Kit Black by Monica Danetiu-Pana Page A

closed.
    â€œFor me,” he said softly, stilling my hands. “I love the way you look. Just looking at your body makes me want to go mad.”
    I bit my lip and tried not to moan at the way he looked at me, his eyes half closed, his mouth, the exact pink of a conch shell, slightly parted, his breath coming in gasps.
    We fell to the satin coverlet and just looked at each other, smiling. I tried to memorize his face, every nuance of it. I tried to imagine him as he would be in years to come with white at his temples and more laugh lines around his eyes. I touched his cheek, his dear smooth cheek, and smiled. How I would miss that. Seeing him grow old.
    He opened my shirt and kissed my breasts, his tongue hot and wet and ravenous. How was I going to give him back? How will I ever find anything like this again? How could I want to? I drank in the love I saw written on his handsome features, reading the truth of his words in his dilated pupils. I believed him. I swallowed my tears. Oh, I loved him so much.
    He traced the whole length of my body with his tongue until he reached my navel. He then licked me there with abandon. I responded by arching my hips closer against his face. He traced his way upward with wet kisses on my stomach, my breasts, my throat.
    â€œ Tu es tellement belle , Kita”, he murmured lost in the sensation. “Don’t you know how beautiful you are?” he whispered hoarsely in my ear.
    â€œThe way you love me makes me feel beautiful,” I confessed with a sigh.
    He growled in response. “Then let me show you how beautiful you are.”
    I had missed him so much. We had only been together once, but my body remembered with aching expectation how he felt. I had forced my mind to ignore my body’s memories for years, but now it was coming back to me full force. I knew he was holding back, wanting to make slow and tender love to me, so that it could last forever. But all his resolve dissolved at my next words.
    â€œLet go, Armand,” I urged him.
    With that, he surrendered completely. “ Oui ,” he vowed. He lowered his body on mine until he covered me completely.
    I opened my thighs wider and wrapped my arms around his back possessively. We were rocking against each other, pressing our needs against one another, only increasing our desire.
    â€œAsk me,” he demanded breathlessly.
    I refocused on his face. His pupils were so dilated there was only a thin circle of green around them. I swallowed heavily. “Touch me.”
    This was all it took. His thumb began to trace lazy lines on the center of my need, his fingers slowly caressing my entrance. I forgot to breathe for a second, and my hips lifted from the mattress to urge him to continue. He plunged two fingers in me and stroked languorously, his thumb increasing its rhythm at the same time. I bucked under him, so close to the edge.
    â€œArmand…” I moaned.
    He gradually slowed the caress of his hand, obviously not ready to let me go over yet. “No…” I protested, fidgeting under him to increase the pressure again. I was so close I ached. What was he trying to do, kill me from frustration?
    His other hand moved to capture both my wrists when I tried to reach for his manhood. He placed my hands above my head and pinned me to the bed more strongly.
    â€œArmand!” I begged frustrated.
    â€œNot yet,” he warned.
    I groaned at the sight of the slight smile curving his lips. He tempted me further by rubbing his heated length against my thigh. The weight of his body on mine was far from uncomfortable. I felt surrounded, protected in a strange way. His nipples were pressed on my skin, my own breasts crushed by his chest. Even the tight grip on my wrists was pleasurable. And his hand…too slow for my taste, but his fingers were still inside me, and his thumb was making me burn with expectation. I clasped my inner depths on his fingers to spur him, but he didn’t move