Page 53 of Broken Beyond Repair
Her middle finger traced around the woman’s side, causing her skin to goose-pimple in reaction. She reached for a bare breast and cupped it. A light squeeze prized a moan from Beatrice.
Sydney pressed her body into her back, closing the gap between them. Her other hand reached around for the other breast. She lightly caressed them, their warmth penetrating her palms and her heart. Teasing Beatrice’s nipples between her thumb and forefinger, elicited a cry of pleasure from the bewitching beauty.
Drawing her lips in, she moistened them before pressing them hard against the nape of Beatrice’s neck, causing the breathless woman to arc her head back and moan again. Sydney’s lips teased her skin.
Releasing one breast, she slowly slid her hand down to Beatrice’s belly and pulled her into her. With Beatrice’s butt firmly pressed against her groin, the pulsing the woman was already causing in that area quickened.
Her hand slipped lower, under the waistline of the dress down to where she expected to find the material of an undergarment, instead finding soft hair. A gasp escaped her own lips as she realised Beatrice was completely naked under the dress. Her fingers desired more, reaching lower until they became moistened, and Beatrice let out a soft whimper.
“Not yet,” she gasped, turning around. She pulled Sydney into her, whispering into her ear as she lightly nibbled her earlobe. “I want you first, Sydney. I want every inch of you.”
Beatrice pushed Sydney back. The backs of her knees collided with the diamond-tufted brown leather ottoman that hogged the centre of the dressing room. Sydney dropped down onto it, finding herself face to face with Beatrice’s belly. She pulled it toward her, kissing it as she reached around for the zip, eager to see every inch of Beatrice.
Her fingers pinched the metal zip again and pulled, causing the dress to slip down over the remainder of her elegant frame. With all of Beatrice in her sight, she swallowed, her mouth watering in desperation for a taste of her. As the dress hit the ground, Beatrice stepped out of it and pushed it aside.
“Beatrice, where’s your cast?”
“What cast?” Beatrice replied.
Sydney opened her eyes to the familiar sight of her ceiling and sucked in a breath.
Fuck!
She gulped, feeling almost teary as she ached for the reality of the dream.
It was hardly surprising she dreamed about Beatrice; she was all she’d thought about for days. The nature of the dream was a little unexpected, yet welcome. After their closeness yesterday, when Beatrice finally opened up a little more, Sydney hadn’t been able to help reaching out to her physically to give her some relief. Of course, she was unsure if she was soothing Beatrice or herself at that point.
She was grateful Beatrice snapped her out of her enjoyment of the massage before she went too far. She’d reached the stage where real life was starting to blend with her desires. The dream was not going to help with that problem.
She could still feel herself throbbing, and a glance at her watch told her there were ten minutes before she needed to get Beatrice up for their trip to the harbour. Five minutes was all she needed. She closed her eyes, if she couldn’t subconsciously finish that dream, she was damn well going to finish it consciously.
CHAPTER22
Beatrice lifted her sunglasses onto the top of her head and glared at Sydney as she pulled up beside the front door.
“Not the horse box!”
“Yes, we’re taking her to a friend who’s going to put a new engine in her.”
Beatrice was about to object when Sydney put in first.
“You said it was my choice where we went, and you didn’t stipulate the method of transport, so shush. I need to pop this into the house first.”
Sydney extracted a strange object with wheels from the back of Gertie.
“What on earth is that contraption for?”
“You. It’s a scooter. You’ll be able to fly around downstairs now.”
Beatrice’s face contorted as she tried to suppress an element of delight. “And if one does not wish to fly around one’s house?”
“Then one can continue to move very, very slowly instead.”
With a bit of heave-ho, mostly on Sydney’s part, Beatrice dropped onto the passenger seat. She was astonished by the cosiness of the camper. She’d keep that to herself; she was enjoying teasing Sydney about the state of her mobile shed far too much to compliment it.
Unsure of what she was expecting from a journey in a sardine can, she was relieved to find it smooth, though that may have had more to do with the speed at which they were driving.
“I know you said you could move me,” she began. “Do you think you could move me over thirty miles per hour? I feel like the pope. I’ll have the urge to start waving soon if we don’t pick up speed.”
