Free Outside The Lines:: Third Person Narration by Bella Love Page B

unbuttoned her shirt for him.
    His gaze dropped as her fingers slid slowly down the sweater, undoing it button by button.   It gaped open, then parted fully, her skin so pale it almost gleamed in contrast to her bright red bra. He took a low, sharp breath.  
    “Take down your hair.”
    She tugged at the tight hair band, slid it down the length of her ponytail, then off.   Her hair fell thickly down her back.
    “You’re fucking beautiful,” he said in a low, harsh voice.
    His words scorched her hopelessness, burned her. She lifted her chin, arched her back. Her body wanted to get closer to his words. His eyes got dark and fierce.  
    “Do that again.”
    She felt more powerful than she had in…ever.   She arched a little more, chin up, then reached around and scooped up a heavy length of hair over her shoulder, so it spilled down the front of her body, over her breasts. For him.  
    His gaze raked up her body and she felt alive. Getting a life.
    “Unbutton your jeans.”
    Her fingers touched the cool metal and she felt burned. Desire had burned through to her fingertips; her whole body was pulsing, fired up. She flipped the button open and folded the sides down and away. The tops of her red-red panties, lacey and sheer, almost glowed in the darkness between them. She flushed as he looked at them.  
    “I like those,” he said in a low voice.
    “I’m glad,” she whispered, half laughing.
    “I’m going to rip them off.”
    She was hyperventilating. “I hope so.”
    He held out a hand. “Come here.”
    She took the two steps required to draw up in front of him. Excitement shivered through her.  
    He stretched out a hand and skimmed his knuckles down her exposed belly.  
    A broken gasp escaped her. “Johnny,” she whispered.   She had no idea why she was saying his name, except that it felt like breathing right now.
    He skimmed up this time, slow and hot, and brushed his knuckles over her nipple. Her body jerked, as if he’d stroked her with a whip.  
    He pushed to the edge of his chair and closed his hands around her hips, pulling her forward to stand between his knees. He held her there and tilted his face up, laid his hot mouth over her breast, right through the lacy red material, and flicked his tongue, hard and fast.
    Her head dropped, her back arched. His hands tightened around her waist as she leaned over him, holding her up on unsteady legs. She braced a palm on the back of his chair and leaned over him further, to give him more access, but he tore his mouth away and curled a hand around the nape of her neck, pulled her down so she was bent forward, her hands on the back of the chair, their mouths close together.
    Our heavy, rasping breaths filled the dark room. She shook, holding steady, waiting for him to move on her, to assault her, to invade her with his kiss. Her body hummed with wanting it.
    Then he did. And blew her mind. Because this kiss was not an assault. It was…wings.  
    Butterfly wings, his lips, dancing across hers. So soft, so gentle, so different from all the hard, determined things she’d thought she knew about Johnny, that the breath caught in her throat.
    She didn’t know anything about Johnny, not even for an instant.  
    Her whole body trembled as he kissed her slow and sweet, licking her mouth, tasting her tongue, breathing on her, so she became a specimen of sensuality, a work of his art.   She opened her mouth, their tongues tangling slowly, heatedly, then Juliette couldn’t wait anymore, and pushed her tongue forward, into his mouth.  
    He made a dark, masculine sound and the hand on her hips skidded up. He brushed the back of one hand over her breast, igniting an explosion of chills. He brushed again and pinched a nipple between his knuckles as he went by, so that she cried out down into his mouth. But it was all a slow, languid thing, like lava on the move, slow and scorching hot.  
    She put her hands on his shoulders, a knee up on the seat, and leaned over him,