The Fifth Moon's Wife (The Fifth Moon Tales Book 2) by Monica La Porta

Author:Monica La Porta [La Porta, Monica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-07-30T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

The whole time, Valentine hadn’t touched her.

He knew he would lose his battle against the wolf if he gave in to his senses.

Beautiful, lying on that bed with her hands grabbing the bedframe, and her legs writhing on the coverlet as the butterfly pleasured her, Mirella was the personification of a sensual goddess. And goddesses were meant to be adored from far away.

Then Mirella begged him, trembling with a desperate need that matched his, and he was undone.

Leaving the safe shield of his camera, he moved to the bed, then lowered his knee to the mattress. “Open your legs wide.” He still didn’t trust himself.

Holding on to the bars, she parted her legs as the butterfly gently bobbed up and down over her flower. Her chest rose, pushing her soft breasts up. He wanted to brush those erect peaks, but kept his hands on the coverlet. Only when he was back in control did he walk his fingers toward her thigh. Still, he didn’t touch her, but let his hand hover over her skin, then lowered his index over the butterfly, stopping the clockwork jewel with a light pat.

Gently, he picked the shiny insect up by its body. Mirella’s scent invaded his nostrils all at once.

Her green eyes were bright with the fever only desire provoked. Mirella licked her lower lip, and a deep rumble came out of his mouth.

Reverently, he lowered his head to her blossoming flower, glistening with the dew of unspent passion. He kissed her petals, satiating his thirst for her, savoring her maddening sweetness. Since the first time he’d had Mirella, her honeysuckle bouquet had intoxicated him, making him an instant addict. But now, her scent had a different and sweeter note, and it was an even more potent aphrodisiac.

It might have been because she was leaving in two days and that knowledge amplified his senses.

He wouldn’t be kissing and touching her any longer. The finality of his decision loomed closer and felt like a wall of freezing water pressing against his chest.

He kissed her deeply, circling her bud with his soft tongue as his hands left the coverlet to caress her curves. She tightened her legs, enveloping him in her warmth, moaning her encouragement. Driven by her reaction, he pinched her peaks as he deepened his kiss.

“Valentine,” she cried, while her legs entwined over his shoulders and pushed him down to her.

“Kitten,” he whispered, kissing her trembling flower one more time before resting his head on her soft thigh.

Amongst the sadness and turmoil that threatened to bring him down into a dark spiral, Valentine found contentment in that bed. Wrapped in her scent and warmth, he closed his eyes, imagining a different scenario. One where he didn’t have to live with regrets.

Her hands found their way to his shaved head. Her fingers massaged his scalp, sending shivers down his body. “Told you to keep your hands up,” he whispered, nipping the soft skin on her inner thigh.

Mirella shuddered. “Come here.”

He obeyed her soft-spoken order and moved up the bed until he was facing her.

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