His Inspiration Read Online Free PDF Page B

reason,
thinking of the clay beneath us as the product of our union. Had he thought
through those implications, or was he only pursuing me in his own roundabout
way, unsure how to deal with the things I inspired in him, putting a layer
between us as he tried to connect with me?
    His hands gripped my hips and guided me over his cock. Slowly I
slid down onto his erection, panting and trembling as he filled me again. When
at last we were flush with each other, he reached up and smoothed his hands
over my ribs, trailing his fingertips up my spine. He lingered on the ink in my
flesh, sending shivers out over my body, but he didn't seem to be startled by
the scars I had hidden well with my designs, and he certainly didn't remark
upon them. He was a gentleman like that.
    Streaks of red clay traced across both of us now, and I felt
tiny balls of it rolling between his skin and mine where he touched me. The
smell of wet, sweet earth and fucking surrounded us.
    I licked my lips, waiting for him to instruct me.
    "Sadie," he said at last. "Ride me until you
come."
    He didn't have to tell me twice. Bracing myself on his
shoulders, I angled my pussy over his cock and began to ride him. Under me, he
arched and thrust in time, a perfect partner in our dance. His legs rose up,
pushed down, and beneath us the clay began to give way, molding around us as we
fucked.
    His hands were everywhere on me as I rode him, squeezing my ass,
cupping my breasts, scratching down my arms until abruptly he took over again,
turning me under him, but by now the clay beneath us had been fucked away into
a new form, and we twisted and braced against it, our hands scrabbling for
purchase as I moaned and he plunged into me over and over, driving me
relentlessly toward the release I needed. I didn't know what to do, my toes
curling, my body winding up into a ball of pure need. His cock in my cunt
pounded out a raw, primal rhythm, but his body as it arched over me, thrust
into me, was poetic, classical. His muscles quivered under his skin and I ran
my hands over them, feeling them bunch and pull, shift and slip. My core
tightened, drew in, and I bore down on him, straining and reaching for my
orgasm as the wet clay slipped and slid beneath my back. I groaned, pushing
back, clinging, aching.
    "Come, Sadie," Malcolm whispered to me. "Come and
take me with you."
    I cried out, my eyes flying open. I saw everything so
clearly—his sweat-sheened face, his hard, pumping body, the play of light and
shadow on the ceiling, the bright streaks of earthy red slathered over our skin
like war paint. The sea wind rattled against the windows, his flesh slapped
against mine, his breath grunted in his throat as he fucked me, and his eyes...
    His eyes were dark and vulnerable and so achingly needy that I
had to look away. When I did, he bent his head to my throat, opened his lips
against the flesh there, and sucked my pulse into his mouth.
    I came.
    I felt as though my body sucked him inside, bearing down so hard
I was afraid I would hurt him, but instead of pain he grunted in surprise and
pleasure, and then his hips stuttered in their rhythm, bucking wild, and deep
inside my core gushed hot spurts of his seed, pushing into me, his seal, his
brand, his mark, his signature on me, making me his. I came silently as he
pumped into me, my mouth an open sob of pleasure, and this time instead of
breaking apart I felt as though he were putting me back together, his arms and
legs curling around me as we orgasmed together, and together we slid down the
mound of clay and he strove to wrap me up inside his body, even as my legs
hugged his waist. His face was still buried in my throat, his breathing ragged
and harsh on my skin, and I reveled in the feel of it dragging over my flesh.
    At last he pulled away, but he only pulled back far enough to
rest his forehead against mine. We still breathed in time with each other, our
hearts in sync, and I closed my eyes, still trembling around his