Free Unfaithful: An Unlocked Novella by Suzuki Sinclair Page A

my spin and race all the way up to the nape of my neck. Then you take my face in your hands and kiss me—deep, rough, passionate. I love it when you kiss me hard. Just like the first time, when I was so scared you were just going to walk away.
    I’m like melted chocolate in your arms. A buzzing, demanding heat starts in the pit of my stomach, reaching out through me like a giant made of fire. My heartbeat hammers in my chest. I can feel myself surrendering to the arousal that started to build the moment I saw you, just like ti always does. I’m losing all my ability to think, but I don’t care. I don’t want to think. I just want to feel. I just want to feel you.
    I wrap my arms around you. I can feel the muscles of your chest against me. You unhook one of the wide straps of my blue dress and let it fall. You break the kiss and I give just the tiniest moan of disappointment. It escapes into the night like a prisoner, free at last. My eyes open, searching your face for the reason our kiss ended. But then your warm breath is on my shoulder and I smile and close my eyes again, knowing what’s coming next.
    And then your lips are on my neck, your warm, wet mouth open, softly suckling at the sensitive skin. Goosebumps break out over my skin in a wave and I shudder. A white heat is building up in my crotch. I’m already so wet that I’m soaking through my underwear.
    I run my hands down your starched white shirtfront.  The material is thick and heavy under my palms. I press my face to your chest and inhale. You smell like a man should, strong and faintly sweet. You smell like ice-sharp Italian cologne. You smell like love and I want to taste your skin. I look up into your eyes, those deep green eyes, with the candlelight flickering over them, and start unbuttoning your shirt buttons, one by one. You drop one hand and softly stroke me between my legs. I almost cry out at the first gentle feel of your hand but nothing’s going to distract me from my task. Not your smell, and not your eyes, and not even the delicious pressure of your fingers on my lower lips.
    At last I get your shirt open. I can put my hands on your warm body now, on the life that surges through you, just beneath the skin. I can feel the way your brawn bunches. I put my lips to the little upside-down triangle ridge at the hollow of your neck, and now it’s your turn to shiver. I know how you like it; know you like it warm and wet, and I suck on your skin while I push my tongue against you.
    You’re still stroking me as I pull your shirt out of your pants, as I strip it off you. You finally help me and shrug it off over your shoulders. Then I’m fumbling at your blue jeans. I can feel the hardness of you pushing against my legs, but I don’t want to touch you; not yet. I want to save that for later.
    Finally I get your belt undone and you step backward. You put your hands on your hips and shove everything down. You step out of the pants and briefs and socks and stand there, naked in the candlelit room, the red and gold light gently illuminating your body.
    And your cock. Your beautiful, hard cock. It’s proud and rigid. The head pushes upwards towards the ceiling. I want so much to throw myself to my knees and worship your hardness. To suck you dry. I want to cup your balls and feel the cum pumping out of you and over my tongue, taste the salt of you spreading over my tongue. But I’m going to force myself to wait.
    “Take off your clothes,” you say, and with a small, secret smile, I start to do as you order. But first, I turn around. I can feel your eyes on my back, on my hips, on my ass. I look over my shoulders, and sure enough, you’re looking at me. I hear your breathing stop. The room is heavy with anticipation and lust.
    “You like it?” I ask, unhooking the other strap of my dress. “You want to see all of it?”
    I let the dress fall to the floor and stand there in my bra and panties. Growling in the back of your throat, you cross the