High Energy by Joy, Dara (ink book reader .TXT) 📗

Victorian. One room had

been turned into a cozy library with a huge marble fireplace fronted by couches

and chairs. The remains of late afternoon tea were still evident on the

sideboard. A half-finished chess game waited patiently for completion on a low

table by the window.

When they checked in, the friendly innkeeper gave them a brief history of the

house, informing them that all the rooms were named after famous people. When

Zanita learned that Tyber had requested the Errol Flynn room, she looked at him

askance. He just put his arm around her as he led her up the stairs, saying,

"How could I resist?"

Zanita sighed as she viewed the sumptuous room.

It was utterly beautiful.

Gabled windows were open to fresh air and rolling Vermont hills, displaying the

vibrant colors of fall. The center of the room sported a massive brass bed,

which was indeed one-hundred-and-twenty years old. It was covered with an

antique, hand-crocheted spread.

The promised fireplace of gold marble faced the bed. Two overlarge Queen Anne

chairs flanked the raised hearth of the fireplace. A large red oriental rug

graced the floor.

The walls, floors, and ceilings were all of golden marble.

Zanita eyed the sunken marble tub in the bathroom. "Now I know why they call it

the Errol Flynn room." Tyber came up behind her to peer over her head.

"It does give the imagination healthy exercise, doesn't it?" he murmured,

bending down to nip her shoulder.

She glanced up at him, grinning impishly. "What time do we have to be at

LaLeche's digs, Captain Blood?"

"Bring me to a hotel room and that's the first thing you think of." A dimple

curved his cheek. "And you women wonder why men are so skittish about these

things." His hands rested on her shoulders as he turned her to him.

"Unfortunately, we don't have time."

The back of Tyber's hand smoothed the hair from the side of her face; he bent

toward her, placing a sizzling kiss in the hollow at the base of her throat.

"No?" She ran her fingers through the tawny strands of his hair, massaging his

scalp, bringing him a little closer to her.

"No," he affirmed as his tongue lazily traced the line of her collarbone in

slow, languorous strokes.

She sucked in her breath. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure," he whispered, right before his mouth pressed heatedly against her

own. His fingers began to nimbly unbutton her blouse.

"I see."

He emphatically stated, "We need to stop this right now, Zanita." At the same

time his hand closed firmly over her breast.

"Okay." She went up on tiptoe to delicately suckle on his enticing lower lip.

He made a low sound, somewhere between ecstasy and agony, deep in his throat.

Unconsciously, he returned the favor by rotating his palm around her hardened

nipple. His action incited Zanita to lean into him, rubbing against his arousal,

which was now straining the seams of his jeans.

"I mean it; we don't have time!" he growled. So saying, he immediately fell to

his knees in front of her, his hands seeking the waistband of her pants.

Zanita couldn't help but smile. "I get the message, Tyber. It's definitely no."

"Now that we've got that straightened out—" He quickly unzipped her jeans, his

lips scalding the trail in a burning, fiery tasting. Zanita felt his scorching

breath right through the silk of her underpants. Her knees immediately buckled.

Tyber's strong hands caught her about the thighs to support her, taking the

opportunity dip his hot, roving tongue into her belly button. Her fingers

clutched the top of his head. "Tyber."

Tyber's arms flinched, but remained in an unyielding grip around her thighs. He

rested his damp forehead against her bare midriff while he tried valiantly to

regain some measure of control. Great gulps of air shuddered through his heaving

chest. Several seconds ticked by.

He failed.

And knew it.

He groaned in needless explanation against the flat of her stomach, "This is

what is called a core meltdown, baby." Suddenly he yanked her jeans and panties

down and off with one decisive stroke of his hands.

Without waiting, he unzipped his jeans and brought her down right on top of him

while he was still kneeling on the bathroom floor.

He slid into her like a steel pylon through molten ore.

It was the first time since she had gotten over her flu; they were both primed

and ready. Zanita threw her head back, clutching his broad shoulders under the

red flannel of his shirt, which now hung open to his waist.

"God, Tyber, you feel… oh, God, Tyber!"

It was all Tyber had to hear in his present condition.

He went nova.

The flat of his hands drew her closer to him as he surged up inside her. "So

good, baby… you're so good, so good," he croaked.

"I want to feel your tongue inside my mouth." He cupped her head, bringing her

face up to his.

Zanita buried her tongue inside him.

Tyber drew on it voraciously, letting her taste him as well.

Relentlessly, he was moving ever stronger and faster inside her. He began

kissing her all over her face, wildly, desperately. She did the same to him.

They writhed against each other, clutching, kissing, cleaving to one another in

an increasing conflagration. It was pagan, reckless passion.

They were out of control.

Zanita cried out. Tyber cried out. They rocketed.

Still gasping for breath, Tyber clasped his arms around Zanita and fell

backwards onto the marble floor of the bathroom. Zanita lay draped over his

chest, completely undone.

"I don't know how you do that to me, Curls." His hand still shook in aftermath

as he ran it caressingly over her short, springy hair.

Zanita braced her palms against his chest, slowly levering herself up to look

him in the eye. "How I do that to you? You're the one who said we didn't have

the time, and the next thing I know it's nuclear winter."

He chuckled. "I did sort of go up in flames, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did." Smiling, she grazed his cleft chin. "I liked it."

He smiled back. "I did, too." He kissed her very sweetly.

Unfortunately, because of their bathroom romp, they had to have an abbreviated

version of dinner, which upset the innkeeper, who had a very talented, very

touchy chef. His feelings were somewhat mollified when they explained to him

that they had an engagement to attend—it was not a reflection on the

wine-poached shrimp and peach brandy tart.

After