Turning Up the Heat by Laura Florand Read Free Book Online Page A

him.
He kissed up to the insides of her wrists. “Still love me, Léa?” he whispered.
Her eyes widened. “Of course !” How could anyone not?
He stroked her fingertips over his cheeks, petting himself with her, his eyes half closing. “So that’s all right,” he murmured, caressing his cheek into his own strokes.
“I told you it’s nothing to do with you!”
His mouth hardened, under her palm. “Don’t feel you have to repeat yourself. You’ve given me plenty of opportunities to grasp the point, if I choose to.” He tugged her hands a little to pull her down closer to him, pressing them to the sand on either side of his head. Her pelvis rocked forward on his. Her face came close enough to his that it would be less effort to kiss him than to hold herself up. Even less effort to curl up against his chest and just stay there. He loosed her hair from its ponytail, combing it forward to brush his face. “There,” he whispered with satisfaction.
She drew a long breath. The feel of his sex hardening against hers liquefied her. She could feel her eyes drifting closed, her body growing pliant and helpless. She had never been any good at this position. Arousal melted her muscles, left her too yielding and soft to take control. This position was always for playing, until his body was all one hard need to drive into her, to take her over. Until her body was all one supple need to be taken.
His hands pulled her long tunic up until he could slip under it, his fingers tracing ever so delicately the line of her bikini bottom. And then teasing over her bikini-clad butt. “I suppose this is the only space of skin where you aren’t sunburned?” he whispered.
Her hips twisted against his. She nodded, already growing heavy, wanting.
His fingers followed over the little line of the string bikini. “There’s not even enough space to fit my hands to grasp your hips,” he murmured, twisting up suddenly with his own hips, trying to obtain pressure without gripping her.
She responded, pressing down because she knew it was what he wanted her to do, but she was shivering and losing strength. She wanted him to grab her now, drag her sex against his, take over her body. But he was bound more strongly than if he had been tied to a bedpost. He couldn’t take her without hurting her.
He thrust up again with his hips, and his fingers trailed around to tuck into the front of her bikini.
She shivered again, her sex melting. His eyes glittered like stars as he watched her face, sinking his fingers lower inside her bikini.
She made a little moaning sound, her head hanging heavily. He lifted his own head off the sand enough to catch her mouth, kissing her like sex, lushly, invasive.His fingertips slipped far enough down to brush her clitoris.
She gave a little gasp and collapsed on top of him, clinging, her cheek rubbing against him like an animal. His hand got crushed between them, no wiggle room. She moaned a little, rocking her hips against his crushed fingers.
“ Chérie , you have to sit up just a little,” he whispered. “I can’t turn you over, on the sand or on me. Not with your back like that. Allez, bébé .” He pushed her up a little by one shoulder. She tried, but when his freed fingers flicked again, deftly, all her weight sank back down, hanging against the brace of his hand.
“I want to hold you,” he breathed. “I want to suck your pretty tétons until you babble my name. But I’ll forget—I’ll grab you too hard, and I’ll hurt you. And you’ll let me.” His hand dove lushly into her parted sex. She whimpered, twisting frantically, unable to stand this position held off him. She never had been able to hold herself separate from him when she came. And yet the pleasure built in her, to be held apart and yet so helpless to him. To be so vulnerable to his deft control.
“Sit up.” He pushed at her shoulder. “ Bébé , let me do this.”
“No.” She shook her head, because she couldn’t. Emotionally too shy to