Cheryl Holt by Complete Abandon

flutter charged through her secret, feminine regions.
    He moved his hand away, to let her proceed on her own, and once he did, she withdrew, too, so he enveloped her again and held on.
    “Fuck me with your hand, Emma,” he gently commanded.
    The vulgar word electrified her, inducing a swirl of chaos, and she was overcome by such a confused mix of physical craving and imposed restraint that she was paralyzed. She turned to him, burrowing into his chest.
    She was so conflicted!
    “You can do it, Em,” he coaxed. “Just for me.”
    Brazenly, he rose up on his knees, his flanks and loins exposed, and she glanced down, rejoicing in the chance to observe him. His cock was tempestuous, angrily pulsating, demanding her immediate attention. She flicked her thumb across the incited crown, causing him to shudder and tense his stomach muscles.
    “You’re so beautiful—” she managed, before her mouth united with his in a torrid kiss, and of their own accord, her unruly hands drifted down, meticulously massaging the cloth over his privates, his cockstand, his balls, the cleft of his ass.
    The rough nap titillated and excited him to a thrilling, outrageous peak, but ultimately, he was the one to halt. He seized her wrist, slapping at her hand seconds before he lost control and spewed himself into the water.
    She wasn’t sure why he’d hesitated at the critical apex. She couldn’t credit it to shyness or modesty, anddefinitely not to any sudden decision to remediate the pace.
    Slumping into the water, he reposed against the tub as he rapidly reasserted his aplomb, and he analyzed her, trying to deduce how they’d so swiftly arrived at this erotic juncture. The room was quiet, and he was staring at her so intently that she couldn’t match his gaze. She looked down at the water, humiliation sizzling her cheeks.
    “I thought I could go through with this,” she explained. “I want to. I really do, but . . .”
    But what?
a voice in her head screamed.
    Now that she knew how glorious she felt when he was near, she yearned to stretch out with him on his bed. It would be so splendid to have him pushing her down into the plush mattress, to have his body heavy and insistent against her own. She’d want to dabble and trifle over and over until she ignited in the flames of a sin from which there could be no salvation.
    “I want your hair down, and your clothes off.” As he spurred her to commit one trespass after the next, he was kind, understanding. “I want you to lie down beside me.”
    “Oh, Lord . . .” She buried her face in her hands, feeling as though she could burst into tears.
    It would be so simple. The bed was a few feet away. He was thoroughly aroused, her own self in no better condition. She could say yes, but she would be giving the most precious part of herself to this bounder, this stranger, and the fact that she was considering it, that she was so pathetically eager, was frightening.
    What was happening to her? Perhaps his penchant for dissolution and debauchery was catching—like a bad cold!
    Initially, she’d meant to toy with him, to flirt withhim as a ruse to get what she wanted for her neighbors, but her plan was folly. Her life was a solitary vacuum, and he filled it with his amazing vitality. She wished she could capture some of his charisma and charm in a bottle, so that the contents could linger and cheer her when she was back at her dismal, dreary cottage.
    He was like a healthy tonic, a bracing restorative, a shining star in her dull universe.
    Sensing her distress, he rose up and hugged her, nestling her in the crook of his neck, while he nuzzled and kissed her hair. It had been a long while since anyone had held her or crooned endearments. The solace was welcome, like an unexpected gift on a rainy day, and she wrapped her arms around him and embraced him in return, wallowing in the sweetness.
    Astonishingly, he appeared to treasure the moment every bit as much as she did, and it occurred to her