Read Online The Virgin's Auction by Amelia Hart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amelia Hart
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petticoats loosened, eased away.
He switched his attention from one tender nipple to the other and she lay drowning in delight, head tilted far back, eyes closed and body pressed against him. One ribbon at a time he untied her small clothes until at last she was naked to the waist.
With one arm wrapped firmly round her torso, the other hand supporting her head, he stood, lifting her free of her clothing. He walked over to the bed, his mouth still hungrily lavishing her breast. She felt the weightless whirl of her movement in the greater whirl within her head.
He laid her down upon the pillows. She sank deep into their softness as he came down against her, his hard body unyielding behind the fine cloth of his clothes. Her hands were resting on his shoulders, palms shaping the great curves of muscle they found there, hot through thin cambric.
She kept her eyes tightly closed as she arched under his drifting hands.
This was good. She had thought cold acceptance would be right, but this was better. This was making it impossible to dwell on . . . on all the things . . . what things?
She burrowed into the sensations, so extraordinarily intense, such a surprise. She didn’t want to think.
In moments she was utterly lost, her body undulating with his touch. Her hands wrapped themselves deeply in his clothes and tugged, pulling him close to her. He responded as if he knew exactly what she wanted, bringing his weight to rest a little on her.
Instinctively her legs parted and he settled between them. It was so right to have him there; to have the firm man-weight of him there where she had begun to burn. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she kissed him with untutored passion. He returned the kiss, stroking a hand firmly up and down her flank, then scooping it under her buttocks to tilt her hips to a slightly different angle.
“ Ohhhh,” she cried out in wonder as the friction suddenly heightened. He began to move against her, massaging her with his whole body. She clutched at him. This was . . . this was . . . Ah! She had not known.
He was unfastening his own clothing now. Much less complex than her clothes, it did not take him long. Piece after piece it was flung aside to lie somewhere on the floor, completely forgotten. She only registered the change it as a new revelation of his skin.
His bare skin against hers was the most glorious sensation. For long, long minutes they lay together, connected from head to toe on the velvet covers of the wide bed. Their hungry hands roved over each other. Melissa discovered the firm texture of a man, so different from her own softness. Sleek skin laid out over hard muscles, burningly hot.
His smooth hair was satin under her fingers. She pressed him closer, then closer still. Their mouths never parted.
Then he withdrew from her gently, an awful lack. Eyes closed she quested for him, found him inches away, pursued him to press up against him, wanting the return of that drugging mouth, those hands. He obeyed her need, hard palms squeezing and relishing her soft flesh, her confusion swept away in an instant, swamped by a bliss that forestalled thought.
The next time he drew away she followed immediately, instinctively, her eyes still closed tight as if looking at him might break the spell of her own desire. She pressed the puckered tips of her breasts to his chest, crying out at the intensity of the fire that radiated out from those rosy points through her whole body, most particularly that empty place between her legs. A fire intensified by the momentary lack.
Perhaps that was why he broke the contact: to make reconnection more stimulating.
She would not have it. He did not have the right to take away what was hers. She clung to him, wrapped her legs tight about his torso, encouraging his weight to lie just there upon that perfect spot, to soothe the emptiness. Pushing him into place and then rubbing against him.
When he rolled them to their sides, relieving the pressure, she moaned
He switched his attention from one tender nipple to the other and she lay drowning in delight, head tilted far back, eyes closed and body pressed against him. One ribbon at a time he untied her small clothes until at last she was naked to the waist.
With one arm wrapped firmly round her torso, the other hand supporting her head, he stood, lifting her free of her clothing. He walked over to the bed, his mouth still hungrily lavishing her breast. She felt the weightless whirl of her movement in the greater whirl within her head.
He laid her down upon the pillows. She sank deep into their softness as he came down against her, his hard body unyielding behind the fine cloth of his clothes. Her hands were resting on his shoulders, palms shaping the great curves of muscle they found there, hot through thin cambric.
She kept her eyes tightly closed as she arched under his drifting hands.
This was good. She had thought cold acceptance would be right, but this was better. This was making it impossible to dwell on . . . on all the things . . . what things?
She burrowed into the sensations, so extraordinarily intense, such a surprise. She didn’t want to think.
In moments she was utterly lost, her body undulating with his touch. Her hands wrapped themselves deeply in his clothes and tugged, pulling him close to her. He responded as if he knew exactly what she wanted, bringing his weight to rest a little on her.
Instinctively her legs parted and he settled between them. It was so right to have him there; to have the firm man-weight of him there where she had begun to burn. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she kissed him with untutored passion. He returned the kiss, stroking a hand firmly up and down her flank, then scooping it under her buttocks to tilt her hips to a slightly different angle.
“ Ohhhh,” she cried out in wonder as the friction suddenly heightened. He began to move against her, massaging her with his whole body. She clutched at him. This was . . . this was . . . Ah! She had not known.
He was unfastening his own clothing now. Much less complex than her clothes, it did not take him long. Piece after piece it was flung aside to lie somewhere on the floor, completely forgotten. She only registered the change it as a new revelation of his skin.
His bare skin against hers was the most glorious sensation. For long, long minutes they lay together, connected from head to toe on the velvet covers of the wide bed. Their hungry hands roved over each other. Melissa discovered the firm texture of a man, so different from her own softness. Sleek skin laid out over hard muscles, burningly hot.
His smooth hair was satin under her fingers. She pressed him closer, then closer still. Their mouths never parted.
Then he withdrew from her gently, an awful lack. Eyes closed she quested for him, found him inches away, pursued him to press up against him, wanting the return of that drugging mouth, those hands. He obeyed her need, hard palms squeezing and relishing her soft flesh, her confusion swept away in an instant, swamped by a bliss that forestalled thought.
The next time he drew away she followed immediately, instinctively, her eyes still closed tight as if looking at him might break the spell of her own desire. She pressed the puckered tips of her breasts to his chest, crying out at the intensity of the fire that radiated out from those rosy points through her whole body, most particularly that empty place between her legs. A fire intensified by the momentary lack.
Perhaps that was why he broke the contact: to make reconnection more stimulating.
She would not have it. He did not have the right to take away what was hers. She clung to him, wrapped her legs tight about his torso, encouraging his weight to lie just there upon that perfect spot, to soothe the emptiness. Pushing him into place and then rubbing against him.
When he rolled them to their sides, relieving the pressure, she moaned
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