Eyes of Ice (Eyes of Ice Erotica Series) by Emily Rose Page B

gown. Cecelia raised herself to her elbows, breathing raggedly, as Andrew rocked back, knees beneath her thighs, to slip her heels from her feet. He dropped them to the floor, his eyes still raking the near-nakedness before him. He reached forward, placed both his hands on her shoulders, and thrust her back to a laying position on the bed, his body now hard against hers, his hips at her hips, forcing her legs to open wider for his access.
    After more hungry kisses, one hand at the nape of her neck and the other straying to her waist, Andrew’s hips began to move slowly against her. His motion shifted them backwards and forwards on the bedspread, so that Cecelia was fully aware of the power of even his slightest movements. Cecelia realized dazedly that she could feel Andrew’s hardness through his dress pants, pressing against her through what now seemed like thin layers of her dress’s fabric. Maybe it was not a thing she had completely come to know, but it did not feel unfamiliar to her – rather, it felt like a mere extension of his impossibly solid body.
    Daringly, Cecelia dropped her hands to the small of his back, and felt the movement there as his thrusts continued. Andrew drew himself up slightly, as if the air had somehow thickened, slowing him.
    “Arch your back,” he ordered.
    Cecelia did so, and Andrew easily reached beneath her to unhook her bra. Like her heels, its lacy form was gone in an instant, dropped over the side of the bed and out of reach, and Cecelia barely had time to feel self-conscious. Andrew drew himself up a little further and ran his hand down her collarbone, across her clavicle, to encompass her breast in the palm of his warm hand. His motions there were as rhythmic as all his others, but just as tantalizing – he traced the outline of her nipple with a touch so light that Cecelia wanted to scream with longing, and then his palm was against it once more, kneading softly as he ran his tongue down her neck.
    She made a sound that sounded to her ears remarkably like a whimper. All this teasing, as much as it was buying time between her and the actual act which terrified her, was going to kill her – she was sure of it. She stared at the blurring bedroom ceiling as Andrew’s mouth kissed and traced its way to her bellybutton, suppressing shivers of pleasure. As she whimpered again, she could swear that she felt Andrew smile against her skin.
    “This dress,” she heard his voice from near her navel, “It has to go.”
    Panic. A cold burst of panic shot through Cecelia, chilling her to the bone and banishing most of the blistering lust she had felt milliseconds before.
    “That’s not fair,” she heard herself say, and dared to rise up on the bedspread. This time, Andrew did not push her back, but sat upward to allow her to move close to a sitting position, her legs still splayed to either side of him.
    “No?” he asked, and expertly flipped their positions, dropping his hands to her hips and twisting on the bed, levering her to sit atop his lower stomach. As if she weighed nothing, he pushed her down lower, and Cecelia felt his hardness beneath her buttocks.
    “No,” she replied, and tugged at his tie. To her relief, it loosened with little resistance, and she tugged it over his head. Andrew placed his hands behind his head, his face the picture of mocking patience as Cecelia unbuttoned his dress shirt. Where his jacket had gone, she didn’t know – out of sight and mostly out of mind, like her high heels and bra. Reaching the last of the buttons, untucking his shirt from his slacks, Cecelia opened it and ran her hands up his muscled chest. It was the first time she had seen this much of his skin, too, but there was nothing of embarrassment in his features. And why should there be? Cecelia demanded of herself. A six-pack ridged his lower stomach, and his smooth chest flexed naturally with each deep breath that he took. As Cecelia watched, she saw his back arch and his muscles