Page 77 of Ravishing Camille
She put her fingers to his shirt, dislodging buttons and her lips followed upon his bare skin.
God. He moved in his chair. He had to get up and out of here. But she was devoted, hunger in her lips now and he was gone to the desire she inspired.
He met her with his own madness, tongue in her mouth, the caress of her intimate flesh there what he wanted. Until he had to have more. And he caught her face in his hands. “My darling, you must stop.”
“No,” she whimpered and dropped her face to his shoulder.
“I mean to say, come upstairs.”
“No.” She pulled back, defiance hard on her face.
He would have objected.
But she shot to her feet and grabbed his hand. He followed. Of course, he did. Where else would he go but with her, always.
She led him, a man enthralled, blind to whatever she wanted. She took paces and there before him, she unbuttoned the little hooks down the bodice of her charming gown, pushed the short sleeves from her shoulders and revealed to him the essence of Camille Bereston, naked, stunningly beautiful like a Venus from the sea. Her skin was cream. Perfection. Her arms, long, her fingers, too. Her breasts were full, her nipples large, larger than he had imagined, a pale rose satin he longed to lick and lave. Her waist was trim. Her belly slightly rounded. Her hips wide. Her thighs inviting. Her blonde hair over her mons a sweet v he promised he would honor with his fingers and his tongue.
“You are exquisite, my darling.”
She shivered, her breasts quivering and her huge nipples beckoning him to still her desires with his lips to her there and everywhere.
Her offering deserved his own. He blinked, forcing himself to stop staring at her and do her the service of showing her all of him. He took down his braces, undid the rest of his buttons, tore off his shirt and dropped it to the carpet. His trousers came next and with an assist from her deft fingers, the garment drifted to the floor. But his damn shoes obstructed and for those he had to waddle to the nearest chair. Free, he stood and discarded his underclothes. His garters and socks, too.
But she waited, her arms crossed beneath the lovely wealth of her breasts with those nipples he intended to enjoy for the rest of his life.
He stood and pressed against her. The warm length of her aroused him to painful degrees. His hands cupping her breasts, he bent and took one large pink nipple in his mouth. His tongue ran over the chiffon of her skin and his knees grew weak. He lifted his face to peer into her eyes and unable to move on without a sample of her other breast, he lifted that one for the homage of his tongue and his teeth.
She arched against him, and the brush of her nether hair against his thigh was enough to make him wish he could take her on the floor.
He broke away. “Come upstairs.”
“No,” she said, her expression one of dire need. “Here,” she pointed to the chaise longue by their side.
She’d found it. She’d seen it.
He’d not. He’d been so fearful she was leaving him. Instead, she was looking for locations to seduce him! Oh, what he needed to learn about her could fill libraries!
She twirled around and sat, then arranged herself like an odalisque. Her arms wide, Her shapely thighs open, he was going to die here a happy man.
One knee to the longue, he loomed over her. “You are the most unusual woman.”
She gave a laugh. Her fingers traced up his ear and into the wealth of his hair. “I hope that’s good.”
“That’s perfect,” he whispered. Then he kissed her, his mouth taking all of her supple one. He nestled between her thighs, wishing he could wait longer to savor each inch of her with his tongue, but fearing his own release would come too soon to honor that. “I’m not able to wait.”
“Ohhh,” she crooned, “Please don’t.” She rubbed her breasts against his chest and arched up to press her mons against his groin. “We have days to go slowly. Days and days,” she said and her words were lost in the kisses she bestowed.
He gave her kiss for kiss, but where was his reason? He’d brought letters. French Letters. But they were upstairs and this was now. Now. He hated the damn things anyway. “But I won’t let you get pregnant.”
She smiled, the smile of a naif. “Good, but do hurry, darling. I am so very needy.” And at that she wrapped her hand around his cock and the heat of her made him groan.
She drew him near and he found her core. She was wet and warm and when he entered just a bit, she arched into him. He sank further inside. And oh. She was succulent, silken.
He sank further and she was his. His.
She found his mouth and kissed him with a fervor that tore into his brain. God, he had never had the pleasure of making love. Not like this. Never like this.
The urge to move was primal. He kissed her and the madness of what they were together burned through him like a fire. He sank inside her once and then again, each time deeper, dearer. She urged him on, her nails scoring his skin.
