The_Color_of_Love_-_Radclyffe (Рэдклифф) - страница 113

“Oh yes.” Emily gasped and pressed her hand over Derian’s, aching need blinding her to everything. The room disappeared, her past fell away, her future was only the want in Derian’s eyes. “That feels so good. You make me feel so good.”

Derian groaned again. “I want more. I need more. I need you naked.”

“I want you too, you must feel it.” Emily shuddered. “Not…now.”

“When?”

“I can’t think. I have to think.”

“Why?” Derian pressed her face to Emily’s breasts, her chest heaving, and the hand around Emily’s breast trembled. “I want you so much.”

Emily couldn’t recall why not. “We don’t have much time. If we hurry—”

Derian growled and shook her head. “I’m not rushing. Not with you.” She looked up, grinned. Emily’s lips, flushed and red, parted. Her eyes glinted with hunger, hunger that answered Derian’s. She looked sexy and dangerous. “I need a lot of time to do what I’m planning to do.”

“Slow is nice,” Emily murmured, skimming her fingers over Derian’s mouth. She wanted her mouth. She wanted her mouth everywhere. “But honest to God, I wouldn’t mind fast right about now.”

Derian laughed. “There’s my bad girl.”

Emily grinned. “You definitely have the wrong idea about me.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t think so. Everything about you amazes me.” Derian wrapped both arms around her and tugged until Emily straddled her lap. She kissed her mouth, moved to her throat, and explored her breasts through the thin cotton of her tank, brushing her mouth over the hard points of her nipples. When she pulled one into her mouth, cotton and all, Emily arched, pressing tight into her lap, her head thrown back, her breasts mounding beneath her tank. Derian’s vision swam and longing pushed the breath from her chest.

Keeping Emily steady with an arm wrapped around her waist, Derian pulled up Emily’s tank and caressed her breasts and her belly and angle of her hip. Emily rocked in her lap, a seductive invitation for more. Derian murmured against her skin, “You’re sure about the time thing?”

“Believe me, I wish I weren’t.” Emily struggled for breath. “But if we miss any of our appointments, Henrietta—”

“Stop!” Derian groaned. “Way to put out the fire, baby.”

Laughing, Emily caressed Derian’s face, both hands gently outlining her cheeks and the angles of her jaw, finally sliding down her neck and under the collar of her shirt. Derian had never been touched with such care, or such desire. She sighed, content despite the simmering tension making her insides roil. “I love the way you touch me.”

“I’m so glad.” Emily kissed her again, for herself, for the pleasure of the softness of Derian’s mouth and the way the briefest contact filled her with longing and delight. She kissed her for the low groans torn from Derian’s chest, for the tightening of Derian’s hands on her hips, for the quickening of Derian’s pulse beneath her fingertips. She kissed her for the sheer and simple joy of it. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of touching you.”