Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (82 page)

Effortlessly he bent over and scooped her up like a prize.
She snaked her arms around his neck as he padded over to the
eiderdown softness of the bed. Solemnly, almost ritually, he
gently laid her down on it and in one smooth, fluid move slipped on top of her. She stared up into his eyes, nervously
licking her lips as she spread her legs. He knelt in a wide
stance, bowed his head deeply, and reverently kissed her
mound. Then, as he lay forward, his penis found its home
between her fleshy thighs, rubbing teasingly against her
clitoris.

And he entered her.

Her jaw dropped, her lips parted without a sound. She
thrashed her head from side to side on the pillow and closed her eyes. A mere touch, an infinitesimal slide forward inside
her, and her nerve endings burst into full, glorious life. This
was ecstasy.

Slowly he moved in her centimetre by exquisite centimetre.
Deeper. Deeper.

She gave a faint cry of disappointment as he hit the obstruc
tion.

His eyes widened and she caught his look of surprise.
Quickly she looked away.

'Why didn't you tell me?' he whispered gently.

She tightened her grip on his shoulders and turned her head
so that she stared into his eyes. 'Does it matter?' There was a
weak tremor in her voice.

He bowed his head again and kissed a jutting nipple in reply,
and then with one savage thrust he burst through. A white-
hot kaleidoscope of pain exploded in front of her eyes. She
gave a violent jerk, and her sudden scream became a whimpering moan as he slid deeper and deeper inside her until his groin
touched the very lips of her vulva. He was all the way inside,
filling her completely, and she was shaking, waves of shudder
ing spasms coursing throughout her body.

Slowly his firm buttocks drew away as he pulled himself out, and then without warning, they contracted as he thrust himself
in again. In. Out. In out in out in out. She jerked her legs up,
gripping his buttocks as she forced him toward her, dug her
fingers into his back, scratched her nails across his flesh. In
out in out in out. She gasped and gasped again as he thrust
away at her, and then he abruptly began moving his hips into
a wide, circular grinding movement, and she wanted to cry
out. He was massaging her womanhood, touching every inch
of her being, manipulating her every sensation. She thought
she was going to go completely out of her mind. His penis was
hers, her vagina was his, their sweat mingled as one. She was
no longer Tamara, and he was no longer Louis. They were
one and the same, a gasping, moaning monster of savage ful
fillment.

In and out he pumped frantically, faster and faster, and then
when he was afraid that he might burst prematurely, he slowed
to fight off the impending climax, before continuing with a
steady, relentless, ever-mounting rhythm. Like a horseman
possessed, he rode her as her hips rose and fell to meet his
every thrust. This was living. This was dying.

She twisted and writhed, greedily manoeuvering her body
to take advantage of his every thrust. The breath seemed to
be pounded out of her. His cock seemed to skewer her all the
way up to her throat. The world blistered and burned. Radiant
orange suns burst in front of her shut eyes, searing her nerve-
endings, flashing and flaring with volcanic heat. And then,
thunderously, the world seemed to black out completely for
her and the cry burst from the depth of her being. She dug her
nails into his shoulders, clamped his legs together in a scissor
hold, and all her pent-up passions, her innermost dreams and hopes and desires, her very womanhood, seemed to burst into a soaring symphony as wave after wave of orgasm crashed
through her. And still that purest ecstasy kept on coming.
rolling over her and drawing her in its smashing surf. Gradu
ally, as though a storm had spent itself, the waves of spasms
stilled.

At her climax, he whipped himself to even greater fury.
His thrusts became fierce, furious. 'I'm coming!' he breathed
hoarsely from a choked throat. 'I'm commmmiiinnnggg . . .'

The assault upon her became more pitiless, and with one
last superhuman lunge he reared like a bronco and threw his
entire body at her vagina and let out an earth-shattering bellow. Tamara hugged him tighter and then felt his body jerk.
Inside her, his penis lunged and throbbed, and then a moist
warmth stole through her.

His body went slack and he slowly drew himself out of her. He flung himself face-up alongside her. They were both swal
lowing huge, deep noisy gulps of sweet mountain air.

'God,' she marvelled between her pants, 'that was . . .
good.' She turned sideways on her pillow to look at him. 'Is it
always this . . . good?'

'Or better.'

