Candice Hern Read Online Free Page A

If she had not been pressed tight between the wall and his firm body, she would have collapsed. She was vaguely aware of the rustle of silk as he pushed up her chiton and slid his hand up her bare leg. Cool night air touched the skin of her calves, then her thighs, as he raised the hem all the way to her waist. The warmth of that bold hand against cool skin, the touch of his bare thigh against hers, and finally the velvety weight of his erection against her belly caused her to cry out. He muffled her cry with his mouth, taking her in a deep kiss.
    What remained of her reason, her dignity, her sanity, evaporated in that moment. Yielding to her body's urgent demands, she brazenly pressed herself against him, adjusting her weight to take him inside her. She was wet and throbbing and ready for him. Impatient. Eager.
    "Steady," he said. "Like this."
    He reached down and grasped her behind one knee, lifting her leg and guiding it around his waist. Her sex was now boldly open to him, but he did not invade it yet. Instead, he teased it and fondled it, first with deft fingers and then with the head of his penis, until she was slick and aching and mad with wanting him. She let out a plaintive cry, and he moved his hand behind her and lifted her buttocks. And with a single swift stroke, he was suddenly deep inside her.
    Desire tore away reason, dragging her down beneath shame, beneath propriety, beneath intellect. She squirmed against the wall and wrapped her leg more tightly around him. He set up a slow rhythm, pulling almost completely out of her before pushing all the way in again, and she arched up into the ecstasy he gave her.
    Involuntary coos of pleasure escaped her with each breath, little moans of pure bliss that matched the cadence of his thrusts.
    She felt his mouth smile against hers. Then he said something, a word she did not understand or could not quite hear over the rasp and pace of her own breathing. "What?" she asked between breaths, not really caring if he answered.
    " Jataveshtitaka ," he said, and increased the tempo of their rhythm. "The twining of a creeper."
    She had no idea what he was talking about, but it did not matter. She lifted to meet every thrust and the faster the rhythm, the harder her spine was slammed against the wall. Apparently realizing she was being bruised, he reached both hands behind her and cupped her buttocks, holding her away from the wall.
    The faster he moved, the more tension built inside her until she thought she would break into pieces. She would die of pleasure, surely she would die. And yet it drove her, this impending demise, for she knew where it led and, dear God, she wanted it. All thought, all awareness, was cast aside in an effort to end this unbearable ache. Her inner muscles gripped him tightly and he let out a moan. She pushed up against him, harder and harder, in search of completion.
    And it came. In an explosion of sensation so powerful her entire body shook with it. Beatrice threw her head back and was about to scream when his mouth covered hers and muffled the sound. A few seconds later his frenzied thrusts came to a halt and he pulled out of her. She felt hot liquid dribble down her thigh.
    Dazed and disoriented, she fell limp against the wall, her sex still pulsing. One tiny, lucid corner of her brain was grateful that at least one of them had the sense to consider the consequences of what they did. She had been too far gone to think so rationally.
    "Dear God," he said, his breath coming in pants and puffs as he leaned over her, arms bracketed against the wall. "Or should I say dear goddess ? My sweet Artemis, you have killed me after all."
    He kissed her softly, then stepped away. Beatrice closed her eyes and tried to make sense of what had just happened, what she'd allowed to happen.
    She began to tremble a little in the aftermath. Or was it the cool night air? Or the sudden realization that she'd lost all sense of decency and been sexually intimate with a perfect