Page 62 of Murder on the SS Leviathan
She hoped to find out. Surely she would, before long, though he didn’t seem in any hurry to shed his clothes.
Kneeling beside the tub, he lathered the soap then brought his palm to her breasts, his fingers attentive to each slippery peak. Brazenly, she watched the effect upon her skin, her nipples stiffening, turning from palest pink to a deeper tone, the blood rushing at his touch.
He must feel, surely, how her breathing had hastened, and how her back arched, wanting his hands upon her.
He moved lower, sliding his palm down her side, across the contour of her hip, then lightly to her belly, until he found her soft curls. She caught her breath as he cupped her and, instinctively, bent her knee.
‘I won’t hurt you. I promise.’
When he parted her, she gasped at the intrusion—though it was what she’d yearned for. Stroking inside, he moved gradually deeper; and all the while, his thumb pressed and circled her swollen bud.
It was different from when she’d done this for herself. She’d no control of the pressure exerted, nor the speed at which the caress was given—but that only made it more exciting.
With each stroke, she felt herself surrendering, lost to sensation, aware only of her body seeking pleasure and Lance giving it, feeding her passion.
Her body was relaxing, letting him touch her more profoundly, throbbing with the need for him to do so.
She dipped back her head, so that her hair fanned in the water and her breasts rose through the suds.
With a groan, Lance bent to suckle, taking the soft flesh deep, catching her nipple between his tongue and the roof of his mouth.
She whimpered, for the strength of his desire was tortuous, inflicting a sharp tug that was exquisite pain, and the same piercing ache burned through her sex.
She lifted her hips and cried out, placing her hand firmly over his, holding him as heat radiated through her belly, coursing through her spine and limbs.
She was sparking and shimmering, tightening and pulsing, pushing against each sensation. All the while, he held still, his mouth upon her breast, his fingers inside her body, while she took shuddering breaths.
* * *
Cecile’s lips were swollen from his kisses, her eyes drowsy. He was tempted to strip off and climb in with her, but the tub wasn’t really big enough for two.
For experienced lovers, there would be positions, and ways, to make it work—but this was all new to Cecile. He wanted to lay her out on the quilt, where she’d be more comfortable.
With flushed cheeks, she took his hand, letting him help her from the water—partly covering herself, shyly, though it made little sense after all she’d shown him of her passion.
Taking up a towel, he dried her hair, then pressed its softness to her skin—to all he was hungry to touch and taste.
He wanted to bury his face in her breast, then trail his kisses to her belly and the lush curve of hip and thigh. He wanted to bite the roundedness of her behind and open her legs to his tongue.
But that would be running too fast, and he’d no desire to end up taking her on the hard marble of the bathroom floor.
Instead, he lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the bed.
As avidly as he’d watched her undress, she did the same, making no attempt to hide her interest.
His shirt he was obliged to remove slowly and he saw her frown. A quick glance assured him of what he already knew: the bruising was extensive. Tomorrow, he’d be purple on both sides, but he was moving more easily now he was warm again. He’d gotten away without broken bones.
As his britches came down and his underpants with them, Cecile’s eyes widened but she looked more eager than scared.
From the moment she’d bared herself, his cock had taken on a life of its own. Soaping her beautiful breasts had nearly done for him…and when she’d reached her glorious peak from just his fingers.
Goddamn. He was harder than a fence post.
He’d every intention of making this pleasurable for her, but the truth was he’d likely only last a handful of thrusts before spilling. He’d just have to do better next time, proving to her how wonderful this part of their loving was going to be.
He climbed next to where she lay and pulled her to him, wanting to feel her softness, skin to skin. She hooked her foot round his calf and that simple movement made the cradle for his pelvis against hers. If she bent her knee higher, his shaft would slide right where it wanted to be.
Not that he was going to let that happen yet.
