Read His Cemetery Doll for Free Online

Before he could stop himself, he bowed his head to her and kissed her frozen lips.
    She wound the fingers of her other hand into his hair, tugging him gently closer.
    "Is this what you want?" he whispered. In answer, the living doll pulled him down to her, and Conall, still holding her, guided her to his bed.
    They tumbled to the mattress in a whirl of ribbons, the fog pressing in on every side. Conall rolled to top her, still kissing those porcelain lips—but now, he thought he felt them kissing back, the barest hint of panting breath between them. He slid his hand down her body and found the bizarre seams between her limbs. Following the joint of her inner elbow with his thumb, he broke off his kisses long enough to stare down, puzzling over it.
    "You...aren't real," he murmured, tracing the seam. "You can't be. But...you feel so..."
    She pulled his face back to her, back to needful lips. He shivered with pleasure at the chill of her mouth under his, the mingling of their breaths, icy frost and rousing heat. His reaction stirred under the cloth of his pajama pants: his cock nudged at the firmness of her belly.
    It occurred to him then to wonder how far his doll meant to take him. He broke from her, breathing hard as he stared, questioning, down at her.
    Her attention remained oriented on his eyes—how he hated her blindfold, hiding her true gaze from him, denying him the sight of her real expression. Her fingertips, though, slid down his body, moving with slow but deliberate intention. He shuddered as they slid beneath the hem of his pants and bravely wrapped around his stiffened cock.
    "Oh—" he breathed, his eyes sliding shut. He moved his hips to meet her, feeling dazed. He couldn't recall the last time another had caressed him so; the last time a woman's delicate hand had gripped him in such firm but gentle tenderness.
    She met his motions. The confines of clothing stifled him, and he shifted to slide his trousers off. She shifted as he did and rolled him onto his back, straddling his hips.
    She sat up, allowing him to behold her fully. As he watched, the ribbons wound around her body began to slip away, slowly unraveling to reveal the immaculate form beneath: breasts, wanton and gleaming white, capped with brilliant pert nipples like snow; flat belly, dipping into a tiny cup of a navel; sweet, sensuous hips; and finally, a bare, perfectly shaped, womanly mound.
    Conall couldn't help it: he brought a hand up to trace the outline of her sex, testing it. Cool, smooth, like the rest of her...but pliant, yielding under his touch. He slipped his finger into a silken sheath, and here he found her hot, and wet.
    The doll's head rolled back, her hips sliding forward to welcome him.
    "Who broke your mask?" he asked, reaching up with his free hand to remove the blindfold. She turned her face away, clearly denying him. She seized his hand and guided it instead to her breasts, letting him knead the soft flesh.
    "Why do you come to me?" he breathed. She spoke through her motions, as she began to move again, rocking to him, back arching with her delight. Her gestures, so... alien. She mesmerized him, the slide and roll of her body, the graceful arch of her form. In the glow of gray night fog she seemed to float above him. He withdrew his hand from her sex and grasped her other hip, pulling her down, moaning softly at the way her thighs tightened around him.
    Steadying her with an arm around her waist, Conall sat up, settling her in his lap. His cock pressed stiff against her, and he nuzzled his face between her breasts, greedily inhaling her scent. She smelled like winter, and it filled him with a sense of sweet freedom, escape, release. As he took one lovely nipple between his lips, he found she tasted like snow.
    She shifted her hips to explore the rigid length of him. His cock jumped at the feel of her pristine pussy gliding along him. His hands slipped to her firm buttocks, and she let him lift her up, then slid back down,