The Curvy Waitress and the Billionaire French Count (He Wanted Me Pregnant!) Read Online Free PDF Page B

forward. When they press together, when I can see their softness with that dark little slit between them, at the top of your uniform? It’s all I can do to stay in my seat and not dive at you and shove my tongue between them.”
    I was lost. I was drawing in my breath in little groans, teetering on the edge between arousal and fear. I wanted to believe it. I wanted so badly to believe it, but I couldn’t.
    But he wasn’t finished.
    “I’ve barely touched them,” he told me. “But I loved the way they felt in the elevator, even through your uniform and your bra. All I’ve been thinking about, all day, is feeling them again. I want to feel them in my hands. I want to feel them against my chest. I want to lick them, just like I told you in the meeting, until you come.”
    The warmth was already there, twisting deep inside me, thrashing around. The fear had been cooling it down but, with every word, the cold started to recede and the heat rose.
    “I want to crush them in my hands until you moan,” he told me. “I want to rub your nipples with my thumbs until they’re so hard they ache. I want to bite you just enough to make you catch your breath, just enough that you’re held on the edge of coming.”
    I could actually feel my nipples getting hard from his words. In the mirror, I saw his head tilt as he looked further down my body. “I love your stomach,” he said. I tensed at the mention of one of my most-hated areas. “I love how soft your skin looks. I haven’t touched you there yet, but I long to. I want to touch you and nuzzle you there and lick you until you tremble. I love your navel, so dark and innocent-looking. I bet you’re ticklish there.”
    His head tilted down again. “I love your hips. You have gorgeous, wide hips, just like a woman should have. I love the way they flare and the curve as they flow down. I love your thighs. I love your pale skin, so beautifully soft and pure. I want to caress it, want to rub it with my thumbs as I sink my head right between your thighs to lick you. I love your pussy. I love the little bit of hair you’ve kept, because it’s such a contrast to your pale skin. I love that your clit is hidden away, because I can have fun teasing it out. I love the shape of your lips and how light pink they are. I want to trace every fold with my tongue.”
    I wasn’t aware that I was breathing anymore. I was floating, my whole body suffused with a warmth I’d never felt.
    He gently turned me so that I was facing away from the mirror and made me look back at myself over my shoulder. “I love your ass,” he said. “I want to run my hands over it and over it, following its lines. I want to squeeze it and stroke it and hold it in my hands when I fuck you.”
    He turned me to face the mirror again. “If I was a sculptor,” he said, “I would make a statue of the perfect woman out of clay, running my hands over its form again and again, smoothing every curve with my palms. And she would look exactly. Like. You.”
    I stared at the mirror. A different woman was standing there: one I didn’t hate. The heat was raging inside me now, an inferno. I was trembling with it, almost panting. And then I felt something else, as he pressed against me. His cock was hot and hard along my thigh. He wanted her, the woman in the mirror. He wanted me.
    He stepped around in front of me and looked long and deep into my eyes, checking that I was okay. I nodded to him, and the implications of that resonated through me. I was okay. For the first time, maybe, in a long time.
    He leaned forward and kissed me. This time my mouth flowered open and it was slow and sensual, the kiss moving and changing as his hand buried itself in my hair and drew me to him. When the kiss finished, I opened my eyes and was again staring at the woman in the mirror. Only now, the gorgeous man who stood between us was sinking, kneeling down.
    Oh God. Is he going to—
    I groaned at the first touch of his mouth on me, my hands