feet.
'Shermaine, I-'
'No, Bruce. Don't talk. Don't say anything.' Her eyes were closed with
thick black lashes interlaced, her chin lifted exposing the long smooth
swell of her neck. He touched it with his lips and she made a soft noise
in her throat so he could feel the skin vibrate. Her body flattened
against his and her fingers closed in the hair at the back of his head.
'Oh, Bruce. My Bruce, please do not get hurt. Do not let them hurt you.'
Wanting now, urgently, his mouth hunted upwards and hers came to meet
it, willing prey. Her lips were pink and not greased with make-up, they
parted to the pressure of his tongue, he felt the tip of her nose cool
upon his cheek and his hand moved up her back and closed round the nape
of her neck, slender neck with silky down behind her
ears.
'Oh, Bruce-' she said into his mouth. His other hand went down on to the
proud, round, deeply divided thrust of her buttocks, he pulled her lower
body against his and she gasped as she felt him - the arrogant maleness
through cloth.
'No,' she gasped and tried to pull away, but he held her until she
relaxed against him once more. She shook her head, 'Non, non,' but her
mouth was open still and her tongue fluttered against his. Down came his
hand from her neck and twitched her shirt tails loose from under her
belt, then up again along her back, touching the deep lateral depression
of her spine so that she shuddered, clinging to him.
Stroking velvet skin stretched tight over rubber-hard flesh, finding the
outline of her shoulder blades, tracing them upwards then back to the
armpits, silky-haired armpits that maddened him with excitement, quickly
past them to her breasts, small breasts with soft tips hardening to his
touch.
Now she struggled in earnest, her fists beating on his shoulders and her
mouth breaking from his, and he stopped himself, dropped the hand away
to encircle her waist.
Holding her loosely within his arms.
'That was not good, Bruce. You get naughty very quick.' Her cheeks
flamed with colour and her blue eyes had darkened to royal, her lips
still wet from his, and her voice was unsteady, as unsteady as his when
he answered.
'I'm sorry, Shermaine. I don't know what happened then, I did not mean
to frighten you.'
'You are very strong, Bruce. But you do not frighten me, only a little
bit. Your eyes frighten me when they look at me but do not see.' You
really made a hash of that one, he rebuked himself.
Bruce Curry, the gentle sophisticated lover. Bruce Curry, the
heavyweight, catch-as-catch-can, two-fisted rape artist.
He felt shaky, his legs wobbly, and there was something . usly wrong
with his breathing.
seno
'You do not wear a brassieres' he said without thinking, and immediately
regretted it, but she chuckled, soft and husky.
'Do you think I need to, Bruce?'
