followed her up, looked on her magnificent body.
Elektra paused halfway up. She looked down at him. She hesitated, but he waited for her to make the first move. He knew that she would.
Slowly, she held out her hand to him. Her mouth parted, silently beckoning to him. Bond rushed up the stairs and joined her, their mouths meeting in a passionate kiss. She moaned and went limp in his arms, allowing him to take control. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
The tension of the last few days had caught up with them. They pulled at each other’s clothes as the sound of heavy breathing filled the air. She ran her hands through his hair and lightly scratched his cheek as she kissed him. He broke the zipper at the back of her dress. She gasped when she heard the ripping noise, but this only seemed to excite her more.
She pulled him to the bed and bit his lower lip as he kissed her. She arched her back as his hands slid over her sleek body.
Her moans went from soft whimpers to throaty cries of passion.
They made love slowly, languorously. It was something that couldn't be rushed. The fire within them burned deeply, and together they coaxed it out of their bodies until sweat beaded on their skin.
After their first orgasms, they lay in each other’s arms and breathed steadily. Her hand traced the contour? of his torso, the fingers lingering on the bruised, left collar-bone.
‘I knew when I first saw you,’ she whispered. ‘I knew it would be like this.’
‘Shhhh,’ Bond said, kissing her neck.
Her hand dipped in an ice bucket beside the bed. She brought a sliver of ice up and down her chest, between her full breasts and across her swollen nipples. Elektra shuddered with pleasure as the cold penetrated the warm skin, sending bolts of delight throughout her body. It was a move Bond hadn’t seen before. Then she rubbed the ice against Bond’s sore shoulder.
‘You poor thing,’ she murmured. ‘Looks painful . . .’
She kissed the purple flesh and licked the water running off the melting ice.
‘. . . needs constant attention,’ Bond said, lapping the drips from the top of her right breast.
She slid her tongue back and forth along the groove above the tendon. She had already proved that she could do things with her tongue that most men only dreamed about, and this was no exception.
‘Enough ice for one day,’ Bond said, as he gently took the ice out of her hand and tossed it across the room.
The passion took over for a second time that night.
Later, after they were spent, Bond opened a bottle of vintage champagne and the pillow talk began again. As he caressed her naked back, tracing the curve of her spine, she asked him about his life. He revealed what he told most lovers, concentrating mostly on the world’s trivialities that interested him. They talked of food and drink, travelling, and about the thrill of sport. They shared a love for skiing and the rush of adrenaline it provided. They listed what they loved and hated about London. She spoke of music and art, and he expressed an admiration of Eastern philosophy. They discussed sex and what they each found desirable. She admitted that none of her former lovers had come near satisfying her the way Bond had.
She told him of her dreams and goals, and how she wanted to make her lather’s company a world player. ‘When I was a little girl,’ she said, ‘I played “princess” a lot. My father spoiled me. He used to call me his little princess. He would tell me that when I grew up, I really would be a princess. It sounds horrible, but I suppose I’ve always believed that. It inspired me to work at it, though. Even though he spoiled me, I never took it for granted. I miss him.’
‘I was under the impression that you and your father didn’t get along,’ Bond said.
She laughed. ‘Who told you that? Davidov, I would imagine. That’s only because he had the pleasure of seeing us when we did quarrel. I said my father was good at
Elektra paused halfway up. She looked down at him. She hesitated, but he waited for her to make the first move. He knew that she would.
Slowly, she held out her hand to him. Her mouth parted, silently beckoning to him. Bond rushed up the stairs and joined her, their mouths meeting in a passionate kiss. She moaned and went limp in his arms, allowing him to take control. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
The tension of the last few days had caught up with them. They pulled at each other’s clothes as the sound of heavy breathing filled the air. She ran her hands through his hair and lightly scratched his cheek as she kissed him. He broke the zipper at the back of her dress. She gasped when she heard the ripping noise, but this only seemed to excite her more.
She pulled him to the bed and bit his lower lip as he kissed her. She arched her back as his hands slid over her sleek body.
Her moans went from soft whimpers to throaty cries of passion.
They made love slowly, languorously. It was something that couldn't be rushed. The fire within them burned deeply, and together they coaxed it out of their bodies until sweat beaded on their skin.
After their first orgasms, they lay in each other’s arms and breathed steadily. Her hand traced the contour? of his torso, the fingers lingering on the bruised, left collar-bone.
‘I knew when I first saw you,’ she whispered. ‘I knew it would be like this.’
‘Shhhh,’ Bond said, kissing her neck.
Her hand dipped in an ice bucket beside the bed. She brought a sliver of ice up and down her chest, between her full breasts and across her swollen nipples. Elektra shuddered with pleasure as the cold penetrated the warm skin, sending bolts of delight throughout her body. It was a move Bond hadn’t seen before. Then she rubbed the ice against Bond’s sore shoulder.
‘You poor thing,’ she murmured. ‘Looks painful . . .’
She kissed the purple flesh and licked the water running off the melting ice.
‘. . . needs constant attention,’ Bond said, lapping the drips from the top of her right breast.
She slid her tongue back and forth along the groove above the tendon. She had already proved that she could do things with her tongue that most men only dreamed about, and this was no exception.
‘Enough ice for one day,’ Bond said, as he gently took the ice out of her hand and tossed it across the room.
The passion took over for a second time that night.
Later, after they were spent, Bond opened a bottle of vintage champagne and the pillow talk began again. As he caressed her naked back, tracing the curve of her spine, she asked him about his life. He revealed what he told most lovers, concentrating mostly on the world’s trivialities that interested him. They talked of food and drink, travelling, and about the thrill of sport. They shared a love for skiing and the rush of adrenaline it provided. They listed what they loved and hated about London. She spoke of music and art, and he expressed an admiration of Eastern philosophy. They discussed sex and what they each found desirable. She admitted that none of her former lovers had come near satisfying her the way Bond had.
She told him of her dreams and goals, and how she wanted to make her lather’s company a world player. ‘When I was a little girl,’ she said, ‘I played “princess” a lot. My father spoiled me. He used to call me his little princess. He would tell me that when I grew up, I really would be a princess. It sounds horrible, but I suppose I’ve always believed that. It inspired me to work at it, though. Even though he spoiled me, I never took it for granted. I miss him.’
‘I was under the impression that you and your father didn’t get along,’ Bond said.
She laughed. ‘Who told you that? Davidov, I would imagine. That’s only because he had the pleasure of seeing us when we did quarrel. I said my father was good at
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