Read Online The Stars in the Sky (Giving You ... #2) by Leslie McAdam - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Leslie McAdam
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ran to his house, him hot on my heels. He had his keys in his hand by the time we were at front door, unlocking it quickly, pushing me in, and slamming the door shut.
Immediately, I got to work, unbuttoning his shirt, fumbling with his belt buckle, reaching for the button fly of his jeans, trying to do this all at once and kiss him at the same time and getting nowhere.
"How the fuck does this work?" I yelled, during the time I was trying to unhook his I-am-a-cowboy-so-I-must-wear-a-dinner-plate belt buckle, not at all trying to keep my voice down. He was going to learn that I'm a very loud fuck. He took pity on me and whipped his partially-unbuttoned shirt over his head, somehow got his belt and belt buckle off, and started unbuttoning his pants. At this, I noticed something. No waistband of his underwear.
Holy shit, Will went commando.
Before he got his pants unbuttoned more than two or three buttons, however, he leaned over and pulled off his boots and threw them on the ground. I heard them hit the floor with a clump, and then another clump. Meanwhile, I reached for the hem of my dress, sailing it over my head so I was only wearing my navy blue satin thong, a matching bra, and my espadrilles, which had flat, dark blue ribbons criss-crossing up my ankles. He took a step back, stared at me, taking my long-legged body in, as I panted, staring at him, equally taking in his epic body, since by now he was only wearing halfway-unbuttoned jeans and clean white socks. Fuck, he was stunning. We both breathed in and out for a moment, just looking at each other, not touching.
Then.
"C'mon," he grunted, and pulled me to the stairs, holding my hand, letting go once we got there.
Not even taking the time to look at my surroundings any better than I had the first time, other than noticing that it was a very old house, I ran up the creaky wooden staircase after him, breathing hard—for a variety of reasons—by the time I got up to the top.
Apparently I'd taken too long getting up there because he hoisted me up over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, jogged down the hall with me shrieking, went into a room, and threw me down on a bed.
And then his big, warm body was on top of mine, his lips on mine, his cock hard through his jeans, and all of this feeling like it belonged there.
But still, I wanted to be on top.
Our kisses were like we were battling with each other for who was going to prevail, and there was quite a bit of wrestling for position going on. Given his muscles, I figured that he was holding back, because, finally, I wriggled and pushed until I was straddling him, him looking up at me, eyes wild, wavy hair mussed, breathing hard.
I'd no idea what I looked like and I didn't care.
Now on top, where I wanted to be, I took a second to glance around at what must be Will's room. I was in an old-fashioned bedroom with tall, whitewashed walls, several small old-fashioned black and white agricultural pictures on the walls, and a huge, dark wood, antique four-poster bed with a handmade, red and white quilt on top. There was a pile of clothes in the corner and loose change on a dresser top, but otherwise the room appeared neat.
Will immediately interrupted my inspection of his interior design by snaking his hand around my back and expertly unhooking my bra so that my breasts sprung free, pulling my bra off of my arms. And then he let out a breath. Knifing up, he did some sort of twist maneuver so that I was back under him again, and he was kissing my lips, then my neck, then my nipples.
"Goddammit Will, get my fucking shoes off and take off your fucking pants," I yelled.
He laughed, and reached back to untie the ribbons on my shoes, while I sat up and went to work on his pants, again fumbling in my anger and frustration. My shoes were off, one, then the other, and Will got up, looked at me, pulled off his socks, and undid the rest of his pants, letting them drop to the ground.
There he was.
So, remember how I said that
Immediately, I got to work, unbuttoning his shirt, fumbling with his belt buckle, reaching for the button fly of his jeans, trying to do this all at once and kiss him at the same time and getting nowhere.
"How the fuck does this work?" I yelled, during the time I was trying to unhook his I-am-a-cowboy-so-I-must-wear-a-dinner-plate belt buckle, not at all trying to keep my voice down. He was going to learn that I'm a very loud fuck. He took pity on me and whipped his partially-unbuttoned shirt over his head, somehow got his belt and belt buckle off, and started unbuttoning his pants. At this, I noticed something. No waistband of his underwear.
Holy shit, Will went commando.
Before he got his pants unbuttoned more than two or three buttons, however, he leaned over and pulled off his boots and threw them on the ground. I heard them hit the floor with a clump, and then another clump. Meanwhile, I reached for the hem of my dress, sailing it over my head so I was only wearing my navy blue satin thong, a matching bra, and my espadrilles, which had flat, dark blue ribbons criss-crossing up my ankles. He took a step back, stared at me, taking my long-legged body in, as I panted, staring at him, equally taking in his epic body, since by now he was only wearing halfway-unbuttoned jeans and clean white socks. Fuck, he was stunning. We both breathed in and out for a moment, just looking at each other, not touching.
Then.
"C'mon," he grunted, and pulled me to the stairs, holding my hand, letting go once we got there.
Not even taking the time to look at my surroundings any better than I had the first time, other than noticing that it was a very old house, I ran up the creaky wooden staircase after him, breathing hard—for a variety of reasons—by the time I got up to the top.
Apparently I'd taken too long getting up there because he hoisted me up over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, jogged down the hall with me shrieking, went into a room, and threw me down on a bed.
And then his big, warm body was on top of mine, his lips on mine, his cock hard through his jeans, and all of this feeling like it belonged there.
But still, I wanted to be on top.
Our kisses were like we were battling with each other for who was going to prevail, and there was quite a bit of wrestling for position going on. Given his muscles, I figured that he was holding back, because, finally, I wriggled and pushed until I was straddling him, him looking up at me, eyes wild, wavy hair mussed, breathing hard.
I'd no idea what I looked like and I didn't care.
Now on top, where I wanted to be, I took a second to glance around at what must be Will's room. I was in an old-fashioned bedroom with tall, whitewashed walls, several small old-fashioned black and white agricultural pictures on the walls, and a huge, dark wood, antique four-poster bed with a handmade, red and white quilt on top. There was a pile of clothes in the corner and loose change on a dresser top, but otherwise the room appeared neat.
Will immediately interrupted my inspection of his interior design by snaking his hand around my back and expertly unhooking my bra so that my breasts sprung free, pulling my bra off of my arms. And then he let out a breath. Knifing up, he did some sort of twist maneuver so that I was back under him again, and he was kissing my lips, then my neck, then my nipples.
"Goddammit Will, get my fucking shoes off and take off your fucking pants," I yelled.
He laughed, and reached back to untie the ribbons on my shoes, while I sat up and went to work on his pants, again fumbling in my anger and frustration. My shoes were off, one, then the other, and Will got up, looked at me, pulled off his socks, and undid the rest of his pants, letting them drop to the ground.
There he was.
So, remember how I said that
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