Read Vampire Cowboy for Free Online Page B

and then his torso, so white it seemed luminescent in the moonlight. How she longed to get her hands on him. She thought about his hands and how they had caressed her. Her heart beat faster as heat rose within her. She longed to feel his strong hands on her again, stroking her back, squeezing her breasts. She wanted his fingers pinching her nipples, giving her that painful pleasure that drove her wild. It was all she could do to stay where she was, dutifully pumping the water.
    When he stood, shaking the water from his hair, she let go of the handle and came boldly up to him and put her arms around him.
    “You’ll get wet,” he said.
    “And this is how you’ll get dry.” She rubbed herself against him. Shamelessly she lifted her skirt as high as possible and dried what she could reach of him. Meeting his gaze she willed him to want her, to desire her with all his heart and soul, the way she wanted him. He tilted his head, an eyebrow raised and a half-smile playing on his lips.
    “Turn around,” she said. He did and she rubbed herself against his back. She brought her arms around him and stroked his massive chest.
    “Mm,” she murmured, “you feel so nice.” So powerful, so strong. She lingered there a minute, loving the feel of him—hard muscle under cool, smooth skin, loving the sound of his breath coming harder, faster.
    “If we were to live forever,” he said softly, “I would still never tire of your touch, of the feel of your hands on my body.”
    She let her fingers drift down his sides to his slender hips. She undid his belt, opened his stiff trousers and slipped her hands downward along his groin until she touched his member. Ah, he was already big. She pressed her body harder against his. Her nipples stood erect, pushing achingly against the soft fabric of her gown and the firmness of his fully muscled back. She was becoming damp down below. He was all she wanted, all she needed.
    Gently, tentatively she slipped her hands down the hardening length of him. Satin over steel. He groaned. She pushed the trousers out of her way and slowly, wonderingly, she stroked him, caressed him. And then harder, faster, until he brushed her hands away, turned to her and took her mouth.
    His lips were bruising, insistent. His hands were everywhere, demanding and possessive, first crushing her body to his own, then firm about her waist, her sides, her back. All the while his member pressed hard against her. She could feel her own wetness. Soon it would dampen her thighs. She was overwhelmed with the pleasure of it and yet almost in pain for wanting more.
    She brought her arms around him, ran her hands down his back, palms flat against his buttocks, pulling him closer still. She stood on her toes and he bent his knees so that his member came to nestle between her thighs, brushing her mound, separated from her skin by her skirt. She ached with longing for him.
    He paused only to murmur, “I could spend an eternity kissing you, holding you close to me, learning your body.” Then he was kissing her again.
    As though he knew what she was feeling, his tongue pushed roughly past her lips. The ache became fire and flared, filling her pelvis, rising into her belly, licking at her heart until she thought she could stand it no longer.
    “I want you,” she whispered. “I want you now.”
    His laugh was low and throaty. “Not yet, my darling, not yet.” He picked her up and carried her into the house where he laid her on the dining table among her mother’s pretty flowered china that she’d brought all the way from Kansas City. He pushed her skirt up and bent to kiss the tender insides of her thighs.
    He raised his head and met her gaze as he slowly ran his fingers up and down the creases that separate thigh from sex. He bent and kissed and licked where his fingers had been. Then his lips were on her mound, burrowing in the black curls, moving excruciatingly slowly toward the very center of her. She could hardly bear the mix