PortraitofPassion (13 page)

He felt Beatrice shift on his lap and opened his eyes to see
her with arms raised to push her damp hair to fall down her back. Wet and
straight, it was long enough that he felt the ends trail across his hands and
whisper over his legs.

“Are you sure we can…” she began with a quizzical lift of
one perfectly arched brow. Simon felt a smile begin somewhere in the vicinity
of his heart and travel through his chest up onto his lips.

“Trust me, love,” he replied.

“I do.” And Simon could see that trust in her wide brown
eyes. He thought again that she would follow wherever he led and now he felt
the weight of that knowledge settle upon him.

Simon looked away from her warm eyes, down to the curls that
hid her sex. He watched as his hand moved from her hip to gently brush the
darker-blonde hair. It seemed to him that his hand moved of its own volition,
was in fact separated from his body with a will of its own. Surely he should
start slowly, he thought vaguely. He should bring her passion to a peak again
before he touched her so intimately. He knew he should kiss her, loosen her
bodice to fondle her breasts for a few minutes first. He knew there was an
order to these things. For the life of him he could not stop his questing
fingers.

He took one long finger and dragged it through the springy
soft curls, down into the warmth hidden beneath. He felt her tremble, heard her
soft inhalation. He did not look up. He watched in fascination as his finger
disappeared into the space between her curls and his closed legs. He rubbed her
slowly, back and forth, separating her folds, his thick finger delving deeper
between her legs with each pass. Time seemed to stop, the only sound the rain
drumming on the gazebo’s roof. He was hypnotized by the sight of his hand upon
her, by the darkness of his skin next to her paleness, by the moist heat he
found when finally he allowed his finger to curl up into her tight cunny,
barely penetrating her.

Beatrice flexed her hands where they lay upon his shoulders
and let out a shaky breath. “Simon,” she whispered, and he heard a question, a
soft plea.

He slowly brought his hot gaze up, over her flat belly, to
rest briefly on her heaving bosom. Her nipples were hard, straining against the
wet fabric that covered them. He wanted to suckle her there, to draw her into
his mouth until she cried out in ecstasy. He looked up into Beatrice’s face and
saw that her eyes were closed, her head tilted forward, as if it were too heavy
for her neck.

“Look at me,” he whispered on a groan. He wanted to see her
desire.

Beatrice’s eyes fluttered open and locked upon his, and in
them he saw a passion, a hunger, to match his own.

“I want to touch you,” she said. Her voice was low, quiet,
and again he heard the question, and he realized she was unsure. His lovely
Beatrice, with her confidence ever shining from her, was uncertain as to
whether she was permitted to touch him. He realized with shock that she had
been docile in his arms since they had entered the gazebo.

“Yes. Touch me,” he implored and she moved her hands to his
chest to caress him through his shirt.

“May I?” she asked with her hands grasping his shirt where
it bunched loosely above his trousers.

“God yes,” he ground out, leaning back to give her room to
tug his shirt free. His hand was still buried snugly between her legs and he
realized with a pang that he would have to release her in order for her to lift
his shirt up over his head. He slowly removed his hand and heard her gentle
moan of complaint. He quickly took over the job of removing his shirt and threw
it on the bench next to them.

Beatrice was staring at his exposed chest, watching as her
hands drifted lightly over the wiry hair surrounding his nipples. She trailed
her nails lightly over him and he sucked in a great breath and his hips jerked
against her. She snatched her hands from him and her startled eyes snapped up
to meet his.

“Beatrice,” he whispered around a groan. He brought her
hands back to rest over his nipples, holding them there while he looked deep
into her eyes. “You can touch me anywhere, any way you like.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she said shyly. “I don’t know
what pleases you.”

“You please me,” he assured her with a strained smile. “Your
hands on me pleases me, your mouth on me pleases me. Touch me, I beg you.”

Beatrice’s face lit with a smile, it shone from her dark eyes,
winked with her dimple, radiated from her wide lips.

He leaned forward to capture that smile, to feel it upon his
lips, and was rewarded with a soft laugh, with her sweet breath fanning his
face. She wrapped her arms around him, over his shoulders, and dragged her
hands down his back. Simon deepened the kiss and felt her inch forward on his
lap until her breasts rested lightly against his chest. He brought his hands
down to her hips to grasp her firmly and guide her up and down, rubbing her
breasts against him.

