Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1), Babette Jongh [books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT] 📗

lifted our hands, each to touch the other’s body. My fingertips grazed his chest, drifted down the arrow of hair that led to his impressive erection. I closed my fingers around it. “If I had any sense,” I joked, “I’d be terrified. Think it’ll fit?”

Ian made a sound that might have been a chuckle or a groan. “I hope so. God, I hope so.”

We tumbled backward onto the bed, a tangle of entwined limbs and exploring tongues. The brush of cool sheets ignited my sensitized nerve endings, setting me on fire for him.

I kissed his neck then sucked lightly, not enough to leave a mark. The scent of his bare skin sent an image through my brain of the night he’d found us after the wreck. But the image blended with my passion, infusing a sense of safety and comfort. He had saved me then. He was saving me now.

His lips touched mine. His fingers slid between my legs. “Ahh, Casey,” he murmured. “You’re so hot, so wet.”

I sighed into his mouth, but couldn’t speak.

He stroked me with a slow, deliberate rhythm, setting off fires of wanting that sparked and swelled and swirled through me. “Come inside me.” I dropped my trembling knees open against the cool sheets. “I’ve waited so long for this... so long for you.”

His hand stilled for less than a heartbeat. I sensed a slight pulling away, a distancing of what had felt like a soul-connection between us.

Then he kissed me, and his masterful lips almost persuaded me that I had only imagined the disconnect. I kissed him back, kept my hands moving along the hard planes of his shoulders and back while he put on a condom. But I felt an invisible wall grow between us.

If I’d known him better, I would have insisted we talk about my intuition that I’d said something frightening enough to make him pull away. But it had been more a feeling than an overt action, something I might not be able to put into words, something produced by my vivid imagination rather than anything Ian had done or felt. I closed my eyes and concentrated on tactile sensations.

The silky-rough surface of his tongue stroking mine.

The sweet slide of his fingers over my breast and down my ribs.

The hard strength of his hairy knees nudging my thighs.

“Open to me, love,” he crooned, and I realized he wasn’t the only one who’d closed himself off. I had brought my legs together, stiffening against what felt like an invasion. The mutual bond I imagined had melted away to reveal what we really were—two almost-strangers exchanging comfort and gratification with each other.

Ian slid a gentle hand down my arm in a soothing gesture. His body was poised above mine, the powerful arm that supported his weight trembling with restraint. “Let me love you.”

I allowed my limbs to open, to loosen, to accept his weight. “Come inside me.” I draped my arms around his shoulders and relaxed into the exquisite pressure of his body opening mine wide.

His arms shook as he kept his weight above me, but not on me. Sweat slicked his skin as he stopped short of impaling me with his full length. “Sweet Jaysus,” he breathed, “you’re tight. Am I hurting you?”

“God, no.” I dug my fingers into his firm backside and pulled his hips to mine, taking joy in the fierce ache of having every inch of him inside me. “You feel like Heaven.”

He shifted, brought one knee higher until our bodies fused, seared by the heat of our passion. Then slowly, slowly, he withdrew until only the tip of his sex touched the opening of mine.

“Please, Ian.” I clutched his buttocks, trying to drive him fully home again. “What are you waiting for?”

He resisted. “Let’s take our time.”

“Please.” I dug my nails into his back. Every nerve ending sparked and sizzled and cried out for release. He pressed into me slowly, so slowly. I whimpered and pleaded for him to hurry, hurry, hurry. Please, God, I’m about to fly apart.

He teased, torturing me with his maddening restraint. He pulled out until all I could feel in the whole world was the broad tip of his penis opening the swollen flesh between my shaking legs. He kissed me, his lips teasing my mouth the way his body teased mine down below. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you inside me.” I bit his lip. “I want it hard and fast.”

And he gave it to me. Oh, God, did he give it to me.

I lifted my hips to meet his hard thrusts, pumping and pushing against him until sweat poured off us both and my animal-like whimpers joined his rasping breaths. I felt consumed, burned by passion, scraped raw by the unbearable friction that cracked me open, exposing me body and soul. An aching void inside me tightened like a hard fist clenching the distended nub he brushed against with every stroke.

Something desperate and frightened and unbearably vulnerable spiraled up inside me, warring with a physical ecstasy more intense than any I had ever known. I felt something within me reaching, reaching, almost but not quite touching the unattainable prize.

He slipped his fingers down between us and touched me... there... sparking an electric response that made me buck beneath him. I shoved his hand away, pumping my hips to recover the frenzied rhythm. I didn’t want time to think about what would—or wouldn’t—happen in this bed tonight, or outside of it tomorrow. I didn’t want time for either of us to think.

“Slow down, love.” He brushed my damp hair away from my face, his amber eyes turned deep chocolate in the dim light that filtered through the closed blinds. “Let me make you come first.”

I held him tight, my arms like manacles around his back. I ground my hips against his and claimed his mouth with mine, sucking his tongue in an imitation of the heated rhythm we’d just abandoned. “I don’t want it slow.”

With a sigh that turned his bunched