ROMANCE: PARANORMAL ROMANCE: Coveted by the Werewolves (Paranormal MMF Bisexual Menage Romance) (New Adult Shifter Romance Short Stories) (360 page)

              Sensing this, he clasped one arm firmly around the gentle curve of her waist, and she could feel herself responding to him, giving way to the invasion of his tongue and tangling it with her own.  She felt soft and beautiful, and wrapped her arms around the thick, ropy muscles of his shoulders, thinking that this,
this
is how a man should be built.  He broke away and quickly slid her dress all the way up her body until moments later, it was lying in a messy and forgotten heap at their feet.               Seconds later, a blue sweater joined it.

              He ran his hands down the small of her back, down her gloriously rounded behind, sliding his smooth, soft lips down the creamy tops of her breasts, generously exhibited against the delicate lace of her bra.  She closed her eyes, drunk on the sensation, brushing her fingers against the bristles of his man’s haircut, lolling her head back as he grazed dangerously low to the edge of her matching lace panties.

              She felt him squeeze her behind, and, swept up in the reverence of her body in his eyes, she grabbed his chin firmly in her hand.  She looked him straight in the eyes as she brought him up to her level standing, feeling his excitement grow against her thigh.  She looked down and saw the bulge in against his briefs, heart pounding at the knowledge that it was
she
that was causing all that ruckus.                She ran her hands up those thighs that had been taunting her for so long, delighting in their thick, taut feel and the softness of the skin over them.  And then her fingers inched up his bulge, rubbing her fingers in warm, firm circles over the throbbing flesh of him.  Now it was Brent’s turn to close his eyes; she could see his breath coming faster, chest rising up and down sharply as he luxuriated in the feeling of her hands on him.  

              When they could take it no longer, they tumbled back onto the bed, Lilly taking control.  She straddled him and kissed him deeply, enclosing him in the ample flesh of her thighs.  She felt him smile against her lips.

              “Too much for you?” she whispered, brushing some sandy strands away from his face.

              He opened his eyes, pupils huge.  “Not enough.  Never, ever enough.”

              He pushed her back against the pillows and drank in the sight of her.  She could hardly believe the sight of him, like an ancient Viking after a brand new victory.  He leaned in, and teased the tender flesh of her neck and chest with his lips and tongue, grazing her nipple through the thin lace with his teeth in a movement so sensual that she gasped aloud.  But the Canadian had no intention of stopping north of the border.

              Lilly feels him hook two fingers under the sides of her panties and she shivers all the way down to her core as he slid them down her ankles.  When he pulled them off her body completely, he has the look of a child who has just unwrapped the biggest present on his birthday.  Heart beating erratically, she is too afraid to hope, amazed at his brazenness.  When he smiles at her before dipping his head between her thighs, she almost melts completely into him.

              He kisses his way up her thighs, nipping at the delicate flesh, and she can feel all the blood rushing from her head.  He strokes her with his index finger directly down the center of her and follows it with his tongue, edging closer and closer to the very heart of her.  When she feels his lips close around her clit and suck, the image of that angelic face on her most private area alone brings her closer to the brink.

              He is licking and sucking her strongly, and she loses all concept of time.  All she knows is that she wants him to stay down there forever, and that the incredible building intensity of her own release is incredible.  She is vaguely aware of clutching the sheets around her with her hands, but all of her attention is focused on that sensation down below.  When he feels her body begin to buck and hears her whimper, he knows it is time.

              He slides her further down the bed, closer to him, and places both of her thighs over his shoulders. He slips a pillow below her lower back and all she can see at first is his head bobbing up and down, but then she can see nothing anymore, because he is probing the inside of her with his tongue, melding her flesh to his mouth, and she is spiraling dangerously out of control, so close to the brink that she can hardly take it.  How long will it last?

              "Please," she asks, hardly knowing what she is saying.  "Please, oh please."

              And then in a feat that borders on something acrobatic, he slides two fingers inside her, working her furiously, and she is there, shuddering into his mouth, exploding out of her skin as the orgasm assails her violently, tenderly, and furiously.

              They collapse together on the bed, panting.  Moments pass, and the feeling of incredible peace is floating through her body.  And then she wonders.

              "What about you?" she asks, looking over at Brent.

              He opens his eyes, takes in her concerned look, and leans over on his side to clasp her hand in his.  "For now, this is enough," he says, and smiles, taking in the still quick motions of her breasts post-coitus.  

              And they lay there, for a long, long time, wrapped in each other.

              The next day on the bus, Brent and Lilly are warm and sated, and again sitting beside each other.  The bus heads towards the center of the tiny town of Maestra, and Lilly finds herself greatly anticipating what is to come.

              They are given two hours to roam around, and Lilly takes off into Maestra’s winding streets, finding secret hidden wells, olive trees succulent with new and vibrant smells, and breathtaking views of fields striped for the growth of grape vines.  As she climbs the bell tower and the wind ruffles her hair, she knows that in some way, this is the home of her, the essence of her full-bodied sensuality.  Everything about this place makes her feel alive--or is that just the previous night with the Lonely Canadian?

              Not so lonely anymore, she grins, and heads down the tower.

              A small corner shop boasts the best gelato in all of Italia, so Lilly decides to test the theory.  As a meager old woman heaps scoops of cherry amaretto on top of pistachio and finishes it off with a round, light cookie, Lilly hears her stomach grumbling.  The first bite is rich and creamy, with the perfect crisp of cone.  She goes outside and watches the birds circle into the air above the ancient square, blissfully lost in the cold deliciousness of the moment.

              Suddenly, she becomes aware of a pair of eyes on her, and glances over to her left, where a man eating an ice cream very similar to hers is watching her.  “Delicious, no?” he asks, toasting her with his cone.

