Read Online The Short and Fascinating Tale of Angelina Whitcombe by Sabrina Darby - Free Book Online Page B

way. He could stay there forever, deep within her, his face buried in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of lilies in her hair. But her hands were exploring his back, his arms, finding places he hadn’t known were so sensitive. He lifted himself up, moving again, enjoying the slow build, each retreat and advance. Her neck was arched, chin tilted up, and he drank in the view—the long expanse of her smooth neck, the rise and fall of her breasts as she moved to meet his thrusts, to gain her own pleasure. He wanted to see that pleasure, to see her shudder with it, to feel her squeeze around him as she reached that peak. He shifted his body experimentally and watched the flickers across her face at each small motion.
    There. She gasped as he found a new rhythm, his thrusts faster, focused, his hips grinding against hers. She let out little pants, soft explosions of air and her body tensed around him.
    â€œYes, that,” she said. Her hands fluttered against him. “Keep doing that.”
    He watched the way she fought the sensation at the same time that she sought it, watched her arch and squirm. She stiffened around him and then her eyes flew open as she softened, her body undulating, pulsing everywhere. He closed his own eyes, holding himself back. Not yet. But she felt so damned wonderful.
    It had been a long time since he’d last been with a woman, but it would hardly have mattered if he’d had relations even the night before. This was Angelina, beneath him, around him, inside of him as much as he was inside of her. With her body still clutching him tight, trembling, his own trembled.
    Then she wrapped her legs around his hips again, and he opened his eyes, saw her lift her arms toward him, watched her perfect lips curve in the most satisfied smile, and he lowered himself to her with a growl. Losing himself until he was just friction and heat and a stunning, shuddering release.

 
    C HAPTER N INE
    S he lay next to him, naked and languid on the lumpy straw mattress. Her body was beautiful. Luscious .
    Her eyes were half closed, lips slightly curved. Her chest rose and fell with each even breath—breasts rising and falling—and he enjoyed watching the bluish daylight mix with the reddish flicker of the fire to dance over her skin. His thoughts moved with those patterns of light. Curving, undulating.
    He traced his finger around the swell of her breasts, around the nipples. It was still early, just barely after noon. The lumber he’d ordered for the floors and roof would arrive in the morning. Her skin was soft but firm. Along the shadow of her clavicles. Down her chest to the small indentation at her belly. But there was still work he needed to do to prepare.
    Her skin was so smooth. He laid his palm flat on the slight downward slope, felt the pulse of her blood flowing mix with the rhythm of his. God, she was beautiful.
    His fingers trailed lower, to the damp curls at the apex of her thighs. He glanced back up, found her eyes wide open now, intent. Heat gathered. He felt his body stirring.
    But his gaze caught on her leather book in which she had spent hours sketching. He reached for it, untied the knot of the strap. She sat up with a start, grabbing the book away.
    â€œThat’s mine,” she said sharply, all the lovely languor gone.
    â€œYes, I should have asked,” he admitted, settling his hand on her leg instead, stroking the soft skin as if he could coax her back into post-coital gentleness.
    She relaxed, set the book aside, and leaned back on her arms. “Keep touching me and I’ll forgive you.”
    He caressed her body slowly, savoring the feel of her firm flesh under his palms. Lowered his mouth to her inner thigh. Listened to her gasp and push at him as if the sensation were too much.
    He looked up at her. “I would love to see your drawings. Won’t you share them with me?”
    She pressed her lips firmly together and looked away. He