Act of Exposure Read Online Free PDF Page B

she ran her hands from
the thickness of his neck down along his shoulders. How good they
felt, how hard as the blood of his desire rushed through his veins.
Belly met belly as the warm firmness of his palms swept down her
back until he held her behind in his hands. His fingers curved and
dug into her buttocks at the point where they met the tops of her
legs. Breath mingled with breath as tongues danced in a parody of
courtship. She clasped her hands at the nape of his neck as he
lifted her by her buttocks and carried her to the bed.
    His closeness,
his smell, sent a shockwave through her system. She nuzzled her
nose against his armpit and drew in the scent of maleness. She had
a need to drink it, drink him, eat him, even. She also had a
feeling of wanting to drown in his warmth, of wanting him to fill
her, to crawl into her, penis first, and make love to every organ
in her body.
    On the bed,
his mouth left hers. Not to stray. Not to speak, but to explore her
body with his lips and his tongue.
    There was no
sound except for hushed murmurs of pleasure from him and from her;
the whisper of his hands and body passing over hers, the sound of
the net curtains rasping in the breeze.
    He sucked her
nipples, tickled their sensitive nubs with his tongue, traced
circles around their halos of pale, pink flesh. She mewed with
regret when his mouth left them, showed her regret as she covered
them with her own hands. His tongue licked long and pleasurably
over her belly; tantalized her navel, then swept in slow but
enticing circles down towards her open legs.
    He paused, his
thumbs caressing her clutch of silvery hair. She sensed he was
looking at it, wondering again at the stark contrast between that
and the hair on her head. He must not wonder too long, must not be
allowed to guess.
    Tensing, she
wriggled her hips, moaned, and heaved her buttocks up from the bed
so that her scent would rise and veil his face. The strategy
worked. As his tongue divided her most hidden flesh, she arched her
back, closed her eyes, and truly became Carmel, the woman with
coal-black eyes, black hair, and an appetite for sex on the wild
side of the city.
    Her mind, as
well as her body, wallowed in the sheer sexuality of it all, the
sordid surrender to whatever this man wanted to do to her, because
whatever he wanted, she wanted too.
    'No,' he said
at last, and pushed her hands away from her breasts. 'Let me do it
to you. You need do nothing to me. Nothing at all. Tonight, you are
my toy. By receiving pleasure, you will give me pleasure.'
    She did not
argue. Somehow, the words fell deep inside her and interlocked with
her basic nature. Shivers of excitement ran through her body. She
was vulnerable, but willing.
    Even though
her heart was beating fast in her breast, she let him tie her hands
to the headboard, her ankles to the base. This was what she wanted
from a man. This was what she had always wanted, but had never
dared allow - at least - not willingly.
    Not because
the man she was with might not have been willing. Oh no, it wasn't
that. It was just that she had never quite trusted such casual
acquaintances, and somehow, this once, she had trusted.
    As he looked
into her eyes, he traced the lines of her face with his
fingers.
    Softly, he
followed the arch of her eyebrows, the straight perfection of her
nose, the select drama of her cheekbones. He let his finger fall
beneath her chin, then brought it up to explore her lips, to dip
between them, and - like something much hotter, much more demanding
- force it between her teeth and onto her tongue.
    Murmuring,
writhing with pleasure beneath his body, she wanted to drown in
him, wanted to fuse with him like one hot metal to another.
    She cried out
as he nipped her nipples, sucked her breasts. It was as though he
were eating her through a straw; like an ice-cream sundae. No. More
like coffee cream, laced with brandy. Smooth, sweet, and incredibly
heady.
    In the
half-darkness of the room, the weight of his body