Read Online The Water's Kiss by Harper Alibeck - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Harper Alibeck
Tags: Romance
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unclasped the first six in less than a minute, all while slaking his thirst for her, mouth exploring hers, tongue like a cartographer’s, making a map line by line, stroke by stroke, memorizing the topography of her lips, her tongue, her teeth.
Enough of her dress was undone such that he pulled the sleeves off and down, exposing rosy nipples that made him groan, the shock of his tongue there enough to add Claire’s moan to the mix. The waterfall provided a thunderous backdrop for all they explored, the rumble a soothing legato that allowed her to focus on the melody of temptation and tantalizing flesh.
He kissed her breasts and moved below, mouth on the soft underbelly of each mound of flesh, kissing and nipping in such a manner that soon she found herself drenched between her legs, the feeling of potential so round and rich she nearly begged him for release. Then his mouth traveled lower as he rolled her skirts up, lips kissing her thighs, and she pulled back.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, unaware of his intentions. His mouth was headed for places she knew were not decent, knew no mouth need touch.
He grinned, eyes full of mischief and lust. “In Paris I learned some...ways that are all too pleasing to women,” he said. “Let my mouth be your waterfall, Claire.” And with that he resumed his kisses, traveling to the rosebud she felt blooming in her womanhood, and as his tongue flitted there – no, there – and there – she shot into an instant frenzy that subsided only minutes later as she found herself hissing his name, fingers clenching fists of his hair, body writhing in sweet agony and climax.
Then, with a practiced hand, he unleashed himself, pulled up her skirts, and straddled her, his eyes raking over her body, his throat making a low sound of love. “Claire, I do so love you,” he said, kissing her, giving her a taste of herself.
She knew what he wanted and wanted it, too, her body still shaking from whatever magic he had just performed with that voluptuous mouth. And yet...
“I cannot, Evan! Oh, how I wish I could! I cannot become with child.”
He looked like he expected the answer and said, “Maybe I should give you a baby, Claire. Imagine. Your father would have no choice. He would have to let us marry.”
She stopped short, horrified. “You wish to make me pregnant on purpose to trap Papa?”
“I wish to make you my wife. If your father is an obstacle and the only way to overcome that obstacle is to give you a baby, then so be it. We love each other. I am a respectable man from a family that was perfectly fine two years ago. We might have a whiff of scandal but a quick marriage will put end to all rumors. What say you?”
He had propped himself up on one elbow, his free hand now teasing her exposed nipple, and the moment was so real, so unpretentious and so divinely comfortable, as if she were meant to lay exposed on the moss by a quiet waterfall and make love to this man, a man her father forbade her from marrying.
Having a baby was inevitable; she would be pregnant within a short time of marriage, she suspected, like Sara. Most women seemed heavy with child by the middle of their second year of marriage, though her sister Celia was an aberration; three years, nearly four now, without an heir. Celia’s issue (or lack thereof) was neither here nor there; she banished the thought. Being pregnant would happen with or without Evan. And with Evan was quite appealing as he made the case for violating all she had been taught and giving her honor to him before marriage.
Evan was right. If she were made pregnant, she would tell Mama, who would tell Papa, who would demand to know the father. She would swear it was not forced and then Papa would have no choice; to avoid scandal, he would have to let them marry.
She threw her arms about Evan’s neck and kissed his temple. “Brilliant!” she cried out. “I, I feel that it is wicked and wrong and shameful and I should never do such a
Enough of her dress was undone such that he pulled the sleeves off and down, exposing rosy nipples that made him groan, the shock of his tongue there enough to add Claire’s moan to the mix. The waterfall provided a thunderous backdrop for all they explored, the rumble a soothing legato that allowed her to focus on the melody of temptation and tantalizing flesh.
He kissed her breasts and moved below, mouth on the soft underbelly of each mound of flesh, kissing and nipping in such a manner that soon she found herself drenched between her legs, the feeling of potential so round and rich she nearly begged him for release. Then his mouth traveled lower as he rolled her skirts up, lips kissing her thighs, and she pulled back.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, unaware of his intentions. His mouth was headed for places she knew were not decent, knew no mouth need touch.
He grinned, eyes full of mischief and lust. “In Paris I learned some...ways that are all too pleasing to women,” he said. “Let my mouth be your waterfall, Claire.” And with that he resumed his kisses, traveling to the rosebud she felt blooming in her womanhood, and as his tongue flitted there – no, there – and there – she shot into an instant frenzy that subsided only minutes later as she found herself hissing his name, fingers clenching fists of his hair, body writhing in sweet agony and climax.
Then, with a practiced hand, he unleashed himself, pulled up her skirts, and straddled her, his eyes raking over her body, his throat making a low sound of love. “Claire, I do so love you,” he said, kissing her, giving her a taste of herself.
She knew what he wanted and wanted it, too, her body still shaking from whatever magic he had just performed with that voluptuous mouth. And yet...
“I cannot, Evan! Oh, how I wish I could! I cannot become with child.”
He looked like he expected the answer and said, “Maybe I should give you a baby, Claire. Imagine. Your father would have no choice. He would have to let us marry.”
She stopped short, horrified. “You wish to make me pregnant on purpose to trap Papa?”
“I wish to make you my wife. If your father is an obstacle and the only way to overcome that obstacle is to give you a baby, then so be it. We love each other. I am a respectable man from a family that was perfectly fine two years ago. We might have a whiff of scandal but a quick marriage will put end to all rumors. What say you?”
He had propped himself up on one elbow, his free hand now teasing her exposed nipple, and the moment was so real, so unpretentious and so divinely comfortable, as if she were meant to lay exposed on the moss by a quiet waterfall and make love to this man, a man her father forbade her from marrying.
Having a baby was inevitable; she would be pregnant within a short time of marriage, she suspected, like Sara. Most women seemed heavy with child by the middle of their second year of marriage, though her sister Celia was an aberration; three years, nearly four now, without an heir. Celia’s issue (or lack thereof) was neither here nor there; she banished the thought. Being pregnant would happen with or without Evan. And with Evan was quite appealing as he made the case for violating all she had been taught and giving her honor to him before marriage.
Evan was right. If she were made pregnant, she would tell Mama, who would tell Papa, who would demand to know the father. She would swear it was not forced and then Papa would have no choice; to avoid scandal, he would have to let them marry.
She threw her arms about Evan’s neck and kissed his temple. “Brilliant!” she cried out. “I, I feel that it is wicked and wrong and shameful and I should never do such a
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