No Life But This
"Meu Deus," Santos groaned against Abigail's breast.
She squirmed, and he could feel her sultry dampness through the cloth of his trousers. He dropped a hand to each of her thighs and held her. "Calma." He struggled to find his English as she wiggled under his restraining hands. "Be still. Be still, meu amor."
His pulse drummed furiously and he panted for air. Good Lord but he wanted to take her, right here, on the counter, on the floor, wherever he could. But it wouldn't be right. "We must stop. This isn't the time, or the place."
"It is. It is." Her hands moved restlessly over his body, leaving a lava-like trail of need.
"No, minha querida." He caught her hands, clamped them at her sides, and waited. The hectic pace of his blood cooled agonizingly slowly. Abigail's breathing steadied, and her tense muscles gradually relaxed. He loosened his grip. He couldn't see much in the dim light sneaking in the narrow window, but he thought he might have bruised her alabaster skin.
"I hurt you." He skimmed a fingertip delicately along her inner thigh. "I'm sorry."
"I won't break." An oddly triumphant note in her voice drew his eyes to her face. She slouched languorously against the wall of the hut, her dress about her waist, her torso and breasts bared to his gaze. "I don't want you to treat me gently. You make me feel fierce, wild, uncontrolled." She licked her lips, swollen from his kisses. "I like it."
She squirmed, and he could feel her sultry dampness through the cloth of his trousers. He dropped a hand to each of her thighs and held her. "Calma." He struggled to find his English as she wiggled under his restraining hands. "Be still. Be still, meu amor."
His pulse drummed furiously and he panted for air. Good Lord but he wanted to take her, right here, on the counter, on the floor, wherever he could. But it wouldn't be right. "We must stop. This isn't the time, or the place."
"It is. It is." Her hands moved restlessly over his body, leaving a lava-like trail of need.
"No, minha querida." He caught her hands, clamped them at her sides, and waited. The hectic pace of his blood cooled agonizingly slowly. Abigail's breathing steadied, and her tense muscles gradually relaxed. He loosened his grip. He couldn't see much in the dim light sneaking in the narrow window, but he thought he might have bruised her alabaster skin.
"I hurt you." He skimmed a fingertip delicately along her inner thigh. "I'm sorry."
"I won't break." An oddly triumphant note in her voice drew his eyes to her face. She slouched languorously against the wall of the hut, her dress about her waist, her torso and breasts bared to his gaze. "I don't want you to treat me gently. You make me feel fierce, wild, uncontrolled." She licked her lips, swollen from his kisses. "I like it."