The Blue Hour

The Blue Hour by Beatrice Donahue Read Free Book Online

Book: The Blue Hour by Beatrice Donahue Read Free Book Online
Authors: Beatrice Donahue
trails across my stomach, and something deep inside me tightens unbearably. Her gaze on me is as gentle as her touch.
    “Is this what you want?”
    Yes, it’s what I want. It’s all I want.
    My neck and eyelids are leaden.
    “Yes. I want this. You. Yes.”
    “Good, because it’s all I’ve wanted since the first moment I saw you in that awful place.”
    I choke out a sob of laughter and close my eyes. I shiver as she plants kisses on each lid, at my throat, warm along my breastbone. I grasp cotton and sigh as her tongue slides down and finds my navel.
    “You’re so goddamned beautiful, Rosina.” Her drawl against my skin sets it alight. “Touch yourself for me. How you would, alone.”
    I feel my skin flush, but still open my eyes to look at her. “I don’t—I... at least, I never... not until I met you.” It’s hard to breathe.
    “But you’re so beautiful, Rosebud. Let me show you.”
    I want her to, so much. I release my grip on the sheet, and hold out my hand. She takes it, and I gasp as she places it between my legs, then waits.
    Swallowing hard, I extend a finger; still clasping my hand to guide it, she trails it through the moisture. Slippery, and swollen.
    Oh, God.
    I hiss through my teeth, rock my pelvis back above the bed and fight to look at her. She’s smiling, lips parted.
    “Touch me.” I would beg her, but the power to form sentences has deserted me. At first her fingers close over mine, but I slide my own away, biting my lip as hers land there instead. The contact brings a sensation of sharp but unfulfilled pleasure. I tense, back arching in anticipation. “Show me,” I gasp. “Please.”
    She’s silent, but her fingers answer with light strokes over my sensitive flesh. I spread my legs a little wider and groan as she circles and teases, unable to keep my eyes open any more.
    “So good... Eve.”
    In one lithe movement, she lies on top of me. Her warm weight exerts the perfect pressure, skilled fingers slid between our bodies, making passes through my soaking wet sex. As she lowers her head to kiss me, the sensation of her nipples connecting with mine is electrifying. She moves fluidly, molten; the perfect temperature. Over, around, underneath. Inside.
    Her bottom is round, high, and so soft I almost can’t bear the feeling it invokes. I slide my hands over the smoothness, stroking, and sigh out loud at the corresponding tug of longing low down inside. My nipples are hard against her body, sensitive to every motion, to every shift of her weight. Her fingers keep on moving inside me with slow thrusts while she rubs the most tender point with the pad of her thumb and our tongues explore each other’s mouths in slow, sensual passes. The urgency of the falling evening lies forgotten behind us. By the light of her bedside lamp, it is replaced with the desire to see, kiss, love every part of her, and have her love me.
    Her next kiss is closed-mouthed, then she runs her tongue from my clavicle, up my throat and back to my lips.
    “Stay here with me.”
    I don’t understand what she’s asking of me. I’m here. The night is black beyond the curtainless windows, but I can’t ask her. I can only circle my hips, lifting off the bed now of their own volition to meet her fingers, and choke out yes.
    With the slip and slide of our bodies, the feelings build beneath her fingertips, and then she takes her hand away. Before I can protest with more than a whimper, she thrusts one warm thigh up between my own, exerting a pressure so delicious I begin to fall apart.
    How could I have doubted I would know what to do with her? I moan out loud, winding my legs around her; this feels more natural than breathing. Mouths locked, I grind my wetness on her thigh, then bury my face at the crook of her neck and inhale, tracing the curve of her breasts with my palm. This feeling is so pure, I want to cry, and laugh, and scream, and I do. As I fall backwards against the bed, waves of heat have already begun to

Similar Books


Tomás Eloy Martínez

Into the Fire

Anne Stuart

Legacy of Desire

Marina Anderson

Other Alexander, The

Andrew Levkoff

Roses are Red

Jasmine Hill

The White Lie

Andrea Gillies

True Crime

Max Allan Collins