She moaned into his mouth and deepened the kiss, lifting up
onto her knees and forcing his head back. She seduced his lips with her own,
thrust her tongue inside and rolled it around his in abandon. Her nails raked
his back as she drew her hands up to his shoulders to grip and kneed his hard
muscles.

Simon was undone. He slammed her back down onto his thighs,
pulling her forward while his hips lunged to meet her. She pressed her wet heat
against the ridge of his shaft and rocked against him.

“Christ,” he ground out as he lifted his lips from hers. He
reached for the buttons of his trousers but her hands got there first. He felt
her fingers skimming over his straining flesh as she fumbled with the buttons
and his breath hitched.

“Oh,” she whispered in frustration and Simon reached down to
take over the task.

“Please,” she cried, her eyes darting up to meet his. “Let
me. I want to.” Simon dropped his hands to her legs hugging his hips. He
dragged his rough palms over her velvet softness, over her thighs and up under
her dress to grab her ass. He flexed his fingers softly, then harder, and felt
her push back into his hands. God, he thought, closing his eyes in agony, she
was going to drive him mad.

With relief he realized she had gotten his buttons undone
and was trying to pull his trousers down his hips. He released her warm flesh,
pushed her hands out of his way and lifted his hips enough to drag his pants
down to mid-thigh. His cock sprang free. Beatrice lifted herself up and reached
back to push his pants farther down his legs.

Her position brought one of her small breasts right up into
his face. He leaned forward and drew the tight bud of her nipple into his
mouth. He gently suckled her through the thin fabric of her dress. Beatrice
bucked her hips forward in response. He turned his attentions to her other
breast while he quickly freed the buttons running down her back. He released
her breast long enough to sweep her bodice down to her waist, pinning her arms
to her side. He held her firmly with one hand on her lower back so that her
breasts were aligned with his mouth. He drew in a deep breath and gently
exhaled, blowing softly on the extended tips.

“Simon!” she cried out, wiggling about in an attempt to free
her arms.

Simon reached back under her dress to grip her hips and
slowly lowered her back down to his lap. He pushed her short sleeves down and
she pulled her arms and hands from the wet material. Her dress was bunched
around her waist, leaving her naked below and above. Simon feasted his eyes
upon her.

Her breasts were small and firm, her nipples seeming to pout
for his attention. He cupped one breast in each hand. They fit perfectly. He
ran his thumbs over her nipples before squeezing them gently between thumb and
finger. Beatrice gripped his shoulders hard, closed her eyes and tossed back
her head. She sucked in a great breath and let it out on a long, splintered
sigh. Her legs trembled where they gripped his hips. Her long tresses whispered
across his bare knees.

Simon bent her back and lowered his head to one tight
nipple. Using lips and tongue and teeth, he suckled her flesh deep into his
mouth, drawing on her rhythmically until she was panting, her back arching, her
fingers fisted in his hair, holding him to her breast.

Simon dropped his hands to her hips and held her firmly. He
slowly opened his legs, drawing hers open at the same time. Beatrice’s head
came up and her eyes opened to meet his. She looked at him, a small smile
teasing her lips. He opened his legs wider still, until her thighs were spread
over the empty space above the bench. She was splayed before him, her hands
locked upon his shoulders for balance. Simon pulled her forward so that she
almost touched his rigid flesh, close enough so that he could wrap one strong
arm around her waist to hold her in place.

Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he reached down between
their bodies to touch her. He was on fire to bury himself in her warmth but
restrained the urge. Instead he turned his hand up and cupped her heat. He held
her in his palm and slowly pushed forward and drew back. He repeated the motion
again and again, dragging his palm over her clitoris, increasing the pressure
with each pass, collecting her moist warmth and spreading it over the folds of
her sex.

Beatrice’s eyes dropped from his to watch the movement of
his hand between her thighs. He allowed his gaze to follow hers. Her hips gave
a quick jerk, seating her more firmly against his hand.

Beatrice moaned low in her throat and bore down
instinctively. He gave her more pressure until her hips were undulating forward
and back. He found the rhythm that most pleased her and was rewarded with
another moan followed by a whispered, “Please.”

