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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 129 из 293“Are you saying that Frost and Doyle were less than spectacularthe first time?”
I had to smile. “No.”
“Then who?”
I shook my head. “Everyone was wonderful, some just got spectacular with practice.”
He drew back far enough to see my face clearly. “You mean that?”
“Yes.”
“They can’t all have been amazing.”
“If they weren’t, I’ll never tell.”
“You won’t tell,” he whispered.
I started to touch his face, but he pulled back just enough to be out of reach.
“Tell what?” I asked.
He gave me a look, a look eloquent with meaning.
“Oh,” I said, and smiled again, but it was a gentler smile. “No, Amatheon, I won’t tell.”
He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in against him. His back was covered in the dry, powdery dirt. I expected it to be rough, but it wasn’t. It was smooth and fine like the softest talcum powder. It did not distract from the warm smoothness of his skin but seemed to add texture like icing spread over warm, rich cake.
I pulled back enough to show him my hands covered in the soft, dry powder.
“So soft.” I looked up at him.
“Does it feel as soft against other places as it does on my hands?”
He drew me close, and just before his lips touched me, he whispered, “Let’s find out.”
CHAPTER 18
WE ROLLED OURSELVES IN IT UNTIL WE LOOKED LIKE GREY ghosts. The shine of our magic was dimmed by it like Christmas lights shining through snow.
He pressed his hardness against the front of my body and the back of me. He was almost painfully hard, pressed between our bodies. He thrust against my stomach, my ass, but he would not enter me. He rubbed his body over me as if his manhood were another way to caress my skin. Even his balls were high and tight, and the few times he let me touch him there, he quivered, shivering with his need. My hand found that a second pulse lay in his groin, beating against the palm of my hand. He moved my hand away from him. He pressed and teased against me, doing a parody of position after position, but he would not enter me. He would not give himself to my hand or my mouth.
When he had covered us, nearly head to foot, in the soft, powdery dust and shown me the promise of his body, the strength of it, he pushed himself against and across my body, and I begged him to enter me.
“Please, Amatheon, please, no more teasing. Enter me, take me.”
“I thought you were going to be on top.” His voice was teasing and full of pleasure.
I had to smile. “No.”
“Then who?”
I shook my head. “Everyone was wonderful, some just got spectacular with practice.”
He drew back far enough to see my face clearly. “You mean that?”
“Yes.”
“They can’t all have been amazing.”
“If they weren’t, I’ll never tell.”
“You won’t tell,” he whispered.
I started to touch his face, but he pulled back just enough to be out of reach.
“Tell what?” I asked.
He gave me a look, a look eloquent with meaning.
“Oh,” I said, and smiled again, but it was a gentler smile. “No, Amatheon, I won’t tell.”
He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in against him. His back was covered in the dry, powdery dirt. I expected it to be rough, but it wasn’t. It was smooth and fine like the softest talcum powder. It did not distract from the warm smoothness of his skin but seemed to add texture like icing spread over warm, rich cake.
I pulled back enough to show him my hands covered in the soft, dry powder.
“So soft.” I looked up at him.
“Does it feel as soft against other places as it does on my hands?”
He drew me close, and just before his lips touched me, he whispered, “Let’s find out.”
CHAPTER 18
WE ROLLED OURSELVES IN IT UNTIL WE LOOKED LIKE GREY ghosts. The shine of our magic was dimmed by it like Christmas lights shining through snow.
He pressed his hardness against the front of my body and the back of me. He was almost painfully hard, pressed between our bodies. He thrust against my stomach, my ass, but he would not enter me. He rubbed his body over me as if his manhood were another way to caress my skin. Even his balls were high and tight, and the few times he let me touch him there, he quivered, shivering with his need. My hand found that a second pulse lay in his groin, beating against the palm of my hand. He moved my hand away from him. He pressed and teased against me, doing a parody of position after position, but he would not enter me. He would not give himself to my hand or my mouth.
When he had covered us, nearly head to foot, in the soft, powdery dust and shown me the promise of his body, the strength of it, he pushed himself against and across my body, and I begged him to enter me.
“Please, Amatheon, please, no more teasing. Enter me, take me.”
“I thought you were going to be on top.” His voice was teasing and full of pleasure.