Shadow Rider
Page 104
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
His hand slid down her back, following the curve of her spine along the seam of her dress. She was acutely aware of his body, pressed so tightly against hers. His erection was hard and unashamed, a long, thick reminder of his need to possess her, burning a brand against her ribs, nearly nestling between her breasts. She shivered as his hand caressed her through the thin material of her dress. She felt every tiny movement, his muscles rippling beneath his elegant clothes, his breath against her hair, when he turned his head, the way his lips brushed against her temple. His hand slipped lower, to her thigh and his fingers began to write his name on her bare skin, branding her—his.
She’d never felt so alive, every nerve ending in her body on fire. Her breasts ached, her nipples hard little peaks, rubbing against him as they moved in perfect synchronization. Her body coiled tighter and tighter until she wanted to weep with a need for release. A fire built, roaring now, between her legs. Her panties were damp and all she could think about was his fingers so close to where her clit throbbed and burned for his touch.
She heard a small, strangled moan escape. She needed relief desperately. She needed his mouth on hers. His hands on her. Fingers in her. And his cock, so hot, so thick and demanding—she needed that most of all.
“Stefano.” She whispered his name, knowing she was pleading, but she didn’t care.
“Me, too, amore. We’ll get out of here as soon as possible.”
She loved that she wasn’t the only one. That he felt the same desperation. She tilted her face upward to look at him, needing to see the raw desire stamped there. Needing to know his need was as great as her own. What she saw there made her breath catch in her throat. His hard features were stamped with absolute possession, with an urgency and passion she knew she couldn’t yet compete with. That only brought on a fresh flood of liquid heat.
He took her mouth. Abruptly. Almost savagely. His tongue was demanding, not giving her a chance to catch up; he just swept her away on that tidal wave of sheer feeling. She couldn’t think and didn’t want to. There was only her body and his. Moving together with the music flowing through them, binding them together with fire, need and the symphony of sound.
He kissed her again and again until she thought she might faint with absolute hunger. She didn’t know a man’s mouth could be so ravenous. She didn’t know his cock could be so hard or his arms so strong, his body like steel. She didn’t know his taste would be so addicting or that he could wipe out every sane thought and replace it with sheer, absolute need.
Her blood thundered in her ears, the beat matching the drum in the song. The beat pulsed in her clit, the clenching in her sex following the persistent clenching of her inner muscles and the spasm that accompanied every touch of Stefano’s fingers.
“I’ve got to have you, Francesca. Be inside you. Right. Fucking. Now.” He breathed the words into her mouth. Darkly sensual. His eyes hooded. Hungry.
The terrible tension coiled tighter. “Let’s leave. Just go,” she whispered back. Embarrassed that her need of him was so strong she would have let him have her right there in that club, somewhere dark, against the wall, on the floor; it didn’t matter as long as he was filling her, taking away the ache that had built into a terrible conflagration.
“We’ll go, dolce cuore, in another minute. I’ve got to get myself under control.”
She wasn’t certain she wanted him under control, but she liked that he needed to get himself that way. That meant he was every bit as affected as she was. They moved together on the dance floor, Stefano using the music to guide her closer to an exit.
She suddenly felt uneasy, coming out of the cocoon Stefano had woven around her. She blinked, keeping her cheek pressed to his chest, right over his heart, but she looked around the darkened room. Stefano’s hand stroked the back of her thigh, high, under her dress, and she was acutely aware of the pads of his fingers against her bare skin. He traced letters, his name, there as well. This time his fingertips slid along the seam of her cheeks and thigh, right where they met, rubbing caresses, continuing to build that terrible, needy ache.
She moistened her lips, her gaze moving around the other dancers, aware suddenly that they weren’t alone. She’d been so deep into the sexual web Stefano drew over her that she’d forgotten where they were—that they were surrounded. Those dancing close were his family members, keeping their backs to Stefano, but very close so that no one else could penetrate that circle.
