The Naughty Pleasures Bundle (Naughty Pleasures: Volume 1/Naughty Pleasures: Volume 2/Naughty Pleasures: Volume 3) by Abbie Cole

 
     
    THE SWING
     
     
    “ A Swing!” I stopped before a padded bench, two people wide suspended from a cast-iron stand set under a large weeping willow tree in a secluded edge of the immense lawn. “What a neat idea. It must be new.”
    “ I’ve got an idea.” Jonathan stopped beside me. I notice a mischievous glint in his eyes.
    “ What if we’re interrupted? Again. By the others .” He is one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen.
    “ We won’t be. I can assure you they won’t notice we’re gone—they’re otherwise occupied. We can do whatever we please, and right now, what pleases me is to do you.” He made the last phrase a challenge, a dare.
    I moisten my lips. “How, then?”
    Drawing me to him I encouragingly obey, with an aloof air, as if reserving judgment on his expertise. A subtle taunting, an encouragement to impress. Suppressing a smile of anticipation, he lowers his head and covers my lips.
    Kissing me until I’d forgotten all notion of aloofness, I cling, my lips to his, my arms about his shoulders, my hands sink into his hair.
    “ Take off your dress.” He orders. Murmuring the words against my slightly parted lips, he takes my mouth again, dragging my willing senses down into the heat of the kiss. Into the fire and flames that so steadily burn between us.
    I know he is way more experienced than me. In my limited experience, it has never been like this—never been such a simple, easy, rapid descent into ravenous desire. Into a primitive place, a place where the need to be possessed rules absolutely. With him, it has never been any other way, which is how I’d known, from the first. I know that, ultimately, I would sell my very soul for him, if that’s what was asked.
    Being in his arms, I don’t care; with my body arching, flagrantly demanding against his, I know only the need to appease him, to feed and satisfy my hungry senses and, thus, his.
    As he tugs up my short, soft cotton dress, I whimper. Delightful shivers race to my pussy. I know exactly what he wants to see, needs to see, from me today. What he wants, needs—has to have. We are both breathing rapidly, both dark-eyed, tense with expectation.
    “ Lift your arms.”
    Drawing the dress off over my head, it leaves my short spiky hair, standing even more on end. His eyes glued on my body, concealed only by my demi-cup, push-up bra showing my full breasts to advantage above the hot pink silk and a tiny scrap of silk barely concealing the treasure hidden between my thighs; blindly, he tosses my dress onto the ground nearby. I feel his hand at my back, unfastening my bra. And now he reaches for me.
    I come eagerly this time, no pretense of aloofness necessary; my desire for him is the most important thought swirling around in my head. I want everything he is going to give me. My intense need for him glitters in my eyes, my lips lift again to his.
    He closes his hands around my waist. I rejoice in the power of his hands as he slides them down to my hips and gathers me to him. He molds me against him so I can feel his desire, and moans, rocking my hips against the iron length of his erection. I all but melt in his arms, my body softens, enticingly.
    A small moan parts my lips as his tongue rakes over my lower lip, gently sucking it into his mouth, nipping at my swollen flesh. I kiss him back, and set aside all reservations. I can care less if we are interrupted. Let them watch. I want him; he wants me—for this precise moment, that is enough. I need to be with him again, close, skin on skin, so our hearts beat together and our pulses pound as sweat soaks our heated bodies.
    His hands, roving over me, sets my skin on fire, then glide lower; I hear a tear as he yanks the silk from my hips, the slight hint of pain as the ripping silk bites into my hip before breaking free, his palms on bare skin, fondling, kneading my firm, round ass, gripping with his strong hands. His long fingers slide down and inward to stroke the drenched cleft