"Joanna Wylde - Serendipity" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wylde Joanna)

Unconsciously, Sarai raised one hand to her breast and fingered her hardening nipple.
He had touched her there, too. She remembered the scrape of his finger, back and forth
against her taut flesh. Mirroring his actions with her own fingers, she twisted in her bed as
an ache spread through her body.
He had been so hard.
She dropped her hand lower, searching for the space between her legs that would give
her relief. She hated how much she needed to touch herself, but she knew from experience
that once the ache started, it had to be appeased. Otherwise she would toss and turn for the
rest of the night.
She found the small nub, then started slowly rubbing it, back and forth. Slow and
steady. What was he doing there in the darkness? Did he ache, too? Was he touching
himself like she was? She could just about picture him.
He would be leaning back against the bench, legs splayed out before him. One hand
would drop slowly to the bulge in his crotch, testing it. It would grow, lengthen under his
hand. Would he grip it? Would he work it up and down between his fingers, or simply
finger the head softly?
Her own fingers were moving faster now, and she gave a little whimper at the thought
of the smooth, hard length waiting for her in the darkness.
All she had to do was open the sliding door and she could have him. He would be on
her in a heartbeat, pressing her back against the soft bed. Being kissed by him was an
experience in and of itself. His tongue, thrusting inside her, taking what he wanted. He had
no mercy when he kissed. It was a brand, a mark of ownership. Her lips burned with the
memory.
 She thrust the image from her mind, forcing herself to focus on her own movements.
Thinking of him wouldn't help. It would just make things worse. She needed to focus on the
pleasure she could give herself. She had been massaging her nipple as she rubbed her clit,
but the feelings were becoming more intense now. She couldn't do both things, she couldn't
concentrate. Back and forth, harder and harder. She could feel the pressure building, but she
wanted more.
She wanted him.
His cock was like a pillar of granite. So hard, so deep. He'd plunged into her like he
had something to prove. When he'd come to her that night, it felt like the first time she'd
ever been with a man. He'd stretched her open; she'd been splayed beneath his strength.
Completely helpless, she had no choice but to give into the ecstasy his touch could bring.
Heat rose in her. Her fingers were moving so quickly now that it took all her strength
not to arch up beneath her hand. Was he watching her? She'd pulled the drapes, but they
were all too sheer. Did he know what she was doing?
What would his tongue feel like on her? She could imagine it, slippery and hot, darting
back and forth against her aching center. Would he tease her, bringing her close to the edge
before falling back? Or would he keep moving, bringing her to orgasm time after time?
She'd never felt a man's tongue there, but she'd heard it was a wonderful thing. If only she
could feel something like thatтАж
The pressure was intense now. It pushed against her, and she felt like she was climbing
to the top of a cliff. She could see the end, she was so close to it, but she couldn't quite
make it over. Her fingers flew faster and faster, seeking desperately to provide her with
some relief. She had to get some relief, or she would die. Either that, or she would call out
to him to come to her.
No.
She wouldn't do that.
She pressed harder, her body shaking from the strain of remaining perfectly still. The