Postcards At Christmas. Cara Colter

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СКАЧАТЬ he wrapped both arms around her. He pulled her against him, his heat and hardness all along the back of her, his manhood pressing into her, making her moan, making her little red panties wet.

      He cradled her breasts. It felt...so good. She let out a long sigh, and her head fell back to rest against the hard muscles of his chest. “Should I...take off my shoes?”

      He kissed her ear. “No. Leave them on. There is nothing so fine as a beautiful woman in red satin shoes.”

      A beautiful woman. He meant her, Lucy. And she knew it was just Dami, just how he was. He had all the right words to make a woman want him, and he didn’t hesitate to use them—and somehow when he used them, he made her believe him. He made her absolutely certain that she was every bit as beautiful and desirable as he kept saying she was.

      He continued to caress her, first dipping his thumbs into the cups of her bra, easing the semisheer fabric out of the way so her breasts came free. She looked down at his big dark hands holding her breasts, rolling the nipples. At the narrow white gleam of her heart-surgery scar.

      And it was so wonderfully unreal, so perfectly erotic. So totally thrilling in an otherworldly kind of way. Her hips were moving, rubbing back against him. And he kept on touching her.

      Her bra fell away. She let out a small cry of surprise. He only growled low in his throat and scraped his teeth along the ridge of her shoulder, easing his mouth into the curve of her throat, sucking a little.

      She brought her hand up and back, hungry to touch him. Wrapping her fingers around his nape, she eased them up into his thick dark hair.

      Time flew away. His hands were everywhere and she gloried in their knowing, hot glide over every inch of her. She had his strong, tall body at her back to steady her. And she was suddenly liquid and moving, rocking slow and loving it, as his hands moved lower, pressing at her belly, fingers easing under the elastic of her panties, finding the heart of her.

      One finger drifted in where she was wet and hot and hungry. He worked such shimmering magic on her willing flesh. She was wild by then, completely outside herself. Her panties were gone, ruined—he had taken the narrow elastic on both sides and torn it so he could more easily remove them from between her shaking thighs.

      And then she was naked except for her red shoes, naked with Dami, standing in front of him, her hips rocking back against his hardness, in the dim light by the wide bed.

      He took her thighs and gently guided them wider, using his strong legs to support her as he did it so she didn’t stumble in her high heels. And then he was there again, his brilliant fingers stroking her, doing the most amazing things to her wet, needful flesh. He eased one finger inside. And then another, stretching her in the most delightful, thrilling way.

      And she was...riding. Riding his strong hands, riding his big body behind her. She was making such a racket, moaning and sighing. And she didn’t even care. Didn’t care about anything but his hardness at her back and his fingers within her. And the low words he whispered to her. Hot, wicked encouragements, praise for her heat and her wetness, her body’s hunger, her greediness...

      There was a light. A light that curled through her, burning, somehow liquid. It grew outward in a widening coil. It filled her and flowed out the top of her head, streamed from her fingertips, poured through the soles of her red shoes.

      And then it intensified. It was all heat and wet and it was centering down in the core of her, gathering tight where he stroked her, where he made her body open for him, open and burn.

      She felt the moment. She knew it, the secret thing she’d never shared with a man before: her climax. It shuddered through her, over her, drowning her in waves of glory.

      Dami stayed with her, those wonderful fingers seeming to know what to do, when to keep stroking her. And when to go still, to hold her, to press just the right spot as the pulsing became a shimmer again, a slow, lovely fade into something so perfectly, wonderfully easy and loose.

      He had his arm around her waist again. And then he was turning her, scooping her up high against his chest.

      She wrapped her arms around his neck and offered her mouth to him. He took it in a slow, thorough kiss as he laid her down on blue satin and then stretched out beside her, easing an arm under her head, gathering her into him, her cheek against his chest, her hand over his heart.

      His lips touched her hair again, a kiss both tender and firm.

      She closed her eyes for a time. The room was so quiet. His body was big and warm, her own personal heater.

      When she looked again, he was watching her through eyes that were black now, limitless and so deep.

      She lifted up on an elbow and gazed down at him. He returned her look out of the center of some wonderful stillness. She marveled, “Dami, this is just how I pictured it, only better. I mean, what you did to me was so hot. And now I’m lying here naked with you in this big manly bed of yours.”

      “My bed is manly?” He seemed pleased.

      “Oh, definitely. Yes. But the point is, it’s okay, you know? You and me, naked, together. It’s comfortable, easy. Good.” By then she was waving the arm she wasn’t leaning on. One wide sweeping gesture bopped him on the nose. “Oops.”

      He only laughed. “I’m glad you’re happy. But please don’t break my nose.”

      “Sorry. I promise, I’ll be careful.” It seemed only natural to let her hand drift lower. He was still hard. She traced the muscles of his belly—but hesitated to touch that most manly part of him. She couldn’t help asking, “Does it hurt to be so big and hard?”

      He gave her that beautiful half smile of his. “In a good way, yes.”

      “Do you need...?”

      His smile went full-out. “Over the years, I find more and more pleasure in this particular sort of suffering. I enjoy the ache. I find that getting there really is a lot of the fun, that sometimes the longer it takes, the more satisfying the conclusion.”

      She really did want to touch it. “Is it all right if I...?”

      “Yes.” Gruff. Low. Like the purr of some big sleek wild animal, no less dangerous for being easy and loose, relaxing in his lair.

      She explored at her leisure, loving the smooth, silky feel of his skin there, the flared mushroom shape of the head. He lay very still as she touched him and his breathing changed, becoming faster, shallower. When she bent to kiss him, he let out a low groan.

      That made her smile as she lowered her mouth on him and took him inside. He whispered encouragements. She knew she wasn’t doing that good of a job. But he never complained. He eased his fingers into her hair, curving them around the back of her neck as she took him in and then let him out nice and slow. He didn’t try to take control. His hold was loose, gentle. And she liked that so much.

      It made her feel powerful and sexy and womanly. Her mouth surrounding him, her hand wrapped around him, she was running that show.

      Running it all the way to the finish, as it turned out. Beneath her hand, she felt him pulsing. His body stiffened. He let out a low, deep moan. “Luce, you should let me...”

      No way. She was doing this and she was doing it right. She stayed СКАЧАТЬ