Free Broddock-Black 05 - Force of Nature by Susan Johnson Page B

faintly against his imbedded erection and sighed and panted that he wasn’t allowed to move just yet. But he did after a time regardless that she cried, “No!” because he knew better than a young woman who had spent more time in her studies than in amour, that he could make her feel better. He withdrew and plunged forward and withdrew again in a delicate, slow flux and flow, penetrating deeply for a time, then only marginally, waiting until she was crying in little sobs of longing, before driving in deeply again to the very brink of her womb. When she was taut as a bowstring, he knew and held himself right there where she wanted him while she died away in breathy scream. Her heated cry warmed his cheek and lightly blew through the silken fall of his hair while the flutter of her orgasm rippled down his fully submerged penis like butterfly wings.
    A light sheen of perspiration glowed on her face, her silk-stockinged legs fell away from his back a few moments later and eyes shut, she whispered, “I love you more than anything in the world.”
    He smiled, accepting the superlatives in the manner in which they were given. “Forty-seven more to go, darling,” he murmured. “You’re going to love me even more before the night is over.”
    Her eyes flew open.
    “That was the most basic Somersaulting Dragons,” he said, lightly. “It gets better.”
    “Forty-seven more,” she said, weakly.
    His brows flickered faintly, like his smile. “Better ones, too.”
    “I don’t believe you.” How could it be better? She’d practically fainted away from pleasure that time.
    “I’ll show you.” He grinned, moving faintly inside her. “You know—empirically.”
    Her smile was a slow, lazy unfolding of pleasure. “You don’t know how glad I am that you decided to come to Stewart Warner’s tonight.”
    “I should be thanking you.”
    “You don’t have to thank me yet. Under the circumstances, I mean—when you haven’t—”
    “Come yet? I did.”
    “But”—she shifted her hips to better feel his engorged penis.
    “Orgasm and ejaculation don’t have to be the same.”
    Her eyes opened wide.
    “One learns,” he said, softly.
    According to the classic oriental arts of the bedchamber, the female essence is inexhaustible. Around this premise, the sex manuals devised elaborate means to boost the male’s sexual stamina and thereby prolong sexual union.
    Flynn Ito was extremely well trained and accomplished.
    “Let’s see if you like Wild Horses Leaping,” he gently said, beginning to lift one of her legs.
    “No . . . no, not just yet.” Replete and sated, she didn’t want to move.
    “I’ll go slowly,” he murmured, continuing to raise her leg, setting it on his shoulder, shifting his position inside her, smiling as she softly moaned. “We’ll take our time.” He lifted her other leg, placed it on his opposite shoulder and withdrew a small distance so the crest of his penis was lodged against the front wall of her vagina.
    She gasped and shut her eyes, the fevered sensation almost too much to bear.
    “I’m going to move very slowly—like this . . . and this—see you are ready again.”
    She could feel the rush of heat flow through her body, settle liquid and hot in the precise, shuddering spot he was slowly caressing with the protruding ridge of his penis, their most tender, sensitive membranes touching, rubbing until she was trembling helplessly once again, until she came as he knew she would in a few brief seconds more. He kept her there, powerless to resist, coming over and over again, in thrall to his expertise and her hot-blooded passions until even his disciplined emotions gave way and he ejaculated—in the interests of prudence—outside the passionate Miss Attenborough’s very pleasurable body.
    “My God, Flynn,” she purred, her eyes half shut, her arms flung wide in blissful fatigue. “Women must beat a path to your door. . .”
    “You liked it then,” he murmured, not about to touch