tears leaking from her eyes. When his mouth met hers, his cock was hard again.
This time, he was careful when he touched her boobs. Careful when he slipped his hand under her sweatshirt to toy with her nipples. “You like that, don’t you,” he whispered.
She nodded.
His huge palm spanned her belly. She tensed, but he simply held her for several moments. He really wanted to tear off her sweatshirt, suckle her tits, kiss his way to her interesting bits, bring her to a screaming climax, then fuck them both senseless. His dick was so hard he hurt from it.
He sat her up and pulled up the hem of her sweatshirt. It was tight going over her head. Static electricity crackled in her hair. Her bra was the same shade of pink as her sweatshirt, and he briefly thought about surreptitiously snapping a photo to keep on his super phone to view when he was on tour. She was deliciously sexy looking. And she deserved better than his sofa, at least this time.
He stood, then pulled her to her feet and swung her into his arms. She was lighter than a sunbeam. The stairs to the loft were steep, but he was agile. “I left the phone downstairs.”
Her wide blue eyes never left his.
“I really want to do the married stuff with you.” He was careful when he put her on the bed. He pulled off his shirt, then removed her bra. “We never got a chance to really look at each other after the picnic. And that’s a shame.” But he had to swallow hard when he looked at the bruises on her abdomen. Gary must have pounded her repeatedly to create such a massive contusion.
Her tits were as sweet as he remembered and even more responsive. The deep rose of her nipples was so pretty against the pale pillows of her boobs.
Luke took his time, using his mouth and hands to relax and excite her. She didn’t protest when he pulled down the elastic waist of her leggings.
“Hey baby, this is your daddy talking,” he murmured against the soft skin of her belly. “You be a good baby and take it easy on your mama.”
He rested his cheek on her stomach. “Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”
“I haven’t given it much thought.” Her voice vibrated against his ear.
“Me either. But I think I’d like a little girl. One who looks like you.” He slipped his hand into her panties. She was wet. She was ready. So was he. But he needed to be gentle with her. Careful with her.
Removing her stretchy pants was easy. Her underwear went with the leggings. Abigail looked like a goddess spread out on the royal blue of his comforter. He was about to worship.
Abigail flinched when his tongue found her clit, but settled back to enjoy the service his mouth provided. It wasn’t long before she was moaning and thrashing. A few minutes more brought her to orgasm. Her contractions were strong, and he worried about the baby.
He knelt between her splayed legs, remembering how fantastic it had been to be inside her. This was one time when memory wasn’t nearly as wonderful as revisiting the past. She was hot. Tight. Wet.
“Practice makes perfect,” he muttered against her ear. “And we’re going to be practicing this a lot.”
“Good.”
Her nails dug into his shoulders. Her knees clamped his ribcage. His climax followed hers. Boneless. The muscles in her legs vanished. She was as limp as a freshly killed rabbit. He kissed the side of her neck, making sure he kept his teeth away from her skin. No more nibbling her neck. The last thing he needed was her accusing him of marking her. . .
His eyelids drooped. He hadn’t slept in a couple of days. Neither, according to Abigail, had she. From the sound of her breathing, he’d fucked her into slumber.
When Luke awoke, Abigail was curled up against him. His super phone was singing for him to answer it.
He stumbled down the stairs, not bothering with clothes. The autumn chill felt good against his bare skin. And should Abigail awaken, well, she was going to have to get used to seeing him naked and to being naked
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
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Brenda Sinclair
Christopher George
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