Angel Hands by Reynolds Cait

Author:Reynolds, Cait [Reynolds, Cait]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-02-13T18:30:00+00:00

"The only damn book in here is a volume of Shakespeare!"

"Ah, but there is so much more to Shakespeare than insults," he purred, allowing himself to begin by running his hand up her flat belly and between her breasts until it cupped the back of her head.

His fingers suddenly dug cruelly into her hair and yanked her head back. It would have been so easy to kiss her lips like this, but somehow, that didn't seem right. A kiss was...a sacrament of lovers, a blessing to be given, and in many cases, a commodity to be sold. He did not love Mireille, but she was no whore, either.

Her throat was arched and bared to him, a long, white line of perfection. Instead of a kiss, he drew the tip of his tongue up from her collarbone to the lobe of her ear.

"Stop!" Mireille gasped, struggling against him and pulling futilely against the ropes on her wrists. "Stop it! You have no right!"

"'I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure'," he quoted, using her Shakespeare against her and speaking with his lips against her throat, his rumbling voice creating a vibration against her skin.

"My pleasure would be to rip your balls off-oh!" Her words were strangled by the way he firmly grabbed her thigh and hitched her leg around his hips.

"'That I might touch! But kiss, one kiss'," he recited, using the magnificent instrument of his voice to convey a hunger, desire and obsession that would shake Mireille to her bones.

He suited word to action, then, moving to cup her satin-covered breasts in his hands and press a chaste kiss against one, feeling the hard nub rise up to his lips. How could a man resist such a silent plea?

Yet, was he even a man? Never had he touched a woman this way. Never even been kissed until Kris-no, this was no time for her name. Mireille had been the first woman truly in his arms, the first to feel his heat against her, and yes, even the first to respond. He could not doubt that.

He glanced up at Mireille, suddenly noticing she had fallen silent, save for deep, shuddering breaths, and that her thrashing had turned to arching. Her eyes were heavy and half-lidded, her lips pouting slightly.

He was already hard, but the sight of her lost in lust and helplessly tied to the bed made him throb in the agony of need. He couldn't afford to give in, though, to lose the game just yet. He had to stay in control somehow.

It didn't help that she was beginning to slowly buck and grind against him, her inexperienced hips moving with a tentative urgency. He grit his teeth. No! He would not be unmanned like that.

"'I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap'," he growled, grabbing her hips in an iron grip and stilling them.

"No...anh..." Mireille grit her teeth, then bit her lower lip in a way that nearly had him lunging to kiss her, to bite that lip himself. "Let...me...go," she panted.

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