Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,73
as soon as he gave her what she craved.
He licked her again and then again and then harder. He felt her tumble, felt her body convulse and her hips buck. As she began her ascent, he slipped one finger inside her, felt her body clench hard around it. She was tight and wet and ready for him. She cried out and he pressed deeper into her, her body so warm and alive against his.
And then, almost as suddenly as it had begun, she slumped and went limp as a ragdoll.
“Pru?” he said with some concern.
She made a sound, which might have been a word, but was completely unintelligible.
“Are you well?” he asked after waiting another moment for her to speak.
She made a moan of contentment, unwilling or still unable to speak. He smiled and was about to lay beside her when her foot—he thought it must be her foot, pushed his chest back.
“Take off your robe,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I want to feel your skin against mine.”
Well. She obviously was still capable of speech. He slipped the robe off, less self-conscious about nudity than he had been when she’d revealed his damaged eye. He heard her take a long, slow breath in, and then her foot slid to the side and he felt her knees close around his hips as she wrapped her legs about him.
“Come here.”
Fifteen
Pru could tell by Nash’s expression that he hadn’t expected this. Perhaps he’d expected to be left unsatisfied as he had yesterday in the informal garden. Perhaps he’d thought to give her time to rest.
But she wanted him now. He’d just made her feel better than she ever had in her entire life, and she wanted more of him.
How could she not? He looked just as good without clothing as he did with it. He was still a bit thinner and paler than he probably should have been, but underneath the slimness he was strong and sinewy. His arms and shoulders, in particular, were tightly muscled. She imagined that was from years of holding heavy rifles for hours at a time.
His chest had a light smattering of hair, dark like that on his head and arms. Under his navel, a dark path of hair led to his jutting erection. Men called it a cock, she knew. It was proud and most definitely at attention.
It had been years since she had done this, and she was more than a little nervous now, but she was also powerfully aroused. She wanted him inside her, wanted him to fill her, make her feel as good as he had a few moments ago with his mouth.
He came down on top of her, balancing his weight on his elbows on either side of her, their bodies pressed together. Oh, she liked the feel of him against her, liked the sensuous slide of their flesh as he kissed her and moved over her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing their bodies closer until his cock was right at her entrance.
He kissed her again, and she lost herself in the pleasure of his mouth. He had the most persuasive lips, playful and insistent. He must be impatient to find his own pleasure, but the way he kissed her was so slow moving, she felt as though a drug languidly spread through her body, heating her and stoking the flame of her desire all over again. She dug her hands in his hair, enjoying the thickness of it and the way her roughness seemed to unsettle him for a moment before he kissed her into senselessness again.
All the while his cock was warm and hard at her entrance. Finally, she reached between them to stroke it, to guide him inside her. He tensed and she looked up at him. She knew he couldn’t see her, but it seemed as though he was looking right at her. “You’re sure?” he said.
“I’m practically begging you,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure if the rain had picked up again or if it was the rushing of the blood in her ears, but she could hardly hear her own voice. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and it seemed to echo the fast, hard beating of her heart.
She guided him to her entrance then sighed in pleasure as he pushed slowly inside. She slid her hands over his bare back, pausing on his buttocks, then stroked the muscles of his lower back as he slid deeper.