Joy Ride by Desiree Holt (bill gates best books TXT) 📗

her arms to him and he knelt between creamy thighs, trailing soft kisses over her breasts, stomach, hips. Pressing his face to her tummy, he inhaled deeply, loving the scent that drifted up his nostrils, a heady mixture of light floral and feminine musk. His balls tightened and his swollen cock flexed.

He ran his palms down the length of silken skin from hip to ankle and back again, memorizing the dips and swells of her body. Bending her legs at the knees, he pressed his palms against soft inner flesh, spreading them wide and giving him a view that nearly made him come right then. He stared, looking his fill of the glistening pink pussy flesh darkened from the rush of the recent orgasm, the bud of the swollen clit peeking out at him from its protective hood, the graceful curve of ass where it met thighs….

Jesus!

Marc swallowed, a difficult feat since his mouth was almost totally dry, and allowed himself the pleasure of covering her from neck to mound with a trail of kisses. Now he understood the meaning of that phrase, “I could eat you up with a spoon.” Her skin made satin seem rough, and the scent of it filled his system more intoxicatingly that any whiskey he’d ever had. He lost himself in the dizzying taste of her, the seductive feel of her. This woman was the treat he’d been looking for all his life, and he wanted to make a permanent feast of her.

The little cries of pleasure she made as his mouth traveled over her only turned him on even more until he knew he couldn’t wait another moment to be inside of her. Reaching into the nightstand drawer, he pulled out a condom, tore away the foil wrapper, and sheathed himself. Wrapping his fingers around his cock, he touched it to her opening, rubbing it against her cream to lubricate it.

“Get ready, darlin’.” His voice was thick with raw hunger.

He pressed into her slowly, gaze locked with hers, reading there an answering need. The tight walls of her cunt stretched around him as he filled her, gripping him like a hot, wet fist. For sure.

Holy sweet Jesus!

He’d died and gone to heaven. When he was fully inside her, the rush of pleasure was so perfect he wanted to weep. He looked into her beautiful eyes, the connection between them so profound it scored his very soul. He could stay buried in this woman for the rest of his life.

This is what I always wanted. Not that I have that many notches on my bed post, thank the Lord. Pure sweetness.

Better make it damn good for her, buddy boy.

Marc closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, fighting for the control that was rapidly slipping away from him. Then he began to move, slowly at first, then faster as her body answered his, until they were moving in a rhythm that had its own music. In. Out. In. Out. Faster now. Her legs wrapped around him and pulled him deeper into her wet heat. He felt the trembling inside her surging and intensifying, his eyes watching hers for the signal she was up on that erotic cliff with him.

Yes! There! Panting, she parted her lips slightly, her legs tightening around him, her hips arching up to him. He pumped into her, driving her to the edge with him. More, harder, faster.

“Come on, babe,” he rasped. “You’re gonna take me with you. Just let it go.”

And she did, shattering beneath him.

The tumble into space shocked him with its intensity. He wasn’t aware of anything except a back velvet void, the grip of her pussy around him, and an orgasm that shook every muscle in his body. He couldn’t breathe, and his heart raced madly as he poured himself into the latex reservoir. For the first time since he’d started having sex, he hated the thin barrier that kept him from feeling her skin to skin.

At last, spent, he fell forward, catching his weight on his forearms, dragging air into his lungs. His heart was pounding ferociously, or maybe it was hers. He kissed her—a soft kiss no longer ravenous with hunger—loving the velvet surface of her lips and the electric glide of her tongue against his.

He barely had strength to ease himself from her body and dispose of the condom. Then he was beside her, turning off the lamp, tugging the covers over them, and wrapping his arms around her. He brushed her hair back from her cheek and kissed the soft skin as she snuggled back against him. The curve of her buttocks fitted nicely against his groin.

“Sleep,” he murmured, and closed his eyes.

***

Emma didn’t remember falling asleep, and when she opened her eyes at first she couldn’t figure out where she was. A warm male body was curled around her, a muscular arm thrown across her hip.

Andrew.

But not sleeping on his stomach, his skin her barely touching as usual.

She shifted slightly and realized she was sore in places she didn’t even know she could feel.

What time is it?

She lifted her wrist with the watch on it, but the room was dark so it was impossible to see. Turning her head slightly, her eye caught a bedside clock. Red numerals told her it was just after five.

Wait! Andrew doesn’t have a clock like that.

Tentatively she touched the arm wrapped around her, trying to ease out from beneath. And her heart nearly stopped. This was not Andrew’s arm. She was familiar enough with it that she could tell the difference in how it felt.

Turning on the bedside lamp, she looked at the man lying beside her. A man with a tattooed arm. And for a moment she wanted to scream. Where was she and who was this person?

But then it all came back to her with startling clarity.

Andrew!

The argument.

Frustration with the entire situation. With her life!

Running from his house.

The club, Aftershock.

The bass player whose eyes seemed to see into her very soul.

And