Free Escape From Reality by Adriana Hunter Page A

held her and she held his
head gently to her body.
    After a moment,
he let her go and she sat back, hands reaching for his shirt. He watched her in
the dim light as she undid the buttons with trembling fingers. As she reached
the last button, her hand brushed across his lap, across the bulge of his
erection. Leila hesitated, resting her hand on him, feeling the heat and
hardness his jeans concealed. He drew in a sharp breath, grabbing her hand.
    “Lie back.” He
stood, removing his shirt, dropping it to the floor as she lay back on the
sheets.
    His eyes never
left hers as he undid the button and zipper on his jeans. Leila tried to hold
his gaze, but her eyes slid over his chest, past the flat stomach and taut
navel, then lower as he began tugging his jeans over his narrow hips. This was
exactly what she’d described in her assignment, every detail—almost every
detail. He was perfect.
    As his jeans
slid lower, the dark line of hair she’d written about appeared, the line that
extended below his navel, growing thicker as he lowered his jeans. Leila’s
breathing was shallow and fast, practically panting, eyes widening in
anticipation. He tugged the jeans a fraction of an inch lower and Leila’s
breath stopped. Slowly, he leaned over Leila, rested a hand beside her, and
blew out the candle.
    For a fraction
of an instant, there was silence and then Leila cried out in frustration. He
laughed from somewhere nearby, and she heard the sound of his jeans hitting the
floor. The mattress dipped with his weight and she felt the heat of his body a
moment before his hand slid across her stomach. He leaned close and she drew in
his scent, rich and spicy, deeply masculine.
    There was no
moonlight, and for an instant Leila cursed the darkness. But the hand on her
stomach moved lower and she forgot about what he looked like, only able to
focus on where his hand was going.
    Fingers slid
between her legs as his mouth found hers. He claimed her again with a powerful
kiss, and she instinctively wound her arms around his neck, holding him close.
Her legs moved on their own accord, hips rising, thighs falling open at his
touch.
    And then his
touch moved lower, further, feather-light strokes deepening as his kiss
deepened, fingers probing deeper as his tongue took possession of her mouth.
Her moans were muffled against his lips, his throaty growl against hers.
    He shifted his
weight, one long leg moving over the top of hers. His hip pressed against her
body and she felt his erection, hard and hot, rubbing against her skin. But
that wasn’t enough contact. She craved more, much more. Wiggling beneath him,
she pulled and guided him until he rested between her legs, his hips pinning
her to the mattress.
    Lifting his
head, he broke their kiss. She felt his breath against her cheek, his open
mouth brushing against her neck. He shifted his weight again and she drew her
legs up his body, over the hard muscles of his thighs.
    He brushed
against her, hotter than she could have imagined, and his hips shifted
slightly, the muscles of his thighs tensing beneath her legs as he braced
himself. Leila moved her legs further up his body, bringing her hips up to meet
him, opening herself to him.
    There was a
long moment where he held himself, poised, just touching her, moving slowly,
lightly, teasing her with a hint of what was to come. She bit her lip, aching
to feel him inside her, the anticipation almost overwhelming. With one
movement, she knew, he’d be there, filling her completely, totally. All she
needed to do was wait. Waiting was agony, but a delicious agony nonetheless.
    He lifted his
head and she wished for light, to see the look on his face, the passion in his
eyes, the passion that matched what raced through her own body. His hips flexed
as he pulled back slowly, just a little, enough to let her know he was ready.
And she was more than ready for him.
    Then he was
there, thrusting into her, slowly, seemingly forever. Leila let out a long, low
moan