              His face is so interesting that Lilly cannot tear her eyes away.  His eyes are a medley sort of green, framed by intense thick eyelashes, framed by creases around his face that give him an ageless appearance.  He is clearly a man who has been places and seen things, and he could be twenty or forty, depending on your mood.  Then she notices the apparatus at his side.

              “You are a photographer?” she asks, licking a bit of ice cream that is trickling down the side of her cone.

              He follows her tongue’s movements.  “Si, I am.  Would you care to look?”

              She nods, and settles down next to him in the small covering of the piazza.  He flips through pictures whose beauty robs Lilly of breath.  There is the grand canal of Venice, a small girl reaching for her doll in the water, an old woman selling grappa in the streets of Florence.

              But the next set is even more unbelievable.  There are women in varying degrees of nudity, shapes and sizes, some styled in ancient Roman dress, others leaving nothing at all to the imagination.  Lilly feels a blush stain her cheeks as one particular photo jumps out at her--a big, beautiful woman with violet-colored eyes staring deep into the eyes of the viewer, a transparent sheet sheathing little of her sizable form.  There is sensitivity to the picture that suggests an intimacy between the photographer and subject that is impossible to ignore.

              “This woman… you liked her, yes?” she asks him.

              He smiles and bends his face, wreathed in faint dark stubble to catch her eyes.  “Si, I think all women are, como se dice, bella?  Lovely.  I like particularly the woman who is large, all those curves, everything that is feminine about the female form emphasized.”

              The green eyes are looking into her own like he knows her, like this man knows her.  How can that be, considering they have met only about fifteen minutes ago?  Rain has started to fall outside of their small enclosing, giving the illusion that they are the only people in the entire world.

              Suddenly, he reaches over Lilly for his bag and her breath hitches, just a little.  The man smells like musk, a heady, masculine scent.  “Wh-what?” she begins to stammer, then relaxes as he leans back and hands her a business card.

              Luca Stagliarone, it reads.  Venetian Photography.  Below this is an address.

              “You will let me photograph you, yes?” he asks her, locking eyes with her intensely again.  “Tonight at nine?”

              Every cell in her body is screaming with danger, but her brain cannot erase the beauty of the woman she saw in the last picture.  Besides, it is not danger of the normal kind, but rather in response to the hunger in the rugged photographer’s eyes.  A promising danger, then.  Lilly wants to see herself through his eyes.

              And lips and mouth and teeth
, her brain nudges, but she pushes the voice aside.

              “Lilly!”

              She looks up at the familiar voice and sees Brent heading towards her, two steaming cups of coffee in his hands, big grin pasted on his face that miraculously does not fade when he sees her sitting with another man.  He greets her with a warm kiss on the cheek and offers her one of the coffees.

              “The bus is coming in five minutes; I figured you’d need the caffeine for the day.  Considering how little sleep you got last night,” he says, a wicked smile dimpling his face.

              Lilly ducks her head, unwilling to look at either the photographer or the Canadian.  “I guess I’ve got to go, then,” she tells Luca, who is now considering Brent with a look of undisguised interest.

              Brent hops off the bench and extends an arm to Lilly.  She takes his hand and steps off with him, and then takes another look at the card in her hand and at the man who just handed it to her.  She gives a gentle, wordless nod.

              He smiles.  

              “Bring your friend, too.”  He gestures towards Brent.

              Night had already fallen by the time Lilly and Brent reached Luca’s tiny, boho studio in the southern end of Maestra.  Wrapped in a green wool cardigan, Lilly turned around to face the Canadian outside of the studio door.

              “Thank you for coming with me,” she told him, placing a kiss on his lips.

              Genuine warmth came into his eyes as he leaned over and kissed her forehead.  “No problem.  And you look particularly good tonight,” he told her, infusing her with new confidence.  Summoning it, she knocked on the door.

              Inside, Luca was already setting up his camera.  The studio was lusciously decorated in burgundy and gold silks, the drape of the fabrics casting lush shadows all over the large space.  In the center of the studio, the photographer had set up a huge bed with purple and red pillows and swathes of chiffon and linen for Lilly to pose against.  The air was warm with the heady scent of green tea incense and chocolate, some of which Luca offered the pair as they discussed how best to set up the photographs.

              “I thought maybe you are on the bed,” Luca told Lilly, stirring his cocoa with a small silver spoon.  “You,” he addressed the Canadian, “watch first from the big red armchair--you see it, si? And then I tell you when to join her.”

              Lilly felt a flutter of anticipation butterfly up in her stomach.  She finished her chocolate and advanced towards the bed, but it wasn’t until Luca handed her a green silk robe that she understood the full implication of this photo shoot.

              She was going to be posing nude.

              It was, after all, one of the many things she had admired about his photographs, especially of the larger women.  Any fear she might have had about the shoot disappeared the moment she stepped out wearing the emerald robe and saw the look of acute appreciation in the eyes of both men as they drank in the outline of her form barely concealed beneath the clingy silk.

              She sat down on the bed and slipped the robe off one shoulder, hearing Luca begin to shoot straight away.  The minutes dragged on and she slid languorously down the bed onto her stomach, the silk robe trailing down until it was only covering her bottom half.  Brent’s eyes widened appreciatively as he took in the rounded slopes of her breasts, creamy and pillowy in the soft light of the room.  Lilly took a strand of hair falling free from her haphazard braid and trailed it over one of her breasts, the tip of it just brushing one of her delicately pink nipples.

Feeling just like a cat, she purred gently and turned over onto her back, spreading her auburn hair behind her, luxuriating in the feel of the pillows and fabrics around her and the widened O of Brent’s mouth.  She couldn’t see Luca’s face, but he had brought the camera over closer to her and was focusing first on her delicate ankles, and then the rest of her body, piece by incredible piece.