My Secret Life. Lori Wilde

drop, then repeated the process with her other leg.

      She’d intended this encounter to be a clothes-on quickie, but it wasn’t turning out that way. He wasn’t playing his part how she’d imagined.

      His breath on her bare skin was deep and rich—black velvet. Nimbly, his fingers worked, tickling her skin. She giggled against the lightness of his touch, the freedom it unwound in her.

      Soon, she was standing with her back against the wall wearing nothing but black silk panties.

      “You don’t have to get undressed,” she said, taking care to keep her voice disguised, to keep the fantasy going. “We should make this fast. In case someone comes looking for us. We don’t want to get caught doing the nasty at the Ladies League ball.”

      “Why not?” he said rough and low. “It’s the perfect high-society sacrilege.”

      She frowned. What did he mean by that? She wished she could see his face.

      The room was ebony. Only the light from underneath the crack in the door penetrated the darkness.

      He said nothing, but she heard the quiet whisper of his zipper sliding down.

      She sucked in her breath.

      Wet heat gushed through her body. The muscles deep within her pelvis tightened. Her heart beat faster and she surprised herself by how quickly she grew slick.

      His hand was a hot pressure as he reached out to trail it across the soft silk between her legs. He stroked her gently, his fingertips executing a slow, deliberate circle.

      Whimpering softly against the erotic sensation, she grasped his arm for support.

      He kissed her tenderly while his fingers kept exploring. A warm, soft kiss of satisfaction.

      Lust swamped her. She had to have him. Had to have him or she would surely die. She ran her tongue around his lips and he made a masculine noise of enjoyment.

      He slipped her panties down then, edging them over her hips, below her thighs. When her panties fell to her ankles, she kicked them off and curled against him.

      He sank slowly to his knees.

      Uh-oh. What now?

      She felt the touch of his lips against her upper thigh and pulled in a hissing breath as his mouth inched toward the place Katie most wanted him to touch with that quicksilver tongue.

      Wanted it, but was she ready for it? Few had ever gone there. She put a hand to the back of his neck. “Wait, I…”

      He lifted his head. “Don’t be shy,” he whispered, and then made a promise. “I won’t hurt you.”

      His strong outer lips rested against her soft inner lips. Instant heat. Boiling, building. She was a teapot—hot and ready to let off steam. She had no idea she was capable of feeling such physical intensity.

      He made a sound of hearty appreciation and clasped her tightly in his muscled arms, pressing her hips firmly against the wall. Pinning her. His prize.

      Her hands were frantic, raking through his hair. She was desperate. Raw. Hungry need personified. Taking lust, turning it into trust.

      Foolish, perhaps, but here she was.

      She accepted what he gave her. She didn’t ask for more. There was no reason. She did not require it. He conferred upon her everything she desired.

      No one had ever touched her in the way Richard was touching her. Inside. Deep inside. He found all her secrets, exploited them to full advantage.

      It felt so good it almost hurt. This free-falling pleasure and pain.

      Lost. She was afloat in the sweep of his tongue, the moist heat of his mouth. The tension was impossible. His tongue teased and pleased. Taunted and tamed.

      She wanted to cup his head in the back of her hands, drop to her knees and face him in the darkness.

      But she was afraid. Afraid to learn too much. Afraid to ruin the fantasy. Afraid of being caught in a whirlwind of chaos from which she might never recover.

      His head was buried between her legs, his tongue stroking her hooded femininity. She savored the wild ride. This encounter was special. Something she’d remember to the end of her days. She did not want reality to intrude.

      He teased her clit, circling slowly at first, and then faster and firmer, pulling her toward a beautiful climax. But he wasn’t going to let it be that easy. He eased off on the pressure, slowed down. And then he took her up again. Up and down in a tumult of sensation until she thought she’d go mad with need.

      “I want to feel you inside me,” she murmured. “I have to…feel you. Now.”

      He pulled back, rose to his feet. She heard him rustling. What was he doing? She was so wet and hot and achy. She needed him. Now, now, now.

      “Do you have a condom?” she whispered.

      “Got it covered,” he said.

      There was a slight tearing sound of a small package being opened.

      She touched him down there, through the opening in his leather pants. Her hand closing around his steely shaft, and she heard his low groan of pleasure.

      He was so hard. So big.

      “Hurry,” she insisted, growing suddenly scared against a nameless sense of dread crowding inside her chest. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.”

      “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he said, pushing her shoulders against the wall, “and grab the clothing rods.”

      Heart pounding, she did as he asked. One hand wrapped around the hanging rod on the right, the other on the left, her legs serpentined around his hard waist. She could feel the tip of his penis throbbing against her bare buttocks.

      She felt like an acrobat, a trapeze artist. It added to the excitement.

      Carefully, he entered her warm wet center. She could feel the material of his pants rubbing against her thighs as he moved. Katie reflectively closed her eyes, gasping in reverence.

      What an incredible sensation.

      She was entranced, filled up by him. She relished the wonder of his body, the excitement of her fantasy, of the life force pulsing through him and into her and back again.

      He pushed into the hilt.

      And then he began a slow, meticulous thrusting.

      Swept away, she matched his tempo, arching her back, pushing against him, using the hanging rods as a fulcrum, increasing the tension. The rhythm between them was quite extraordinary. They were so in tune with each other.

      He thrust, she parried.

      It was almost mystical.

      This slow, sweet journey. The intensity rising and swelling, dropping and climbing.

      “More,” she gasped, barely hanging on to her French accent. “I’ve got to have more.”

      “Greedy,” he accused.

      Yes, yes, she was greedy and not the least bit remorseful.

      Biting need flowed through her body. She needed this intimacy, needed him. Her legs were wrapped around his waist and she held him tightly.

      The orgasm rose in her, in a hot, loud knot. She let go of the hanging rod so she could stuff her right fist against her mouth to hold back her cries of ecstasy.

      He gave one last thrust and his body twitched with the power of his own climax. The sound of his breathing was rough against her ears.

      And just after his release, she came as she’d never come before. Wave upon wave. An entire ocean crashing through her.

      He held her as she shuddered in his arms. Then, after they’d recovered, he dressed her in the dark, tenderly slipping on her stockings and her shoes. When he was finished