Manacled in Monaco Read Online Free PDF Page B

shoved the cotton dress off her arms and rolled it into a waist belt of material before dragging it down over her ankles. With a quick flick of one wrist, it landed on the floor, and he knelt down, his breath feathering her pubic hair.
    “I always wondered if these curls would be the same shade as your hair.” Head inches away from the riot of sunset hair, he glided a finger between her folds, slipping the labia apart.
    Sarita held onto the sides of his head as her knees wobbled. She dare not look down, too excited and embarrassed as thick moisture drenched his fingers.
    “The scent of a woman’s excitement is so unique. I can smell you from here, all musky and spicy.” He straightened. “You look so anxious. Don’t be. I promise to make up for that night, to make you see the moon and the stars, to pleasure every inch of you.”
    He fitted his hands around her waist and one thumb traced the hennaed pattern around her belly button. “What’s this?”
    “It’s called mehndi, sort of a temporary tattoo done in henna. Indian women wear it like jewelry mostly for special occasions. I happened upon a salon doing it in Monte Carlo and took advantage of the opportunity.”
    “I can think of one spot where I’d really like it. I could trace the pattern with my tongue.” He followed actions to words, licking one loop around her navel. One thumb separated her folds and his hot pants feathered the moistness pooling there.
    A shudder wracked through her.
    Taking her hand, he stepped into the circular tub and ordered, “Sit right there.” Fitted into square housing of gleaming black marble, the space to which he pointed would just hold her bottom.
    All at once apprehensive, she hesitated and asked, “Why?”
    “Sarita, Sarita,” he said, shaking his head and making a tsking sound. “I’m not going to say it again.”
    Satan’s mischief glinted in that jade gaze and the hint of steel in his voice made her plop her bottom onto the cool surface. Still, she eyed him, hands and feet tensed for flight, not to mention other places tightening and pulsing, ready not for fleeing, but for yielding, doing whatever he wanted.
    “Scoot right to the edge, and put one foot here and the other over there.”
    Mortified, when she realized he wanted her spread eagled on the tub surface. “Rolan,” she squeaked. “I can’t. It’s too embarrassing.”
    “Shssh,” he mumbled. “It’ll be okay, just go with the flow for a moment or two. I promise it won’t be embarrassing for long. Here.” His fingers brushed her lids closed. “Keep your eyes shut, let me arrange you, and if you don’t like it within a couple of minutes, we’ll try something different. Okay?”
    As he spoke, Rolan feathered kisses all over her face, distracting her, scattering logical reasoning, and Sarita sighed and arched her neck when he found a sweet spot that made her boneless.
    Using the flat of his palm to tilt her back against the cool marble wall, he fitted actions to his words. “Don’t even think about closing your legs. First, I’m going to get rid of that lovely cream by licking it off, then I’m going to massage a little oil all over and play for a while. Do you have a vibrator?” he asked.
    Surprised and indignant, her eyelids flew open.
    Skin squeaked against porcelain as Rolan kneeled on the tub’s marble and elbowed her legs wider apart.
    “And where would I pick one up in Orangeville, pray tell? The church bazaar?”
    Words died away as he buried his face between her legs and licked a slow, tortuous path around her folds, grazing the flesh there.
    “Jesus. Jesus.” His moan vibrated against her skin, hot air puffed onto secret places, setting them ablaze.
    Moisture pooled and leaked. She closed her eyes again savoring the smell of sex, remembering the sight of him between her thighs. A sweet pain-pleasure, not knowing where his tongue touched down next, fireworks exploding each time he connected.
    “Oh. Oooh. Rolan. Oh God.” She