Chance of a Lifetime Read Online Free PDF Page B

And more…and more…and that’s not fair of me.”
    I could weep and scream. He does bloody well care!
    Acting on impulse, I turn my face into his gentle hand and kiss his palm. He groans and mutters, “No!”
    But I know I’ve got him. His whole body shakes finely, and beneath me, his cock jerks and seems to harden even more, if that were possible.
    “I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t…”
    “It’s all right. It’ll be ‘no strings,’” I whisper against his palm, then inscribe a little pattern, a promise, with my tongue.
    “Oh hell,” he almost snarls, and then he’s kissing me, tilting me back on his lap and going deep with tongue and lips…and heart?
    I embrace him, writhing on his knee again, the discomfort of my spanked bottom forgotten. Wrapping my arms around him, I try to silently say all the things that are too difficult and irrational to say.
    Like…
    To be with him just a little while, I’ll pay any price, do things his way and never ask for more.
    Like…
    I’m prepared to take my chances on his lack of prospects and commitments.
    Like…
    Who needs a fucking job in the Caribbean, after all?
    This last one shocks me, but just as I think it, the marquis deepens the kiss even further. His arms slide around me, holding me tight, and yet with delicacy, as if I’m precious to him.
    And then, somehow, we’re on the rug, and he’s lying over me, great and dark, like a shadow that’s so paradoxical it’s also light. The light of revelation….
    His hands rove over my body, exploring with reverence this time, and great emotion. And the touch is a thousand times more sexy than when we played. With a gasp, he straightens up momentarily and rips open his shirt, sending buttons flying in his impatience. Then he embraces me again, skin to skin.
    His body is hot, feverish and moist, with a fine sheen of sweat that seems to conduct electricity between us. I moan, loving the communion, almost feeling that this might even be as good as sex in some mysterious way. But then my cunt flutters, reminding me I want more.
    Still kissing me, the marquis deftly unbuckles his belt and then unfastens his jeans. But just as he’s about to reveal himself, and allow me to feast my eyes on that which I’ve been fantasizing about since the moment he cordially and quite impersonally welcomed me to the manor and the work team, he lets out a lurid, agonized curse.
    Then says, “I don’t have a condom. I wasn’t expecting to need one.”
    A part of me thinks, whoa, he really did mean all that stuff about not fucking! But another part of me gives thanks for the fact that hope always springs eternal.
    “Er…I’ve got one. It’s in the pocket of my skirt.”
    He gives me a look that says he thinks I’m a saucy, forward minx, but he’s more than glad of the fact, and then he scoots gracefully across to where my skirt landed, and locates the contraceptive in my pocket.
    Back close again, he hesitates, and gives me a beautiful, complex look, full of hunger, compassion, yearning again…and a strange fear. I nod. I feel just the same.
    And then he reaches into his jeans and reveals himself.
    Involuntarily, I make a little “ooh” sound.
    He’s big. Stunning. Delicious. His cock is as handsome and patrician as his face, magnificently hard and finely sculpted. He’s circumcised and his glans is moist and stretched and shiny. I’ve never seen a prettier one, and it’s almost a shame when he swiftly robes it in latex.
    I reach for him, expecting him to move between my splayed thighs. But with all the authority of his centuries-old title, he takes hold of me and moves me into his preferred position. With his arm around my waist, he scoops me up and places me on my hands and knees and moves in behind me.
    It’s not what I would have chosen but I’ll take what I can get. And I understand his reasons. This way is more impersonal, not too intimate and less dangerous to his emotions and to mine.
    At least I think so, until he