Valentino Saldi had disappeared and Emmanuelle was dancing with a man she didn’t know. Joanna and Mario were all over each other, Joanna looking flushed and happy some distance away. The strange uneasiness grew stronger in Francesca, in spite of the fact that no one seemed to be paying the least bit of attention to Stefano or her. She was grateful, because she was letting him touch her very inappropriately for their surroundings. She should have stopped him, but she felt as if she needed his touch on her bare skin just to survive.
She’d never felt so alive, every nerve ending in her body on fire. Her breasts ached, her nipples hard little peaks, rubbing against him as they moved in perfect synchronization. Her body coiled tighter and tighter until she wanted to weep with a need for release. A fire built, roaring now, between her legs. Her panties were damp and all she could think about was his fingers so close to where her clit throbbed and burned for his touch.
She heard a small, strangled moan escape. She needed relief desperately. She needed his mouth on hers. His hands on her. Fingers in her. And his cock, so hot, so thick and demanding—she needed that most of all.
“Stefano.” She whispered his name, knowing she was pleading, but she didn’t care.
“Me, too, amore. We’ll get out of here as soon as possible.”
She loved that she wasn’t the only one. That he felt the same desperation. She tilted her face upward to look at him, needing to see the raw desire stamped there. Needing to know his need was as great as her own. What she saw there made her breath catch in her throat. His hard features were stamped with absolute possession, with an urgency and passion she knew she couldn’t yet compete with. That only brought on a fresh flood of liquid heat.
He took her mouth. Abruptly. Almost savagely. His tongue was demanding, not giving her a chance to catch up; he just swept her away on that tidal wave of sheer feeling. She couldn’t think and didn’t want to. There was only her body and his. Moving together with the music flowing through them, binding them together with fire, need and the symphony of sound.
He kissed her again and again until she thought she might faint with absolute hunger. She didn’t know a man’s mouth could be so ravenous. She didn’t know his cock could be so hard or his arms so strong, his body like steel. She didn’t know his taste would be so addicting or that he could wipe out every sane thought and replace it with sheer, absolute need.
Her blood thundered in her ears, the beat matching the drum in the song. The beat pulsed in her clit, the clenching in her sex following the persistent clenching of her inner muscles and the spasm that accompanied every touch of Stefano’s fingers.
“I’ve got to have you, Francesca. Be inside you. Right. Fucking. Now.” He breathed the words into her mouth. Darkly sensual. His eyes hooded. Hungry.
The terrible tension coiled tighter. “Let’s leave. Just go,” she whispered back. Embarrassed that her need of him was so strong she would have let him have her right there in that club, somewhere dark, against the wall, on the floor; it didn’t matter as long as he was filling her, taking away the ache that had built into a terrible conflagration.
“We’ll go, dolce cuore, in another minute. I’ve got to get myself under control.”
She wasn’t certain she wanted him under control, but she liked that he needed to get himself that way. That meant he was every bit as affected as she was. They moved together on the dance floor, Stefano using the music to guide her closer to an exit.
She suddenly felt uneasy, coming out of the cocoon Stefano had woven around her. She blinked, keeping her cheek pressed to his chest, right over his heart, but she looked around the darkened room. Stefano’s hand stroked the back of her thigh, high, under her dress, and she was acutely aware of the pads of his fingers against her bare skin. He traced letters, his name, there as well. This time his fingertips slid along the seam of her cheeks and thigh, right where they met, rubbing caresses, continuing to build that terrible, needy ache.
She moistened her lips, her gaze moving around the other dancers, aware suddenly that they weren’t alone. She’d been so deep into the sexual web Stefano drew over her that she’d forgotten where they were—that they were surrounded. Those dancing close were his family members, keeping their backs to Stefano, but very close so that no one else could penetrate that circle.
Valentino Saldi had disappeared and Emmanuelle was dancing with a man she didn’t know. Joanna and Mario were all over each other, Joanna looking flushed and happy some distance away. The strange uneasiness grew stronger in Francesca, in spite of the fact that no one seemed to be paying the least bit of attention to Stefano or her. She was grateful, because she was letting him touch her very inappropriately for their surroundings. She should have stopped him, but she felt as if she needed his touch on her bare skin just to survive.
