Excerpt from Whispers on the Wind:
Lenore tossed, disturbing the covers, and the man’s hands pushed the comforter back, molding her shape as he followed the flowing curves to the flare of her hips. “Come to me, come to me,” he whispered, trailing his fingers over her bare shoulders. He spread her hair across the pillow, then drew one long, curling tress down her chest, feathering the tip of the curl around her breasts, over her nipples.
She murmured a plea. As his touch stroked upwards, caressing the undersides of her breasts, her nipples hardened, ached. His breath fanning over them did nothing to ease the sweet pain. She wanted . . . She needed . . . He must . . . Her soft moan became a demand. Her body arched. She heard herself begging for his mouth, his lips, his tongue, for all the pleasures his touch promised.
And something deeper, some need, to be filled by him . . . .
“Yes, yes. Come to me,” he said again and she kicked back the sheet, the ancient, heavy quilt, heat scorching her body from within as the touch of his hands seared her skin from the outside. His light stroking smoothed over her abdomen, leaving a subtle trail of flames in its wake, fire that grew and grew until it threatened to incinerate her where she lay. It traveled down one leg to the tips of her toes. She burned all over and rolled face down as if obeying an unheard request. Even that did not quench the flames.
The sensual assault continued over her back, fingertips walking lightly up her spine, filtering through the thickness of her hair, kneading her scalp. Flat, hard palms spread over her back, massaging expertly, pressing her into the mattress, spanning her waist, fingers sliding under her hipbones, lifting slightly, down her legs to her knees, parting them. Hot breath fanned across the small of her back, over her buttocks as the man knelt by her, surprising, teasing with tiny, intermittent kisses, shocking little nips of teeth. His ministrations sent wave after wave of incomparable sensation coursing through her, leaving her teetering on the verge of a climax she knew would be of shattering proportions.
She ached for it, needed it. It was too much to bear, going so far without completion. Within, her barren womb contracted, begging for . . .for his seed? Yes! Fill me, her soul cried. Mate with me. Give me your child.
The craving became a hunger knowing no end, and dimly she recognized it as one having long eroded her, and that only this man could feed it. A baby to hold, a child to love. The logical outcome of these intense feelings, of the union yet to come. The need left her gasping, aching, all but weeping with urgency.
With an inarticulate cry, she rolled to her back. She strained to make out his face, but he was nothing more than shadows and soft sounds, tantalizing caresses of hands whose strength she could only imagine from the exquisite restraint of his touch. She tried to reach out to him, but her arms lay heavy at her sides, her fingers pressing into the sheet.
Blunt nails raked down one leg. “Lenore . . .Lenore. Come.” His fingers tracked up the other leg, seeking out the soft skin on the inside of her thigh, exploring in widening circles, close, but never quite close enough, tantalizing her with promises of fulfillment that ended just short of fruition.
“Please . . . please,” she moaned as she lifted her knees instinctively, let her legs fall apart in response to his knowing invasion. “Jon . . . touch me! I need you.”
“Yes,” he murmured, one finger sliding in, parting the wet, swollen folds that protected her entrance. “I need you too. But . . . come to me.”
Lenore shuddered as he withdrew his touch and backed from her, fading into the night, leaving only a beckoning hand for her gaze to follow and then, that, too was gone...
WHISPERS ON THE WIND, a futuristic romance, is available for download at www.smashwords.com in a wide variety of formats. Let me know how you like it.