Read Online To Love, Honour and Disobey by Natalie Anderson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Natalie Anderson
Tags: Fiction
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he inched towards her core she moved, the tiniest rocking of her hips. She wanted him to get there. All the way to where she was wet and burning.She groaned. Unable to hold back the incredible need she had for him, the elemental, raw instinct that was driving every caution, every reason from her head.
Suddenly he moved fast, rising above her and pressing onto her body, and she shuddered under his magnificent weight. Mouth open and hungry, she pulled him closer as she let her hips writhe under the wonderfully hard heat of his.
This kiss was utterly erotic—intimate and shamelessly aggressive and she plundered as deeply as he did. She could feel him shaking now too and she swept her hands over him, seeking to touch as much skin as she could. Spreading herself wider beneath his rock-hard body, straining to take him in hand and maximise both their pleasure.
She nipped his wonderfully full top lip. ‘Why are you still wearing your shorts?’
He laughed and pressed harder against her, the wet fabric delightfully stimulating against the soft skin of her inner thighs. ‘Because I don’t want this over too soon.’
‘Haven’t we waited long enough?’
But his weight had gone and his hands gripped hers, holding them to her sides as he knelt over her, kissing his way from one breast to another, teasing her painfully tight nipples with his hot mouth and wickedly sexy tongue. And then that tongue went lower, circling her belly button and its decorative silver ring and then lower still. He lifted a hand and slid that south too, delving fingers into her curve, parting her so he could kiss that most secret, sensitive part of her.
He gripped her hips now, stilling herwrithing enough so he could extract more from her—more tension, more longing, more need.
But the need to touch him rose, too. She lifted her shoulders from the ground, reaching for him and yanking his shorts down. He groaned as he sprang free and she took advantage of his momentary stillness to move—to explore.
She stroked his silken, rigid length with her fingers and heard him swear. She kissed him and felt him shudder. Then he twisted in her hold, moving so he could touch her as intimately as she was him.
He matched his strokes to hers and she revelled in the freedom of giving her hunger free rein. She breathed in the scent of him, licked the salty taste of him, pressed the hardness of him beneath his smooth skin. She savoured the tension she felt rolling off him. Yes, she could torment him too and she relished it. Her actions grew bolder still, more aggressive, faster, frantic—she was desperate for the pleasures of the flesh and for the white-hot orgasm she knew was almost hers. But suddenly he was gone. Half a metre away from her.
‘Ana.’
She whimpered, body trembling with loss. ‘Why have you stopped?’
‘Because I want more than this.’ He tore the packet, sheathed himself with fast, jerky movements.
What more did he want? Mutual pleasure, physical fulfilment—what more was there?
‘I want it all.’ He rose above her, aligning his length to hers as he looked into her eyes. He laced their fingers together and she could feel him there, thick and heavy against her. So close.
Yes, there was more. There was intimacy, there was that baring not just of body, but of soul. That sharing of the most inner self—and the vulnerability that came with it. And he was seeking it—his ice-blue eyes on fire and searching deep into hers.
He thrust deep, sure, hard. She closed her eyes, tried to absorb the hit of feeling as they locked together again—but she couldn’t. Her breath shuddered from her lungs, catching her cry. And in those few moments he regained his control, but hers ebbed. She’d ached for this for too long.
‘Please, oh, please.’ Her fingers pulled at him, nails curled into the hard muscles, and her hips lifted, forcing the rhythm she so desperately craved, wanting him to drive into her.
And then he did, thrusting deep again,
Suddenly he moved fast, rising above her and pressing onto her body, and she shuddered under his magnificent weight. Mouth open and hungry, she pulled him closer as she let her hips writhe under the wonderfully hard heat of his.
This kiss was utterly erotic—intimate and shamelessly aggressive and she plundered as deeply as he did. She could feel him shaking now too and she swept her hands over him, seeking to touch as much skin as she could. Spreading herself wider beneath his rock-hard body, straining to take him in hand and maximise both their pleasure.
She nipped his wonderfully full top lip. ‘Why are you still wearing your shorts?’
He laughed and pressed harder against her, the wet fabric delightfully stimulating against the soft skin of her inner thighs. ‘Because I don’t want this over too soon.’
‘Haven’t we waited long enough?’
But his weight had gone and his hands gripped hers, holding them to her sides as he knelt over her, kissing his way from one breast to another, teasing her painfully tight nipples with his hot mouth and wickedly sexy tongue. And then that tongue went lower, circling her belly button and its decorative silver ring and then lower still. He lifted a hand and slid that south too, delving fingers into her curve, parting her so he could kiss that most secret, sensitive part of her.
He gripped her hips now, stilling herwrithing enough so he could extract more from her—more tension, more longing, more need.
But the need to touch him rose, too. She lifted her shoulders from the ground, reaching for him and yanking his shorts down. He groaned as he sprang free and she took advantage of his momentary stillness to move—to explore.
She stroked his silken, rigid length with her fingers and heard him swear. She kissed him and felt him shudder. Then he twisted in her hold, moving so he could touch her as intimately as she was him.
He matched his strokes to hers and she revelled in the freedom of giving her hunger free rein. She breathed in the scent of him, licked the salty taste of him, pressed the hardness of him beneath his smooth skin. She savoured the tension she felt rolling off him. Yes, she could torment him too and she relished it. Her actions grew bolder still, more aggressive, faster, frantic—she was desperate for the pleasures of the flesh and for the white-hot orgasm she knew was almost hers. But suddenly he was gone. Half a metre away from her.
‘Ana.’
She whimpered, body trembling with loss. ‘Why have you stopped?’
‘Because I want more than this.’ He tore the packet, sheathed himself with fast, jerky movements.
What more did he want? Mutual pleasure, physical fulfilment—what more was there?
‘I want it all.’ He rose above her, aligning his length to hers as he looked into her eyes. He laced their fingers together and she could feel him there, thick and heavy against her. So close.
Yes, there was more. There was intimacy, there was that baring not just of body, but of soul. That sharing of the most inner self—and the vulnerability that came with it. And he was seeking it—his ice-blue eyes on fire and searching deep into hers.
He thrust deep, sure, hard. She closed her eyes, tried to absorb the hit of feeling as they locked together again—but she couldn’t. Her breath shuddered from her lungs, catching her cry. And in those few moments he regained his control, but hers ebbed. She’d ached for this for too long.
‘Please, oh, please.’ Her fingers pulled at him, nails curled into the hard muscles, and her hips lifted, forcing the rhythm she so desperately craved, wanting him to drive into her.
And then he did, thrusting deep again,
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