parts, although she did admit to a great desire to see his. She’d caught glimpses of him years ago and she’d certainly run her hand over his manhood and felt its steel and length. The thought of seeing Jonathan completely without clothing brought another moan to her lips.
And her legs eased open again. Keeping her eyes carefully shut, she slid her feet farther along the soft wool of the rug.
It was his turn to moan, the vibrato of the sound almost causing a similar cry to once again form in her throat.
“Slide your hands along your outer thighs as close to your knees as you can reach.” There was a new urgency to his speech. “Now move to your inner thighs and ease back down. Find those spots where you are most sensitive. Pause there, move your fingers back and forth, circle, enjoy every bit of sensation, of pleasure. Do you feel yourself growing moist, feel the dampness spreading to your thighs, feel yourself getting ready for me, your body aching for me? Mine is aching for you. It is all I can do not to spring from my chair and fall upon you. I want to plunge into your body, hard and fast. I want to spend myself upon you, to pound into your softness.”
She would have moaned again if she could have found the breath. The images that filled her mind at his words were endless. She didn’t know quite what would happen, but she could feel that pounding of flesh, feel herself filled as she had never been filled.
“You like it when I talk to you, when I tell you what I want. That is good, because I want what I want and nothing gives me more pleasure than knowing you want to give it to me, that you are excited by giving it to me,” he growled. “Now move your hands lower. Bring them to the crease where leg meets thigh. Is that not a delicious spot? The skin so soft, so tender, so sensitive. I could put my mouth upon you there and simply lick you for hours, lick you until you whimpered—and whimper you would. I would hold you still, refusing to let you move, refusing to touch you where you wished to be touched, but concentrating only on that one tender spot. I would listen to you beg and still I would hold back, waiting until you could take no more, waiting until you were mindless with need, and then I would move my fingers to your core, open you, spread you, so that I could taste you, put my mouth upon you and…”
“Ahhhh.” The cry left her now dry lips, her whole body clenching at his words. Her fingers stilled the nails biting into the tender flesh he had described. She was already mindless, filled with need she did not understand. She had expected pleasure, but simple pleasure, not this building and building and building. For a moment she’d felt release, felt some easing, his words almost bringing her someplace that she so desperately needed to be.
But she was not there. Her body still ached and cried.
She felt a light touch upon her knee. She opened her eyes, startled.
Jonathan stood there.
No footsteps had warned her of his movement.
As she watched he sank to his knees between her thighs. He did not touch her except for that one light palm upon her knee.
His gaze lingered on her face for a moment. She could feel him judge her emotions, her feelings, her desires.
Then he let his eyes brush down her body. Tight red nipples, pale flesh damp with sweat, dark curls and then…
“Open your legs further.” His hand pushed her gently open. “Use your fingers to part yourself, show yourself to me completely.”
She couldn’t do that, she couldn’t. And yet she did. Her fingers inched together and then pushed her folds open. She turned her head to the side, trying to deny her own actions.
“Look at me, Sarah. Do not be ashamed. There is nothing to be ashamed of in this. This is what you want, embrace it.”
That was easy for him to say. He was a man. Men were expected to like this, to want it.
Pulling in a deep breath, she forced her face to turn, forced herself to meet his eyes. “This is not