course, and quite certain the only option was to avoid her in the future, he shifted her slightly further away from him, away from all temptation, then lay back and stared at the ceiling. Already, it felt wrong. He liked the way her body curled so naturally into his. Yep, abrupt as the decision was, he'd definitely made the right choice. As of tomorrow, he'd stay away from
Gina Longmire.
Almost unconsciously, his arm crept out and wrapped itself around her waist. There was nothing to stop him having the rest of the night, however. His eyes gleamed as his imagination took over.
She'd wake to find her thighs spread wide, anchored in place by his hands, and his tongue licking up the juices that flowed from her cunt. Her whole body would be perfectly exposed in the morning sunlight, her creamy skin flushed with desire, her nipples taut, and she'd be squirming, halfway to orgasm before she even knew what was happening. Nate closed his eyes and settled more comfortably into the mattress. Surely it would be okay to have early in the morning as well. There was no point in denying himself the pleasure of her body too soon…
Chapter Eight
The coffee smelt good. Very good.
Gina rubbed her eyes wearily, almost too tired to carry the mug she'd poured the few paces across to the table. She'd actually staggered rather than walked down the stairs this morning. Thank goodness it was Saturday, and she didn't have to be back at work until Monday. Maybe, just maybe, she'd manage that. Then again…
She couldn't remember ever having been so utterly, thoroughly, comprehensively fucked. She literally ached with the exertion; her legs were still wobbly, and it was an effort to hold herself upright in the kitchen chair. Her body felt used , like she'd finally found out just exactly what she was capable of. And that was way more than she'd ever imagined.
There'd been the sofa in the living room—she remembered that quite clearly—then he'd fucked her senseless on the bed. Her eyes glazed as her brain stumbled. How many times had it been? Try as she might, she couldn't remember. She shrugged it off. More than once, that was for sure. It must have been a lot because she couldn't seem to remember sleeping or, more to the point, she did remember being woken up. Lots of times.
She took a scalding gulp of coffee, trying to boost herself for the next memory. Then, there was how she woke up the last time. Even sitting here in the very ordinary kitchen, the breeze quietly wafting through her totally normal—and extremely un-sexy—blue curtains, she couldn't help blushing at the thought.
An odd noise had prodded her from a deep dream, a very pleasant dream in which she was somewhere deep in a forest, tall old pines soaring overhead, their needles shivering in a warm breeze that played over her naked body, caressing every curve and dimple. It was night in her dream, the stars appearing and disappearing as the foliage moved, the full moon sailing high above the clouds that scudded across the sky.
And with her, on her…
She wasn't sure. That was the worst thing about dreams—the one thing you wanted to be clear wasn't. There was someone with her, a tall man whose shadow occasionally blotted out even the clear moonlight. He loomed over her as she lay amongst the pine needles, the forest floor a soft and fragrant bed. Yet even as he loomed, towered, lowered himself over her and took control, she was never afraid of him. The lightest stroke of his fingers set her trembling and she arched into his touch, longing for more.
Then the man had changed. She still couldn't see him clearly, but he'd become even larger, stronger, infinitely more demanding. His outline was unclear, almost shaggy, but she could feel his weight pressing her into the earth, hard and solid. He'd brushed his fingers over her eyes—try as she might, she couldn't force them to open again—and she was left inhabiting a
Gina Longmire.
Almost unconsciously, his arm crept out and wrapped itself around her waist. There was nothing to stop him having the rest of the night, however. His eyes gleamed as his imagination took over.
She'd wake to find her thighs spread wide, anchored in place by his hands, and his tongue licking up the juices that flowed from her cunt. Her whole body would be perfectly exposed in the morning sunlight, her creamy skin flushed with desire, her nipples taut, and she'd be squirming, halfway to orgasm before she even knew what was happening. Nate closed his eyes and settled more comfortably into the mattress. Surely it would be okay to have early in the morning as well. There was no point in denying himself the pleasure of her body too soon…
Chapter Eight
The coffee smelt good. Very good.
Gina rubbed her eyes wearily, almost too tired to carry the mug she'd poured the few paces across to the table. She'd actually staggered rather than walked down the stairs this morning. Thank goodness it was Saturday, and she didn't have to be back at work until Monday. Maybe, just maybe, she'd manage that. Then again…
She couldn't remember ever having been so utterly, thoroughly, comprehensively fucked. She literally ached with the exertion; her legs were still wobbly, and it was an effort to hold herself upright in the kitchen chair. Her body felt used , like she'd finally found out just exactly what she was capable of. And that was way more than she'd ever imagined.
There'd been the sofa in the living room—she remembered that quite clearly—then he'd fucked her senseless on the bed. Her eyes glazed as her brain stumbled. How many times had it been? Try as she might, she couldn't remember. She shrugged it off. More than once, that was for sure. It must have been a lot because she couldn't seem to remember sleeping or, more to the point, she did remember being woken up. Lots of times.
She took a scalding gulp of coffee, trying to boost herself for the next memory. Then, there was how she woke up the last time. Even sitting here in the very ordinary kitchen, the breeze quietly wafting through her totally normal—and extremely un-sexy—blue curtains, she couldn't help blushing at the thought.
An odd noise had prodded her from a deep dream, a very pleasant dream in which she was somewhere deep in a forest, tall old pines soaring overhead, their needles shivering in a warm breeze that played over her naked body, caressing every curve and dimple. It was night in her dream, the stars appearing and disappearing as the foliage moved, the full moon sailing high above the clouds that scudded across the sky.
And with her, on her…
She wasn't sure. That was the worst thing about dreams—the one thing you wanted to be clear wasn't. There was someone with her, a tall man whose shadow occasionally blotted out even the clear moonlight. He loomed over her as she lay amongst the pine needles, the forest floor a soft and fragrant bed. Yet even as he loomed, towered, lowered himself over her and took control, she was never afraid of him. The lightest stroke of his fingers set her trembling and she arched into his touch, longing for more.
Then the man had changed. She still couldn't see him clearly, but he'd become even larger, stronger, infinitely more demanding. His outline was unclear, almost shaggy, but she could feel his weight pressing her into the earth, hard and solid. He'd brushed his fingers over her eyes—try as she might, she couldn't force them to open again—and she was left inhabiting a
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