Worth Waiting For by Kelly Jamieson Read Free Book Online

trembling arms fall to her sides and her eyes closed as she breathed in and out, breasts rising and falling.
    He stroked his hands over her waist, her hips, her flat stomach, while he watched and waited for her to come down. She was incredible, glowing golden everywhere, her skin damp and gleaming. He watched her tongue come out and lick her lips, which then curved into a smile as her eyes flickered open. “Wow.”
     
    * * *
     
    She was as soft and limp as the blanket that now lay pooled on the floor, dazed and breathless. She looked at Griff, hovering over her, watching her with just a hint of uncertainty on his face.
    “We should go to the bedroom,” she whispered, although she was unsure if she could actually move. Relief flickered over his features and, with a swift move, he stood beside the couch and lifted her into his arms.
    “Griff!” she croaked in surprise as he swung her up in the air.
    “You’re such a tiny thing.” The corners of his mouth kicked up.
    She hung onto his neck as he carried her down the hall and into her dark bedroom. The breeze from the open window billowed the curtains, but the coolness felt good against her hot skin. He laid her gently on the bed, the linens all tossed and tangled from her earlier restless attempts at sleep. He tugged them aside and lay down beside her.
    The sweet scent of the jasmine outside her window seemed ten times stronger than it had before and the sheet beneath her skin seemed so soft. She could hear Griff’s labored breathing in the quiet room, the light from down the hall just enough to see his face in shadows.
    She reached a hand up and touched his cheek, his shadowy beard rough against her fingertips. She was so acutely aware of everything…like she’d suddenly come alive. She stroked his lean cheek, then trailed her fingers down over his chest, over the smooth, strong muscles, then lower to the ripple of his abs, feeling them quiver beneath her touch.
    He was still wearing his black boxer briefs and they strained to contain him. Her eyes followed her fingers and she wanted to touch him there again, feel that hard, hot power. So she did, and he gasped at her touch, swelling into her hand.
    She slipped her hand inside his briefs, needing to feel the velvety skin over marble hardness that she remembered so well. Her memories had been good, but over the years they’d dimmed somewhat, and the reality of him almost made her gasp with pleasure. She stroked him softly, then remembered that he liked to be held in a firmer grip. She grasped him and pulled, and he gave a long, low groan.
    He pushed his underwear down over lean hips and she went onto her knees beside him to help drag them off over long, hair-roughened legs, taking her time and enjoying the sight and feel of his lean muscles. His feet were bare, long and sinewy.
    Then she moved over him, straddling his legs, and reached for his cock, dark and long and thick. She clasped him in both hands, stroked him up and down, her palm gliding over the head, and his body jerked beneath her. She glanced at his face, eyes closed, jaw tight, and a feeling of incredible feminine power swept over her. She wanted to give him pleasure so badly she ached with it. No, she wanted to blow his mind. She scooted up, leaned down and took the tip of him into her mouth.
    “Jesus God,” he burst out. “Ainslie…”
    “I know you like this,” she whispered. “I know exactly what you like.”
    She sucked on him, swirled her tongue around him, like he was an ice cream cone, and he was just as delicious. The weird thing was, although she’d done this with other men since him, she’d never really liked it much. But he was a craving she had to satisfy. He felt so hot, smooth and hard, and she took him deeper and deeper into her mouth and down her throat, trying to swallow him whole.
    “Holy shit.” His hands grabbed hold of the bed sheet.
    Her hair was getting in the way and she lifted her mouth from him and tried to toss it