care. “Oh,” she murmured.
He lifted her shirt as his tongue burned its way along her waist and torso. Her whole body quaked with a need only he could fill. As he drew her breast into his mouth, it took everything she had not to scream out. She wanted to taste him, to feel him, to love him, but the veil… Fear of removing the veil remained. His hardness throbbed against her inner thigh and prodded her to succumb completely. Barely able to maintain control, she gyrated under him and brushed her nails along his back.
“That’s my baby,” he whispered as he suckled from her collarbone, along her neck, below her chin.
The veil seemed to move on its own as his mouth found hers. Worried the dream might end, she closed her eyes and indulged in the succulence of her fire ninja.
Unable to resist any longer, she looped her arms under his and over his shoulders, then pulled gently until he entered her heat. Their rhythm started, slow and steady. He fulfilled her every want and need. As they increased their pace, she thought they’d combust.
Groans escaped him as he drove in harder, deeper.
“Oh, Bruce.” A tingling started between her legs and spiraled out of control. She wrapped her legs around his thighs.
The headboard of the bed banged against the wall. The box spring squeaked as if it would break, but neither could stop.
She felt her muscles tightening around him and cried out, “Bruce!” She gripped the mattress.
He threw his head back. “Aaauuuugh!” he roared.
The feel of him hitting his climax pushed her into supernova. Her eyes flew open.
Nefertiti had moved the plush armchairs from her sitting area to the front of the bed. The room was plenty large enough that the rearrangement didn’t look cluttered. She wasn’t sure what to think about Dr. Herman yet. The small, middle-aged man sat across from her in khaki pants and a white polo shirt. His full head of dark hair had a few gray strands in it. He was easy to talk to, but he wasn’t so giving on his end.
“And what about your father?” Dr. Herman asked.
She stiffened. They’d already discussed her vicious mood swings and what triggered them—just about everything. In a way, she was grateful for the new twists added to the swings. Before Bruce came home, her mood had swung between depression, disheartenment, and disgust, but now, thankfully, laughter, love, and lust were thrown into the mix. If she could only exchange the Ds for the Ls, she’d be good to go.
She was presently telling Dr. Herman about the reactions she’d received from various people regarding her new look and had skipped her father. “What about him?” she said defensively.
“Your aunt Victoria says you’d like to speak with me about him.”
“Traitor,” she grumbled.
His smile was the deciding vote. She liked him. She picked at the non-existent lint on her indigo skirt. The chain around her ankle brought Bruce to her mind. They’d actually made love, but sadness had come out of it.
“Tell me about your father.”
“What is there to tell? He was my hero. Now he doesn’t want to be my hero.”
“What was your relationship with him like before the attack?”
“Daddy” was her first word. When she was three, she named her little female kitten Daddy after him. When she was seven, she took him to school for show and tell. When she was nine, he helped her skip school for a trip to the Chicago Art Institute. When she was eleven, he was the one she went to when she started her monthly cycle. When she was twelve, he was the first one she told that she’d marry Bruce Maxwell some day. When anything came up in her life, he was the one she turned to.
“I guess you could say we were close.”
“And what are you now?”
“Two people living separate lives.” She twisted the amber ring on her finger.
“Why?”
Head cocked to the side, she asked, “Why what?”
“Why live separate lives?”
She changed her mind. She didn’t like Dr. Herman after all.
He lifted her shirt as his tongue burned its way along her waist and torso. Her whole body quaked with a need only he could fill. As he drew her breast into his mouth, it took everything she had not to scream out. She wanted to taste him, to feel him, to love him, but the veil… Fear of removing the veil remained. His hardness throbbed against her inner thigh and prodded her to succumb completely. Barely able to maintain control, she gyrated under him and brushed her nails along his back.
“That’s my baby,” he whispered as he suckled from her collarbone, along her neck, below her chin.
The veil seemed to move on its own as his mouth found hers. Worried the dream might end, she closed her eyes and indulged in the succulence of her fire ninja.
Unable to resist any longer, she looped her arms under his and over his shoulders, then pulled gently until he entered her heat. Their rhythm started, slow and steady. He fulfilled her every want and need. As they increased their pace, she thought they’d combust.
Groans escaped him as he drove in harder, deeper.
“Oh, Bruce.” A tingling started between her legs and spiraled out of control. She wrapped her legs around his thighs.
The headboard of the bed banged against the wall. The box spring squeaked as if it would break, but neither could stop.
She felt her muscles tightening around him and cried out, “Bruce!” She gripped the mattress.
He threw his head back. “Aaauuuugh!” he roared.
The feel of him hitting his climax pushed her into supernova. Her eyes flew open.
Nefertiti had moved the plush armchairs from her sitting area to the front of the bed. The room was plenty large enough that the rearrangement didn’t look cluttered. She wasn’t sure what to think about Dr. Herman yet. The small, middle-aged man sat across from her in khaki pants and a white polo shirt. His full head of dark hair had a few gray strands in it. He was easy to talk to, but he wasn’t so giving on his end.
“And what about your father?” Dr. Herman asked.
She stiffened. They’d already discussed her vicious mood swings and what triggered them—just about everything. In a way, she was grateful for the new twists added to the swings. Before Bruce came home, her mood had swung between depression, disheartenment, and disgust, but now, thankfully, laughter, love, and lust were thrown into the mix. If she could only exchange the Ds for the Ls, she’d be good to go.
She was presently telling Dr. Herman about the reactions she’d received from various people regarding her new look and had skipped her father. “What about him?” she said defensively.
“Your aunt Victoria says you’d like to speak with me about him.”
“Traitor,” she grumbled.
His smile was the deciding vote. She liked him. She picked at the non-existent lint on her indigo skirt. The chain around her ankle brought Bruce to her mind. They’d actually made love, but sadness had come out of it.
“Tell me about your father.”
“What is there to tell? He was my hero. Now he doesn’t want to be my hero.”
“What was your relationship with him like before the attack?”
“Daddy” was her first word. When she was three, she named her little female kitten Daddy after him. When she was seven, she took him to school for show and tell. When she was nine, he helped her skip school for a trip to the Chicago Art Institute. When she was eleven, he was the one she went to when she started her monthly cycle. When she was twelve, he was the first one she told that she’d marry Bruce Maxwell some day. When anything came up in her life, he was the one she turned to.
“I guess you could say we were close.”
“And what are you now?”
“Two people living separate lives.” She twisted the amber ring on her finger.
“Why?”
Head cocked to the side, she asked, “Why what?”
“Why live separate lives?”
She changed her mind. She didn’t like Dr. Herman after all.
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