'Or better.
God.
'

Her breathing had barely returned to normal when her hand
drifted lazily down to her mound. She was still tingling deliriously inside. Idly she wondered at the miracle of lovemak
ing. She had never imagined it could be as heavenly as this.

Before she knew what she was doing, she parted her legs
and started to massage herself. After a moment, her hips rose
off the bed as her masturbation brought her to a second
orgasm.

Louis slid alongside her. 'You're wonderful,' he whispered
playing with her mussed hair.

She smiled and made a little catlike mew as she snuggled
into his warm arms. She had never felt quite so good, so totally
content, so completely a woman.

Now at least she knew what her body was for. She had
discovered the mystery of her passion.

For this night, at least, he had chased away her fears.

She let her eyes droop shut and her breathing suddenly
became shallow. He raised himself on an elbow and looked
down at her marvellous naked body. Very gently he tugged
the duvet out from under her and covered her. She seemed to
smile.

She was sound asleep.

The lovemaking might have blessed Tamara with silent sweet
dreams, but Louis found he could not sleep. Nor did he want
to. He spent all night staring at her serene sleeping form beside
him, his heart filled with rhapsodies.
God, but she's beautiful.
I want her like no woman I've ever met,
he thought with a lightning bolt of incisive knowledge. Sex had always been a
driving, purely physical act for him, but this he recognized as
something greater. Far greater. He had fallen in love,
something which had never happened to him before, and to his surprise, his heart surged and he felt like he was floating
on a puff-ball cloud. He had thought there couldn't be a
woman alive he'd want to share his life with, but here she was
lying beside him, in the perfumed flesh. And ah, what superb
flesh, what a sublimely magnificent face. She was his living, breathing golden goddess, the stuff of which movie dreams
were made. And like a movie he had worked on and sub
sequently grown to love deeply because of his personal com
mitment and the life he had breathed into it, so too he had
been more than a little responsible for moulding Tamara into
the awesome, nonpareil beauty she had become. Unbeliev
able as it still seemed to him, he had been the one to discover
her. And she was his treasure.

Careful, so as not to wake her, he bent low over her face
and kissed her marvellously sculptured lips ever so lightly. She
smiled and murmured in her sleep, snuggled closer to him,
and then her regular breathing continued.

Ah, what dazzling witchcraft could have wrought such an
exquisite creature? he could only wonder in amazement. 'You're mine,' he whispered proprietarily, 'all mine.'

As though to reply, she shifted her head and smiled up at
him in her sleep, her white-blonde angel hair fanning out
across the pillow like phosphorescence in a pacific sea.

Chapter 10

Tamara, like many a prospective bride, looked forward to her
first encounter with her future mother-in-law with the same
enthusiasm the eighteenth-century French nobility had shown for the tumbrels which would transport them to the guillotine.
Not knowing quite what to expect of Zelda Ziolko, but fearing
the worst and knowing full well that first impressions were
lasting ones, and thus of utmost importance, she was deter
mined to win the woman over by sheer personality and a
wholesome girl-next-door image, no easy feat for a woman
whose hair was dyed spun-sugar platinum and who was already
being hailed as 'the most beautiful woman in the world'. For
once, Tamara believed that ordinary looks would have served
her better. After all, Zelda was another woman and one who, herself, was "enjoying a relatively exalted status as mother of
'The Director'. She wouldn't want her thunder stolen, and
therefore Tamara must be prepared to be met by a very finely
honed verbal axe. She enlisted Inge's aid to transform herself
into as down-to-earth a girl-next-door as possible. The first
step, rummaging through her vast new wardrobe—courtesy of
IA—made it evident that there was nothing suitable for the
look they were trying to achieve, amid that sea of extravagant satins, chiffons, and silks that ranged from bright and showy
white to ashes-of-roses.

'There's nothing I can wear!' Tamara had lamented, flinging
aside dress after dress. She stamped her feet in frustration.
'Oh, Inge, what am I to do?'

'Don't worry, we find you something,' Inge assured her in
a calm and measured voice. 'You have five days, no?'

'I suppose you're right,' Tamara said broodingly. She
pressed her hands against the sea of froth and hastily slammed
the closet door shut. 'Why is it that mothers-in-law are so notorious for being picky, anyway?' She scowled.