5. Chapter 5 The Pink Dress #3
It is an eclectic mix. From nonfiction books on a variety of topics to cozy mysteries, but one entire bookcase is filled with trade-sized paperbacks with titles like Broken Whispers and Sweet Georgia Peach.
I pull one out to read the back.
Startled by the description, I flip it open to the middle and read a page. Two paragraphs in, my cock is pressing insistently against the fly of my slacks.
My innocent little jewel reads this?
"What are you doing?" Juliana asks.
Caught up in the explicit sex scene I am reading, I did not hear her return. I close the book and return it to the shelf before turning to face her, doing nothing to hide what reading her obviously favorite genre of fiction has done to me.
That I pictured her in the scene is to be expected, considering she is the woman who will share my bed for the remaining years of my life.
At the sight of her hovering nervously in the arched doorway, my arousal pounds an insistent pulse in my blood.
She has removed her braid and brushed her hair into a silken curtain around her face. But it's the short-sleeved pink dress that takes my cock from semihard to steel rod status in a matter of a few heartbeats.
Clinging lovingly to her breasts, it reveals more cleavage than anything I have seen on her before. Either in person or the photos compiled by the investigator. Its full skirt hits her mid-thigh, showing me the soft legs I want wrapped around me while I claim her body with my own.
Her feet are bare and for some reason that is more erotic to me in this moment than any pair of so-called fuck me heels any other woman has ever worn for me.
I close the distance between us in three long strides and stop only when our bodies are mere inches apart. "You look beautiful."
Pink stains her cheeks. "My sister and DeeDee convinced me to buy it."
"More emergency clothes?" If it is, then I want to see the rest of her emergency wardrobe.
Her blush intensifies. "No."
"Then this is for me?" I trace the line of her deeply scooped neckline, meaning both the tantalizing dress and what lies beneath it.
A stuttering breath expels from her lungs. "Yes."
"Good." I lower my mouth to hers.
Her lips are soft and hesitant at first, then pliant, then suddenly eager. She makes a small sound in her throat that goes straight to my groin. I swallow it, leaning down to slide my hand under her ample bottom and then straighten with her pressed against my body.
Her face now level with mine, I deepen the kiss.
Moaning, she wraps her arms tightly around my neck and kisses me back with enthusiastic, untried passion.
Her taste is ambrosia on my tongue, her lips perfect softness against mine.
When one of her hands slides into my hair, gripping it like she’s afraid I’ll pull away, something inside me snaps.
Devouring her mouth, I navigate backward until I feel the ottoman against the back of my calf. I move us around it and then sit in the oversized reading chair, maneuvering her legs on either side of my thighs before settling her right on top of my hardon.
My little jewel doesn't balk, but rubs her panty covered pussy over my swollen sex while sucking on my tongue.
Allowing myself the privilege of touching her as I have been craving since our first meeting, I cup both of her bountiful breasts in my hands and squeeze before pinching the hardened nubs of her nipples through her dress.
Her movements turn frenzied and if the barrier of her panties and my slacks were not there, she would be riding my cockstand like an Arabian stallion at full gallop.
Heat roars through me. I am aware of nothing but the feel of her, the taste of her and the scent of her arousal perfuming the air like a succulent blossom ready to be picked.
Suddenly, she tears her lips from mine, arches her back and cries out in ecstasy.
Ya Wayli! I am ruined.
This woman. Beneath her frumpy clothes and shy demeanor there is passion hot enough to burn even the best of a man's intentions.
And mine are not to withhold myself from her in any case.
Tonight I make her mine.
I grip her hips and move her against my sex, extending her pleasure and increasing my torment.
She moans, tears trickling past her closed eyelids. "So good. I thought…the books…fiction, but it's so good."
"So, I live up to your favorite books?" She has no idea how much more pleasure I will give her this night.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. No doubt the text telling me our dinner has arrived.
Juliana's head snaps up and her eyes open, their depths still hazy with passion. "What?"
"I am happy to act out your favorite scenes," I tell her.
"My favorite…" Her words cut off on a gasp of understanding. "You were reading one of my books!"
"I was."
"I…that's fiction…"
I tilt my pelvis up, pressing against her pleasure center. "This is not."
She shakes her head slowly from side to side, her gaze coming into focus, her lovely eyes filled with wonder. "No, it's not." She drops forward and buries her face in my neck. "I can't believe I just did that."
"And yet, the damp spot on the placket of my slacks says otherwise."