Storm of Visions Read Online Free PDF Page B

shock.
    They’d done this before. They had. But it had been a long time, and he was bigger or she was smaller or . . . she’d forgotten what it was like to have a man, this man, fill her so gloriously full.
    “All right?” he asked. But he didn’t wait for the answer. He pushed again. He watched her, stretched her, wordlessly commanding she forget her anger, her resistance. He demanded all of her mind and all of her senses concentrate on him, on this grandeur, on this heedless, helpless desire.
    He moved so unhurriedly, she moaned with anticipation. She sank her nails into his shoulders. She tried to lift herself, to hurry him along.
    But he held her trapped. His chest rested on hers. He held her tightly in his arms. Below her, the tile was cool against her still-damp body. Above her, he burned with intensity.
    She couldn’t look away from his blue eyes, heavy with dark lashes and with passion, and when at last he had filled her with all of himself, she saw his flare of triumph.
    But before she could gather herself to fury, he unleashed his control.
    He thrust and retreated, thrust and retreated, progressing slowly at first, then with an ever-increasing rhythm. His thighs flexed against hers; his hips directed his power. She was open, wide-open, making each sensation new and fresh. With each advance, he rocked against her. With each motion, his dominion over her grew. She felt like a virgin again, taken from one marvel to another until her perceptions were overloaded. Dimly she was aware of crying out, over and over, as her soul stretched and reached, seeking release.
    He slipped one hand under her head. The other rested on her belly. Close against her ear, he murmured, “Not yet, Jacqueline. Wait a little longer . . . a little longer. . . .”
    Wait for what? She tried to shake her head, to deny him. If he would just stop talking and let her focus on this one moment, she would . . .
    The hand on her belly glided downward and, with the coordination of a born athlete, he slipped it between them and caught her clit between his fingers. He knew her body all too well; with one unique motion, he drove her from frantic deprivation to an orgasm so intense, she screamed with pleasure.
    He let her scream, listening with a faint smile, as if the sound of her ecstasy was music.
    Then the spasms in her body held him captive. The rhythm between them grew in speed and strength. Another orgasm caught her up, or maybe the first one never ended. She didn’t know; she only knew he had reached the limit of his restraint, that he rested both elbows on the floor next to her, and his arms shook with the strain. She only knew that above her he panted and groaned, snared at last by the driving passion that existed between them; by the passion that went on forever.
    As he thrust harder, as he came at last, he called her name, and she heard the anguish caused by their long separation . . . and in the midst of her climax, she knew that if he deemed it necessary, he would leave her again.

Chapter 5

    C aleb leaned, shirtless, against the kitchen counter and watched as Jacqueline cleaned the slice she’d put into his ribs. It was jagged, it was deep, it hurt like hell—and he felt a solid sense of pride in her accomplishment. He’d taught her to fight like that, and no man alive had ever done a better job of spitting him.
    Of course, no man alive distracted him like a half-naked Jacqueline. After the sex on the bathroom floor, and the sex on the lumpy mattress, she had showered alone—she had locked the bathroom door and wedged the towel cabinet behind it—and donned ugly faded plaid pajama bottoms and a clean, baggy, short-sleeved T-shirt. He supposed that was her naïve way of saying Hands off .
    Instead she looked sweet and clean, and smelled of soap and Jacqueline.
    The California sun had loved her, caressed her, leaving her skin a beautiful pale tan color. As her hair dried, wisps of pale blond curled around her face and the ends kissed