Diana Palmer Friends and Lovers 02 Rage of Passion

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"But I don't..." she whispered unsteadily.
He poised there, his pale eyes narrow and flashing as they met hers. "Say my name," he breathed
roughly.
"Gabe..."
As the syllable faded, he took it into his mouth, her eyelids trembled and then closed. It was nothing
like before. His lips were hard and warm but softly probing this time, brushing, lifting, savoring in a
sweet tasting that was beyond her experience of men.
"That's it," he whispered against her slowly parting lips. "That's right, let me have your mouth, I won't
hurt it this time."
A tiny, soundless sob broke as he parted her lips tenderly and fit his own to them with a warm,
maddening pressure that made her body ache with new and unexpected sensations.
Her hands opened over his shirt, feeling muscle and the soft prickliness of hair underneath their cool
palms. His heart was beating slowly, regularly, until her nails contracted, and then his chest began to
rise and fall quickly.
His lean fingers stroked gently through her hair, tilting her head back, his mouth insistent as it probed
hers in a rhythm that surprised a moan from her.
She felt one of his hands spread against her cheek, and while his mouth was tormenting hers, his
thumb rubbed across her lips, sensitizing them, grazing them against her teeth. She made another
sound, one she didn't even recognize, and her nails bit into his chest.
"Gabriel." Was that whimper coming from her lips? She was reaching up without realizing it, trying
to get closer, to make him kiss her more ardently, more completely.
He obliged her with lazy indulgence, forcing her head back against his shoulder with the hungry but
controlled pressure of his mouth opening on hers. She felt his tongue teasing her lips, tasting their
inner softness, and her body seemed to throb where it sought his.
One lean hand moved then, easing down over her shoulder to the soft blouse, finding only softer
woman beneath it, and no bra—finding a hard peak that aroused him beyond bearing. His hand slid
farther down, over her narrow waist, the curve of her hip, and around to the base of her spine. He
drew her hips in slowly until they merged with his, and he gloried in her sudden trembling as she felt
the fierce arousal of his body.
"No," she pleaded, trying feebly to turn her head. "Oh, you mustn't!"
He didn't insist. His hand slid back up to her face, brushing away the damp hair, tilting her chin so
that he could look into her misty, dazed eyes above a mouth that was parted and softly swollen from
his kisses.
"Was he ever able to make you want him?" he whispered softly.
"No...oh, not ever like this," she sobbed, hating her inability to lie to him.
His fingers caressed her face gently. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about," he said, his voice
deep and slow as he watched her. "You're pretty much a novice, despite your marriage. An
experienced man knows how to make himself acceptable to a woman."
She was still trying to get her breath back, and his body against hers was warm and hard and
welcome. "You've...had women," she whispered, searching the eyes that weren't so hard after all.
He nodded. He looked down at her yielding body, then back up at her parted lips. "And with very
little effort, I could have you," he said quietly. "But that isn't what I want. This was a nonverbal
apology, nothing more. I don't need the practice."
Before she could react to that, he eased her away, steadying her. "Want something to drink?" he asked
then, as casually as if they'd just met.
"A...a brandy."
"Sit down. I'll get it."
She curled up in an armchair, her heart beating wildly, her eyes like green saucers in a face flushed
with unexpected pleasure.
He dashed brandy into two snifters, passed her one, and perched on the arm of her chair while she
sipped at it with jerky motions.
"I...should go home," she burst out, thinking out loud.
"Why?" he asked. "I won't seduce you." He tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes, noting her
scarlet blush, her quickened breathing. "More than likely, I'd get you pregnant," he said with more
amusement than irritation.
"No, you wouldn't," she replied, her voice still a trifle unsteady. "I'm on the pill. I had a slight female
dysfunction, and the doctor put me on it to regulate me. So I'm not...vulnerable that way."
His eyebrows arched and he smiled slowly. "Then suppose you come up to bed with me."
"I don't believe in that kind of thing," she said quietly.
"No wedding ring, no sex?" he taunted. "How old-fashioned of you, Miss Margaret." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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