JК
Burnt Offerings :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 251 из 286Well, tonight we pay the price for your wereleopards. Are you regretting it now?"
Gregory was still trussed up in my bedroom, pale and fragile looking. Vivian was tucked in a guest room speaking in monosyllables.
"No, no I don't regret it."
"Then let us gather the rest of our party and be on our way." But he didn't move. He stayed lying on his stomach on the white couch, head resting on his folded hands. If it had been anyone else, I'd have said they were sprawled on the couch, but Jean-Claude did not sprawl. He posed, he lounged, but he did not sprawl. He lay full length, his long body stretched out, only the tips of his black boots over the edge of the couch.
He was wearing an outfit I'd seen before, but repetition didn't make it less lovely. I loved his clothes; loved watching him dress, and undress.
"What are you thinking?" I asked.
"I wish we were staying home tonight. I want to undress you one piece of clothing at a time, enjoying your body between every unveiling."
Just the suggestion made my body tight. "Me, too," I said, and knelt on the floor in front of him. I folded the short skirt under so it wouldn't wrinkle or ride up. He didn't teach me that, my Grandma Blake did, over a lifetime of Sunday church services where what I looked like seemed more important than the sermon.
I laid my chin on the couch near his face. My hair spilling around me, brushing the sides of his folded hands, curling against his face.
"Do your undies look as nice as mine?" I asked.
"Brushed silk," he said softly.
I had a sensory memory so strong it made me shiver. The feel of him through the thick silk, the almost living texture that the brushed fabric had over the hardness of his body. I had to close my eyes to keep from letting him see it in my face. The image was so vivid it made me clench my hands.
I felt him move a second before he kissed my forehead. He spoke with his lips still touching my skin. "Your thoughts betray you, ma petite ."
I raised my face upward, sliding his lips down my face. He was utterly passive as I moved against him, until our lips met. Then his mouth pressed against mine, lips and tongue working. Neither of us used our hands, only our mouths touching. Our faces pressed together.
"Can I cut in?" The familiar voice was so heavy with anger that it made me draw back from Jean-Claude.
Richard stood at the end of the couch staring down at us. I hadn't heard him come up. Had Jean-Claude? I was betting he had.
Gregory was still trussed up in my bedroom, pale and fragile looking. Vivian was tucked in a guest room speaking in monosyllables.
"No, no I don't regret it."
"Then let us gather the rest of our party and be on our way." But he didn't move. He stayed lying on his stomach on the white couch, head resting on his folded hands. If it had been anyone else, I'd have said they were sprawled on the couch, but Jean-Claude did not sprawl. He posed, he lounged, but he did not sprawl. He lay full length, his long body stretched out, only the tips of his black boots over the edge of the couch.
He was wearing an outfit I'd seen before, but repetition didn't make it less lovely. I loved his clothes; loved watching him dress, and undress.
"What are you thinking?" I asked.
"I wish we were staying home tonight. I want to undress you one piece of clothing at a time, enjoying your body between every unveiling."
Just the suggestion made my body tight. "Me, too," I said, and knelt on the floor in front of him. I folded the short skirt under so it wouldn't wrinkle or ride up. He didn't teach me that, my Grandma Blake did, over a lifetime of Sunday church services where what I looked like seemed more important than the sermon.
I laid my chin on the couch near his face. My hair spilling around me, brushing the sides of his folded hands, curling against his face.
"Do your undies look as nice as mine?" I asked.
"Brushed silk," he said softly.
I had a sensory memory so strong it made me shiver. The feel of him through the thick silk, the almost living texture that the brushed fabric had over the hardness of his body. I had to close my eyes to keep from letting him see it in my face. The image was so vivid it made me clench my hands.
I felt him move a second before he kissed my forehead. He spoke with his lips still touching my skin. "Your thoughts betray you, ma petite ."
I raised my face upward, sliding his lips down my face. He was utterly passive as I moved against him, until our lips met. Then his mouth pressed against mine, lips and tongue working. Neither of us used our hands, only our mouths touching. Our faces pressed together.
"Can I cut in?" The familiar voice was so heavy with anger that it made me draw back from Jean-Claude.
Richard stood at the end of the couch staring down at us. I hadn't heard him come up. Had Jean-Claude? I was betting he had.