Free Who Killed My Husband? by Sheila Rose Page A

shivered.
     
    “I think I can handle myself,” she breathed, the air hitching in her throat.
     
    Michael was standing so close to her now that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. He really does look amazing in that suit , she thought. He was tall with broad shoulders, so much so that she felt dwarfed standing next to him.
     
    He tilted his head towards her, and all of a sudden she could feel his hot breath against her skin. She whimpered in desire.
     
    “Is there something you want, Rochelle?” he whispered.
     
    She didn’t answer, not in words. Instead she ran her hands up his chest, dancing her fingers along the buttons in his suit. She brought them up and over his shoulders, noting the muscles she could feel beneath the thick fabric. And then her fingers were in his hair, and she was pulling his head down to crash his lips against her own.
     
    “I want you,” Michael groaned.
     
    “Yes,” she gasped as he thrust his hips against hers. “Yes, please.”
     
     
                  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” Michael said. “I had some music on in my office, and I didn’t hear over it.”
     
                  “It’s okay.” Rochelle smiled, reaching up to grasp his ivory face in her palms. “You’re here now.”
     
                  “Yes I am.” He breathed. “And I’m not going anywhere. I missed you.”
     
                  “I missed you too,” she said breathlessly.
     
                  “I was actually going to feed you lunch,” Michael said, gripping her waist in his hands. “But now that I’ve seen how beautiful you look in that outfit, I’m not sure I can hold out that long.”
     
                  “C’mon.” Rochelle grinned, grabbing his hand and leading him back to the room she knew so well.
     
                  Once they were inside the safe haven of his bedroom, they began to kiss and caress each other like love-hungry teenagers. Michael pulled back, reaching for the buckle of his pants.
     
                  “Too many clothes,” he panted.
     
                  Rochelle shimmied out of her skirt and blouse while Michael undressed himself. And soon they were nothing but hot skin on skin. She caught a glimpse of their reflection in the mirror, and Rochelle liked the way they looked together. His light skin against her dark, a beautiful combination that blended together whenever they made love.
     
                  Michael’s comforting scent washed over Rochelle as he claimed her neck with his lips. “God you taste so good,” he murmured against her. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of that Rochelle.”
     
                  Rochelle moaned as she eased herself back onto the bed, pulling Michael along with her.
     
                  “Make love to me,” she pleaded.
     
                  Michael adjusted their positions, pushing a pillow beneath her head so she was comfortable, and splaying her hair across it.
     
                  “So it smells like you later,” he explained when she lifted her brow in question.
     
                  Rochelle grinned, and Michael wrapped her legs around his waist, positioning his erection against her soft folds. He slicked the tip along her entrance, groaning at the wetness he felt. And then he was pushing into her, slowly, gently, like they had all the time in the world.
     
                  He rolled his hips into her with a groan, leaning forward to suck the swells of her breasts. Rochelle arched her back and cried out at the sensation, marveling at the way his tongue felt against her. It was like a fuse directly to her core, making her clench around his hard length, squeezing him tight.
     
                  “God I love it when you do that,” he moaned.
     
                  Michael stared down at her