safety she deserved.
    When they got to the big canopy bed she slipped her hands under his shirt, the touch of her fingers as light as a feather against his skin. He slid his hands into the hair at the back of her head and kissed her, slowly at first, letting the passion build between them like it always did.
    He undid the tiny buttons of her blouse while they kissed, letting the cotton fall to the floor, revealing her beautiful breasts rising above a delicate bra made of pale blue silk. He thumbed her nipples and she moaned in his mouth, making him so hard his cock pushed painfully against the restraint of his jeans.
    As if she’d heard his thoughts, she undid the button and slid her hand inside, taking hold of him. The feel of his hard cock in her silken hand almost sent him over the edge. He turned her around so her back was to the bed and undid her shorts, then slid them off her long, tan legs. He was surprised to find she wasn’t wearing panties, and the sight of her perfectly smooth mound sent another bolt of lightening through his body.
    “I can’t wait to taste you,” he murmured, cupping her sex with his hand.
    She sighed, and he pushed her gently back onto the bed. He shed his T-shirt and jeans, then knelt at the edge of the bed.
    “Lean back, baby,” he said. “Let me make you feel good.”
    She reached for him, ran her fingers through his hair. Her eyes glowed in the half-light of the room. “You always make me feel good, Luca.”
    He spread her legs, and she leaned back on the bed, propping herself up on her forearms. For a minute, he could only look at her: the smooth mound of flesh leading to the petal-like ruffles of her pussy, already glistening and wet for him.
    He ran his hands up her shapely calves, then hooked one over his shoulder so he could kiss the back of one soft knee. She sighed deeply, and he worked his way up her thighs, massaging with his hands while he nibbled tenderly at the soft flesh on the way to the cleft between her legs.
    When he got there, he spread her open wider, desire galloping through his bloodstream when he saw how wet she was. He ran a finger through the engorged folds, stopping briefly to circle her clit. She moaned low and deep in her throat, and he got harder still.
    “Tell me what you want,” he said, still slipping his fingers through her. “I’m not doing anything to you unless you want it.”
    “I want your mouth on me,” she gasped.
    He leaned in and flicked his tongue over her clit, sliding his hands under her ass and around her hips when she came off the bed to meet his mouth. He wedged himself in closer, inhaling the musky sweet scent of her: need and sex and clean sheets and the suntan lotion she used by the pool. He slid his tongue through her creases, dipping it into her well before continuing up to her clit. He kept his hands off her on purpose. He wanted her to ask for what she wanted. He wanted her to know there was no shame in it — whatever it may be. He’d seen the look of guilt in her eyes when the subject of her assault came up, and while he knew being with him wouldn’t take it all away, he wanted her to know that sex could be hot while it was beautiful, it could be dirty while it was meaningful, and most of all there was no shame in wanting what you wanted.
    He made a circle around her clit with the flat pad of his tongue. It was torture not touching her. He wanted to slide his fingers inside her wetness, fill her with them while he worked her clit with his mouth, feel her channel clench down as she drew close to orgasm. He