Sommersgate House (Ghosts and Reincarnation #2)(75)
Author: Kristen Ashley

The minute her bare hands touched the skin of his back under his shirt, there was no time to think, there was only time to feel. She felt his mouth on hers, on her neck, at the base of her throat. She felt the edge of his teeth drag against her nipple then pull it hungrily in his mouth then move to the other, only to do the same thing. She felt his hands roaming the skin of her sides, her bottom, her hips, her belly, against the silk of her stockings and then up, between her legs.

“Oh!” she cried, as he found her with his thumb, a fleeting, joyous pressure that sent her neck arching back and her mouth opening in a silent groan of pleasure. Then it was gone, only to be replaced with one, long finger sliding slowly inside her.

Her breath dragged out of her while his finger moved and his thumb again found its spot. She started panting, actually panting, as her stomach clutched and then dropped away and she pressed her h*ps urgently against his hand.

It was her turn to touch him, her hands insistently roaming, her mouth at his neck and throat, her tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin against the hard muscle as she rode his hand like a madwoman. She was close, the pressure was building, she felt she only had to reach for it and the wild joy he was promising would be hers.

“Do you want me?” His mouth was at her ear but his finger had slid away, his thumb disappeared.

“Yes!” She didn’t hesitate, wanting it all back, wanting it immediately and willing to do anything to get it.

His hand was still gone and she arched her back, her breath ragged, her fingers desperately running down his arm to find his hand and pull it back to where it was. But this was thwarted, Douglas captured her hand in his and pulled her arm over her head, his body settling on hers as he caught her other wrist and imprisoned both over her head in one of his hands.

Then she felt him yanking at his trousers, then parting her legs and settling between them and, finally, she felt him there, just at the edge and not moving any closer.

She wanted him closer. She needed him closer.

She needed him inside her.

She realised her eyes were closed when they flew open and she saw him watching her, his indigo gaze boring into hers.

“Douglas,” she whispered and the minute she uttered his name, he slammed into her with a heady ferocity that she welcomed without question. Her h*ps lifted to receive him, her legs moved to open herself to him, one wrapped around his hip, the other curling around the back of his thigh.

He let go of her wrists and both of his hands went to pull her h*ps boldly upward to meet his thrusts, deepening them, his open lips on hers, receiving her moans in his mouth, every once in awhile his tongue shooting out to duel with her own.

She’d never, not once, cl**axed simply with a man inside her but she felt it building now, felt her muscles tensing with anticipation, her legs tightening, her fingers clawing, her mouth searching… and then he was gone. His body completely still, he was suspended where she could feel the promise of him but she didn’t have him.

She arched against him in desperation, pressed her h*ps down, sought him soundlessly and through all this he withheld from her.

She bit her bottom lip, her nails dragging down his back and when she could take it no more, when she thought she would likely die if she didn’t feel him inside her again, she pressed her mouth against his, looked into his dark eyes and begged, “Please.”

Hearing that word, he drove into her violently, burying himself to the hilt inside her, and she exploded, her entire body tensed, wrapping him fiercely in her limbs as if she would never let go and she went completely still. Except her mouth, which emitted a prolonged moan that eloquently informed him of the profound pleasure tearing relentlessly through her body.

He’d joined her moments later and she registered it with contented feminine knowledge but was still too immersed in the residual shudders and tingles of her own cl**ax to watch. Then she felt the weight of his body settle against hers.

Her response was to tighten her arms and legs.

They lay there, still joined, his heavy weight pressing her into his soft bed while her mind fought for control over her body, and lost.

It had never, ever, been this good. She hadn’t even imagined it could be, not in her wildest dreams. She felt an intoxication that had nothing to do with seven glasses of champagne and no matter how hard her common sense struggled to remind her that this was a frightening risk, she delighted in it.

Douglas lifted his head and looked at her. She didn’t know what to say so, for once, she said nothing at all.

“Do not ever flirt with another man in front of me,” he growled so ferociously his command throbbed through both of their bodies.

She blinked at him in surprise.

So that was why he was angry.

She lifted a palm and laid it gently against his cheek. “Douglas, if this is my punishment for flirting, I’m afraid I’m going to have to do it more often.”

He didn’t move.

“In fact,” she went on, “I may do it all the time. I might start flirting with Nick,” she informed him and his arms stole around her, his weight bearing heavily on her. “And even Carter,” she breathed, because his body on hers was taking her breath away, in more ways than one. “You’re crushing me,” she whispered softly in his ear.

She no sooner said it than she lost his arms and him as he pulled out of her and away, dropping to the side, half-on her, half-off, lifting himself on his elbow to look down at her.

She may have been teasing but she saw that he was not amused.

He watched her and then asked bluntly, “Are you going to marry me?”

His eyes were intense and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

She wanted to say something flippant.

She wanted to rush home to the safety of Indiana, her old house, her old job, her old life, her old grocery store where she knew where the cake mixes were, but she understood now that it was all too late.

“Yes,” was her simple reply.

There was no crowing in victory. Douglas simply rolled into her, gathering her in his arms and he kissed her. Gone was the passion and urgency and in its place was complete and surprising tenderness which left her a different kind of breathless.

Then he carefully pulled away and, nearly reverently, swept off her shoes and stockings, righted her body on the bed and pulled her under the sheets. He discarded the rest of his clothes and met her there, pulling her back into his arms.

She wanted to talk to him, for him to reassure her, for something to be said that would be a hallmark of this momentous occasion.