What She Needs by Anne Calhoun

Author:Anne Calhoun [Calhoun, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Erotic Romance
ISBN: 9781426851520
Publisher: SPICE
Published: 2010-07-31T22:00:00+00:00

In a move that looks like denial but is simply another stage in the surrender he demands, I turn my head to the side. He responds by blowing gently into the shell of my ear, nuzzling my neck, then licking and nibbling at the sensitive, delicate juncture of neck and shoulder. He doesn’t move, doesn’t use my body, which is thoroughly his right now, simply takes his weight onto his elbows, and makes love to my collarbone.

I breathe in slow, deep inhales redolent of sweat, Jack’s own unique scent, the musky tang of sex, my delicate perfume, a faint hint of Heineken. The smells are seduction in their own right, even without his deft ability to find and exploit every nerve. He could be banging away; God knows he’s hard and thick, ready to drive nails. Instead, he acts with the self-control of a man with a purpose.

There is another session coming. I can feel that in the air as surely as I feel the soreness in my thighs, so I take the respite he’s giving me. I breathe deeply, soften a little from the heat and weight of his body, stroke my hands over his curve of his ass. I rest in the colors flowing in discrete streams through my empty mind.

Moments pass, minutes or an hour, I cannot tell. But eventually he has marked the skin over my shoulders and the base of my neck with nips, soothed it with licks, and the weight of his pelvis against mine rekindles the heat in my pussy. His mouth settles over mine for long, languid open-mouthed kisses, the ones I wanted so intensely before he went down on me. I arch into him, feel our damp skin sliding as we shift. In this room, kissing like that means a lengthy fucking; when this is over, I will feel the ache in my thighs for days. Jack doesn’t hesitate to use me hard.

He slides one arm under the small of my back, lifts me with him as he sits upright and swings his legs over the foot of the bed to place his feet flat on the floor. I straddle him, my hair hanging in sweaty strands in my face, and grip his forearms as I orient myself.

“I like this,” he says. “You do all the work, and I watch.” He looks over my shoulder as he says this, cupping my bottom in his hands and moving me up and down on his cock. I risk a quick glance over my shoulder and see we’re visible in the mirror above the low dresser. His hands are dark, curved around the pale cheeks of my ass marked by my bikini tan line just below the twin dimples at the base of my spine. He moves me again, and his cock, flushed a deep red and slick with my juices, appears as I rise on my knees, and disappears as I take him inside me, deeper than before. The sensitive skin of my lower cheeks brushes his balls.

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