Read The Nicholas Linnear Novels for Free Online Page B
Authors: Eric Van Lustbader
sufficient. “And, too, I came here to prove to myself that I could be a Westerner as well as an Easterner. I majored in mass communications at college, launched into the atom age. Advertising seemed a logical choice once I came here and I was lucky enough to find someone who was willing to take a chance on me as a raw trainee.” He laughed. “It turned out I was a natural.”
She turned her body sideways to the surf, facing him fully. She came and stood next to him. Her long hair swirled, a link; they had not touched. “Do you want me?” she whispered like the tide. “Do you want to make love to me?”
“Yes,” he said, watching her eyes, their expanded pupils darkening the green to black. He felt a tightening in his stomach, no longer quite certain of his own ghosts, feeling a filament of fear, a feather brushing the base of his spine. “Do you want to make love to me?”
She said nothing; he felt the nearness of her hand rather than saw it, mesmerized by her eyes, the glowing motes like magnets. He felt its heat, then the tips of her fingers touched the skin of his biceps, curled around the muscles there, firmly but without squeezing, and it seemed to him that the simple gesture communicated so much that it was as if she had never done it before; that it had never been done to him before in just that way. And that first contact was so electrically tender that he felt the muscles of his thighs trembling, a sighing in his heart begin.
He wrapped her slowly in his arms and he was quite certain she cried out, a tiny burst of erotic emotion, “Oh!,” the abandoned ardor of the music, just before his lips covered hers. Immediately her mouth opened under his and he felt the length of her body pressing against his, building heat at the fulcrums of breasts, belly and the juncture of her thighs.
How hot she seemed as his lips caressed her long neck, tracing the rounded edge of her collarbone. His hands pulled at her shirt. Her lips were at his ear, her tongue circling, circling like that last hungry gull above the night-dark beach, and she whispered, “Not here. Not here. Please—”
Lifting her arms and the shirt came off; his fingers stroked her spine, the deep long indentation. She shivered and moaned as he licked under her arms, moving slowly to her full breasts, the nipples already hard and puckered.
Her long fingers unfastening the snap of his jeans, her nail clicking together as his open lips covered the upper slopes of her breasts, spiraling inward. “Please,” she whispered. “Please.” And brought him out of the jeans, already half-erect, stroking him softly to full hardness as he sucked her nipples.
He felt the fear give a last flutter, like a tired sigh, before it evaporated utterly. They sank lower and lower, twisting and trembling with anticipation as the remainder of their clothes came off. Her hands moved to push down the pair of thin silk panties but he stopped her, picking her up from the carpet, one hand under her buttocks, the other at the small of her back, lifted her half onto the sofa, moving between her spread thighs, bending, his opened lips finding their soft inner sides, moving slowly upward, toward the high silk-covered mount. Her fingers were white as they gripped the front edge of the sofa’s pillow; his tongue touched the moist silk and she moaned again, her back arching.
He began to lick at her through the thin barrier of the silk and her hands flew to his head, stroking his ears, her wide opened mouth making small involuntary cries as the tension built inside her rapidly. Then he moved aside the sopping silk and buried his face against her. Her nails grazed his back as her long legs jerked convulsively upward. Her ankles locked against his spine. He moved slightly upward to her core, sucked it into his mouth. Her loins rolled upward in powerful thrusts as she cried out, his tongue and lips constantly moving until he felt her shuddering against him, heard her scream, the
She turned her body sideways to the surf, facing him fully. She came and stood next to him. Her long hair swirled, a link; they had not touched. “Do you want me?” she whispered like the tide. “Do you want to make love to me?”
“Yes,” he said, watching her eyes, their expanded pupils darkening the green to black. He felt a tightening in his stomach, no longer quite certain of his own ghosts, feeling a filament of fear, a feather brushing the base of his spine. “Do you want to make love to me?”
She said nothing; he felt the nearness of her hand rather than saw it, mesmerized by her eyes, the glowing motes like magnets. He felt its heat, then the tips of her fingers touched the skin of his biceps, curled around the muscles there, firmly but without squeezing, and it seemed to him that the simple gesture communicated so much that it was as if she had never done it before; that it had never been done to him before in just that way. And that first contact was so electrically tender that he felt the muscles of his thighs trembling, a sighing in his heart begin.
He wrapped her slowly in his arms and he was quite certain she cried out, a tiny burst of erotic emotion, “Oh!,” the abandoned ardor of the music, just before his lips covered hers. Immediately her mouth opened under his and he felt the length of her body pressing against his, building heat at the fulcrums of breasts, belly and the juncture of her thighs.
How hot she seemed as his lips caressed her long neck, tracing the rounded edge of her collarbone. His hands pulled at her shirt. Her lips were at his ear, her tongue circling, circling like that last hungry gull above the night-dark beach, and she whispered, “Not here. Not here. Please—”
Lifting her arms and the shirt came off; his fingers stroked her spine, the deep long indentation. She shivered and moaned as he licked under her arms, moving slowly to her full breasts, the nipples already hard and puckered.
Her long fingers unfastening the snap of his jeans, her nail clicking together as his open lips covered the upper slopes of her breasts, spiraling inward. “Please,” she whispered. “Please.” And brought him out of the jeans, already half-erect, stroking him softly to full hardness as he sucked her nipples.
He felt the fear give a last flutter, like a tired sigh, before it evaporated utterly. They sank lower and lower, twisting and trembling with anticipation as the remainder of their clothes came off. Her hands moved to push down the pair of thin silk panties but he stopped her, picking her up from the carpet, one hand under her buttocks, the other at the small of her back, lifted her half onto the sofa, moving between her spread thighs, bending, his opened lips finding their soft inner sides, moving slowly upward, toward the high silk-covered mount. Her fingers were white as they gripped the front edge of the sofa’s pillow; his tongue touched the moist silk and she moaned again, her back arching.
He began to lick at her through the thin barrier of the silk and her hands flew to his head, stroking his ears, her wide opened mouth making small involuntary cries as the tension built inside her rapidly. Then he moved aside the sopping silk and buried his face against her. Her nails grazed his back as her long legs jerked convulsively upward. Her ankles locked against his spine. He moved slightly upward to her core, sucked it into his mouth. Her loins rolled upward in powerful thrusts as she cried out, his tongue and lips constantly moving until he felt her shuddering against him, heard her scream, the