Deep River Promise Jackie Ashenden (best life changing books .txt) 📖

rolled over onto her side, leaning on her elbow, head propped in her hand, watching him as he pulled his T-shirt off, revealing smooth, golden skin and, yes, the hard, carved muscle she’d felt beneath his shirt.

He was indeed the work of art she’d thought he was. He made her mouth go dry.

His hands dropped to the fastenings of his jeans, taking his time as he undid them, and she was fine with that, enjoying the slow reveal of sharply defined abs, narrow hips, and strong, muscled thighs. And his sex, long, thick, and hard.

Oh boy. He was something else.

A delicious tension coiled in the space between them, anticipation and the slow drawing out of that anticipation, making everything more erotic and more powerful.

Then he was naked and moving purposefully to the bed, getting onto it with her, his hands hot on her skin as he turned her onto her back before moving lower, pushing her thighs apart.

She shuddered as he settled himself between them and then leaned over her, his powerful body stretched over hers, his hands on the pillows on either side of her head. His heat surrounded her, his scent wrapping around her, the blue of his eyes her entire world.

“Damon,” she whispered.

He bent, and his mouth covered hers and she was lost.

He kissed her hard, deep, but not for long enough, and she wanted to protest. But then his lips were trailing down over her jaw to her neck, pausing at the base of her throat, licking her skin, tasting where her pulse beat far too fast, before going lower.

Astrid’s eyes closed slowly, a deep tremble shaking her, as his lips seared the tender skin of her chest, kisses like hot rain scattered over the swell of her breasts. He cupped one in his hand, making her shudder and her back arch as his thumb teased one hard, aching nipple. Then his tongue touched the other, licking gently before drawing it into the intense heat of his mouth.

She gasped, her hands on his shoulders, holding tightly onto him as pleasure raced along her nerve endings, bright and hot and wild. He sucked on her lightly, the pressure the most exquisite thing she’d ever felt, drawing tiny sounds of agonized pleasure from her.

Then he focused his attention on her other breast as his hands traced her sides and down over the curves of her hips, stroking her thighs.

His touch felt so good—so gentle, as if she were made of fine china and he had to be careful with her. It made her heart ache. Made her feel as if she was worth more than all the rejections she’d had and all the criticisms she’d received. Made her feel as if she wasn’t the forgotten child, the rejected lover, or the abused victim.

It made her feel as if she was special.

Slowly, he drove her crazy and she was panting by the time he released her breast and moved lower, over the trembling plane of her stomach and down even farther.

Her breath caught as his hands settled on her thighs, pushing them apart even wider. And then he put his mouth between them, where she was hot and aching and needing him most.

She cried out as he began to explore her, again taking his time. Pausing to lick, to nip, to suck gently at her slick flesh, until she was panting and writhing beneath him, her nails digging into the heavy muscles of his shoulders.

There was nothing in the world but the pull of pleasure and the touch of his hands, the searing heat of his tongue and the warmth of his breath on her skin. She was desperate for him to end it, for the climax he held just out of her reach, and yet at the same time she didn’t want it to end. She wanted the never-ending pleasure to keep going and to simply exist in it, to keep being the focus of his complete attention. To keep the feeling of being special and wanted and worshipped close to her heart for as long as she could.

No one had ever made her feel this way. Not one single person.

But of course it had to end. His hands settled on her hips, gripping her as he did something amazing with his tongue, and the world abruptly exploded into flame around her.

She cried out, her back arching, the orgasm taking her in firm hands and squeezing her, wringing every last gasp of pleasure from her. She was barely conscious of Damon shifting, moving from between her spread thighs. There came the soft rustle of clothing being moved and then the sound of foil ripping. Then he was back, the heat of his body covering her own, his hands stroking up and down her sides.

“Are you ready for me?” he whispered, and she could hear desperation for her in his voice. But his touch remained unhurried, waiting for her to give the okay. And she didn’t hesitate.

“Yes,” she gasped, even though she was still shaking from the effects of the last orgasm. And when he pushed inside her, she groaned again, arching up into him, trying to deepen the exquisite stretching sensation of him sliding into her. She wrapped her legs around his narrow hips, gliding her hands down his powerful back, glorying in the sheer sensual feel of his body on her, in her, surrounding her.

He felt so good. So incredibly good. He was a gift and she wanted to hold on to him for as long as possible.

His breath warmed her throat, and she hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes until he murmured, “Look at me.”

And she did, opening her eyes to find him gazing down at her, the astonishing blue of his gaze colliding with hers. She’d thought it was the color of a winter sky, clear and light, but it wasn’t. Around his pupil there was a darker midnight blue, drawing her, pulling at her, making it impossible for her to look away.

There were shadows