The Stallion by Georgina Brown Read Free Book Online

so cool and long upon her arm were undoing her buttons for her.
    ‘Please do,’ she exclaimed in a breathless purr, her breasts rising suddenly higher in their endeavour to feel those cool fingers on her satin flesh.
    Her senses were now flying around in wild abandonment. What would he do now? What did it matter? Whatever he wanted to do, she was game. He filled her eyes, this tall man who towered above her and had very cool fingers and a voice as warm as mulled brandy. She wanted him in any way she could.
    When her blouse was open and her breasts exposed she studied his face. There was no change in his expression; no acknowledgement in the steady eyes that she was beautiful; no sign that he desired her.
    It made her feel dejected somehow. As if to reassure her own self-esteem, she looked down at the two firm orbs of her breasts which thrust so invitingly towards his hands and his face. She arched her back. It made no difference. Nothing altered.
    Her blouse was open, taken off her. She was naked to the waist. Her arms stayed at her side.
    ‘Stand up,’ Gregory demanded. There was no emotion in his face; no recognition that her breasts were now close to his own chest or that she was looking up at him longingly, wanting him to cup each bosom in his cool hands and to tantalise her crowning nubs with the tips of his fingers, the warmth of his lips.
    She felt cheated, let down. What was wrong with her that this man ignored her most obvious invitation? Did he prefer blondes – those as Scandinavian in features as himself?
    She thought of Ariadne, tall and blonde. Suddenly, she was jealous . . . least, until he spoke again.
    ‘Put your hands on your head. I will help you off with your trousers.’
    ‘But I can do it myself . . . ’ Penny began, then called herself a fool for doing so.
    ‘Put your hands on your head,’ Gregory repeated without looking at her.
    Trembling slightly, Penny did as she was told. The music of his voice was irresistible. Her body wanted out of these dusty, sweaty clothes. Her body was warm. She wondered if his was, too, or whether his flesh was as cool and soothing as his hands.
    Her sighs turning to pleasurable moans, Penny turned her eyes to the bathroom. Hot steam rose and curled out of the door, beckoning her to indulge; to submerge herself in its comforting heat and perfumed aroma.
    Perhaps, she thought with rising excitement, he would join her. What a prospect – that sublime form squelching with her in the confines of warm water and rising suds.
    His face was but a few inches from her now; his hands were on her waistband. Their eyes met, though his seemed strangely vacant, but still fired with an unusual intensity that turned up her toes and made butterflies dance in her belly.
    ‘Are you taking yours off?’ she asked, the hope in her voice and her eyes exceedingly obvious. She’d received no answers from him so far so she was surprised to hear one this time.
    ‘No.’
    His reply was abrupt. His eyes held hers, then dropped as he undid her waistband then the zip of her breeches.
    He didn’t seem to notice her staring at him, her eyes sliding down over the broad chest, his neat ribs, his waist and then the zip of his faded denims.
    She was almost surprised to see a bulge. So far, he had made such a good job of avoiding her eyes, of keeping his conversation to the barest minimum. Yet he was aroused, but seemed disinclined to do anything about it. She wondered why, but said and did nothing.
    As with Alistair she was disappointed but determined to let this particular man see her in all her unfettered glory, without shame . . . and without pity.
    There was something soothing about his dextrous fingers undoing her trousers and sliding them and her knickers down her legs. She almost swooned with joy as his hand dived between her legs to dislodge the crotch of her panties from her sweating slit. For a moment she thought she was going to get what she so badly desired and he so obviously