As his hand moved down with the next firm pass, he eased one
long finger inside her tight sheath.

“Oh God,” Beatrice cried out, her nails digging into his
shoulders, her legs tightening to grip his hips.

He slowly pulled his finger out before pushing it back in,
harder and deeper. Beatrice let loose a soft stuttering breath, one hand
releasing his shoulder to grip his forearm between their bodies.

“Beatrice,” he whispered, amazed he could form her name,
amazed he could form a thought. He was spellbound by her desire, by her ready
acceptance of his hands upon her so intimately in the dim light of dusk in a
garden gazebo with the pounding rain their only witness. “Do you want me to
stop? Is it too much for you?”

“No, Simon, please don’t stop,” she panted.

“Can you take more?” he asked, his voice barely more than a
sliver of sound.

Beatrice lifted her head to look at him. Simon was nearly
unhinged then as he looked into her eyes, so dark they appeared almost black,
her long lashes glittering with unshed tears, her mouth ripe and bruised from
where she was gripping her bottom lip between her small white teeth.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked. He began to withdraw his
finger from her warmth, but she followed his retreat with her body.

“No, please, Simon, it feels so good,” she assured him with
a weak smile. “Please, don’t stop.”

Simon lifted his lips and she met him with a warm, wet kiss.
She opened her lips in invitation and drew his tongue into her warmth as she
flexed her fingers upon his arm, urging him on.

With a groan, he thrust his finger deep into her core,
withdrew and thrust again. Beatrice met each thrust with a push of her hips,
until she was riding his hand. Simon’s breath sawed in and out of his lungs as
his pleasure built with hers. His hips bucked and his cock pumped the air
between them. He wanted her hands on his aching flesh.

Beatrice must have recognized his need. Her hand left his
forearm to brush against his cock. She gripped the head of his shaft and
encircled him with her slim fingers. She squeezed gently and Simon’s hips
jerked in response. He pushed his finger deep inside her before slowly
withdrawing.

Beatrice moaned her dismay, and then moaned again in
pleasure, as with the next thrust, he eased another finger into her heat. She
laid her head upon his shoulder and reached her encircling fingers down to the
base of his pulsing cock. When he withdrew his fingers she brought her hand up
along his length. He thrust his fingers back into her and she tightened her
grip and ran her hand back down his shaft. With perfect rhythm they continued
to tease and torment one another until Simon was close to coming. He wanted her
with him, he wanted to feel her flesh clench around him.

Beatrice raised her head from his shoulder as he withdrew
his fingers from the tight channel to grip her hips and lift her up onto her
knees. Her hand was still lightly caressing the engorged head of his cock. She
met his eyes and waited.

“Take me inside your body,” he growled.

And Beatrice, his lovely, passionate Beatrice, brought his
hard cock to the opening of her body, paused as if to savor the moment, and
slowly lowered her warmth onto him.

“Christ,” Simon bit out between clenched teeth. “Ahh
Beatrice.”

He had never felt anything as good as the slow descent of
her hot, tight passage over his aching shaft. He willed his hands not to move,
not to force her hips down hard, instead allowing her time to adjust to his
invasion.

Simon watched as Beatrice’s eyes rolled back before her lids
came down to shutter her expression. She lifted her hips slowly, only to bring
them down again, taking him nearly all the way into her. Again she rose and
eased back down, and again. With each downward motion she took in more of his
pulsing erection.

Simon was nearly mindless with the urge to thrust up while
pulling her down. He was only able to restrain himself by watching the sheer
joy on Beatrice’s lovely face. Her eyes were closed, as if to absorb every drop
of pleasure. A soft smile graced her pink lips.

She stilled upon him, her hands gripping his shoulders, and
slowly her eyes opened. The look she gave him nearly brought him to climax. Her
deep-chocolate eyes shone with joy, her smile widened until her dimple
appeared. She slowly leaned forward to press that smile to his lips, to tease
his tongue with her own, until he brought up one hand to hold her head still
and took over the kiss. He kissed her wildly, thrusting his tongue into her
welcoming heat as he wanted to thrust his hard flesh into her willing body.