She acted completely on instinct, closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around him. He was unresponsive for a long beat, as though she’d taken him by surprise, then his arms went around her in turn.
Her breasts were pressed to his chest and every breath she took was filled with the smell of his aftershave but there was nothing sexual about their embrace. She was offering him a little comfort, and he was accepting it. It was as small and simple as that.
He was strong and warm and male and his mouth moved gently against hers, his kiss provocative and soothing at the same time. Her hands found his shoulders, her fingers gripping muscle and bone. She felt the brush of his tongue against her lips, then he was inside her, hot and wet and demanding, and a part of herself she’d pushed down deep inside came roaring to life.
Sarah MayberryJust when she was about to scream with frustration he flexed his hips and slid inside her. Her body welcomed him as he buried himself to the hilt. She let out a broken little sob, almost tearful over how good it felt to be filled by him, how hard and thick and hot he felt inside her.
He started to move, and within seconds she’d found his rhythm. Every clumsy sexual encounter she’d ever had, every second of self-consciousness over her body or her own needs, every doubt she’d ever experienced went out the window as she gave herself over to the moment.
He leaned closer and she swallowed the rest of her words as he pressed a kiss to her lips. He lifted his head slightly and looked into her eyes. She stared back at him, stunned, her heart thudding against her breastbone. He palmed the nape of her neck, and then he was kissing her again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth this time, turning her legs to jelly.
She pressed her body against his, her skin on fire, desire beating a tattoo through her veins. His tongue stroked hers gently, provocatively, and she reached out and gripped his shoulders with both hands.
After a long, long moment he drew back. “Come home with me?” he asked very quietly, his voice a low husk.
Dear God, I thought you’d never ask.
He pulled her close and kissed her the way he’d been wanting to for weeks. There was the smallest of hesitations then she kissed him back, her body straining toward his almost desperately. She tasted of salty tears and need and he tightened his arms around her, wanting to take away the pain he’d caused her, needing to make things right between them.
Sarah MayberryWhy did you lift your top the other night in my office? Why did you flash your breasts at me like that?” he asked, his voice very low, his grey eyes intent on her.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Liar,” he said, and then he closed the distance between them and his hands were cupping her face and his mouth was lowering toward hers and her heart was beating so hard and fast it was a wonder it didn’t explode.
Martin smiled, the slow curve of his mouth revealing a dimple in his left cheek.
Violet frowned, as she did every time she saw that dimple.
It didn’t belong on his face. It was as simple as that. Dimples were impish and mischievous. They spoke of laughter and pleasure, not three piece suits and pipes and slippers and cardigans with elbow patches.
I’m sorry, I have to move. I have to. You’re so bloody tight. So good,” he groaned, his face distorted with need.
He started to pump into her, long, powerful thrusts, the slap of flesh on flesh and the wet rush of their bodies moving together mingling with their ragged breathing. Everywhere she touched him he was hard as granite, as though every muscle in his body was straining toward completion. She’d never felt more desired, more wanted, more wanton or sexy in her life and she felt her own desire rising higher with every stroke.
Her perfume enveloped him as he reached for her. His hands smoothed over soft fabric before finding the warmth of her skin. She lifted her mouth to his and kissed him hungrily, greedily.
She tasted so good. Like sin. Like every dirty thought he’d ever had.
A tip for you-Little Miss Innocent routine only works when there's a credible belief that innocence is possible.
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