Fairytale Come Alive (Ghosts and Reincarnation #4)(61)
Author: Kristen Ashley

It was beautiful.

She melted into him and her fingers, which had itched to do it for over a week, slid into his hair.

The kiss was hard and it was wild and it left Isabella wild.

Mouth still engaged with Prentice’s, she tugged his shirt from his jeans, her fingers shoving in, up, encountering the sleek skin and muscle of his back.

That was beautiful too.

She dug her fingernails in.

He groaned into her mouth.

His groan slashed through her, blazing a heady trail straight between her legs.

She pulled her hands out of his shirt and her fingers went direct to his buttons.

At that, he tore his mouth from hers and Isabella made a mew of protest but he didn’t move away. She watched as he lifted both arms. Hands grasping between his shoulder blades, he pulled his shirt over his head, ripping it down his arms, the buttons of the cuffs popping as he yanked it off and tossed it away.

His chest was right there.

Right before her eyes.

And he had a beautiful chest.

She didn’t waste the opportunity he afforded her.

Her mouth went to him, lips, tongue, she tasted him, her hands roaming, fevered, desperate, wanting to memorize every inch.

Down she went, down, until she was on her knees in front of him. She tugged back his belt, opened his jeans…

“Elle.” His voice came at her as his hands settled at her jaw, putting pressure there to pull her up.

She resisted.

She’d found him.

She wanted him.

And she was going to have what she wanted.

For once.

She pulled him free, took his thick shaft in her hand then slid it in her mouth.

His fingers left her jaw and glided in her hair as he groaned, “Baby.”

It was all the encouragement she needed.

He tasted beautiful, he felt beautiful, he looked beautiful.

She couldn’t get enough and he couldn’t give her enough, bucking against her mouth as she held onto his hips.

God, she was going to come just from the beauty of it.

His h*ps jerked back, pulling free.

Before she could protest, his hands were under her armpits and he yanked her up.

“Pren –”

“Quiet.”

He shifted them around and sat on the couch, positioning her standing in front of him. His hands curling into the waistband of her yoga pants, he tugged them down, taking her underwear with him.

With a forceful pull at her hips, he yanked her forward. She fell into him, her feet kicking off her clothing, her legs opening, her knees came up and she straddled him.

He fell to the side, taking her with him, dropping to his back.

Her hand went between them, she found him, wrapped him tight, guided him inside, lifted her torso up and he filled her.

“Heaven,” she breathed.

Her back arched, her h*ps ground into him, tilting, grinding further, reveling in Prentice’s hardness buried deep.

Connected.

Intimate.

Isabella and Prentice.

She thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

She felt his hand cup her breast at the same time his fingers touched her right there between her legs.

Her head tilted down to gaze at his beautiful face as his thumb stroked her nipple.

“Pren,” she whispered as her eyes locked on his.

Then she came, her body bucking, her sex rippling.

It was shattering.

It was magnificent.

It was beautiful.

Dimly, she felt his hands leave her as one slid into her hair, cupping her head, pulling her torso to his. He switched positions, moving her to her back, coming over her and then slamming deep inside.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms around his shoulders and held on.

She watched him move over her, her eyes barely open, glorying in the feel of Prentice driving deep inside her.

His hand went to the side of her face.

“Christ,” he bit out, his breath coming fast, his strokes coming faster, pounding harder, thrusting deeper, “You’re so f**king beautiful.”

She gazed at him for a mere moment, feeling all the magnificence that was Prentice wrapped in her limbs, pressing her to the couch, slamming deep inside her, before his head came down and he kissed her.

She accepted his groan in her mouth as he reared one last time, plunging so deep it felt like he pierced her heart.

His lips slid from her mouth, down her cheek and he buried his face in her neck.

He pressed his h*ps into hers. Her limbs tensed, holding him tighter.

She loved every inch of him.

At that thought, her turbulent mind settled and reason intruded.

She stiffened.

The instant she did, he felt it.

His face came out of her neck as she whispered, “Pren –”

She didn’t finish his name. He kissed her.

Her mind descended back into beautiful chaos.

His mouth released hers and he pulled out, lifted up, tugging her up with him until they were on their feet.

He’d unzipped her knit jacket and pulled it down her arms and had his hands in her camisole when her thoughts yet again cleared.

“Prentice, we shouldn’t –”

He whipped off her camisole and before her arms settled down to her sides and his swift actions settled through her brain, she was in his arms and his mouth was on hers again.

He kept her mind jumbled with his kisses as he disrobed, turned out the light in the sitting room and then carried her to the bed.

When he had her on her back, the covers pulled over them, his heavy warmth pressed down the length of her side, his elbow in the pillow, head in his hand, other hand resting at her neck, eyes resting on her face… only then did he speak.

“Now you can talk.”

“I –” she began to tell him that she was sorry, she shouldn’t have started this, this was wrong, wrong, wrong.

And selfish.

And stupid.

And a million other things.

But he interrupted her, “Tell me about the dream.”

Her mouth snapped shut.

His hand tightened on her neck but his voice was gentle when he demanded, “Elle, tell me.”

“What…” she stammered, unsure of the state of affairs and equally unsure she wanted to explore said state of affairs. She’d rather talk about her dream which was saying something since she hated those dreams. “What do you want to know?” she asked.

“You’ve had it since it happened?”

She nodded but said, “Not so much anymore. Just occasionally. Only when I’m stressed or anxious.”

“You had them when you were with me?”

She pulled in breath. Obviously, she’d never told him about the dreams.

“Yes,” she whispered, terrified about his response.