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An Excerpt From: FANTASIES R US
©
Copyright ROXI ROMANO, 2004.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave, Inc.
“I’m
not beautiful. I’m just plain Jayne.” Jayne Applegate took a long draught
of the wine, silently chastising herself for slipping back into reality vs.
fantasy mode, trying not to squirm under the long, slow head-to-toe look
her fantasy lover gave her.
His gaze came back to her eyes. “There is nothing
plain about you, Jayne.”
She bit her tongue against her inclination to argue
the demerits of her body. She’d had a lifetime of practice at that, the
seed sown by her own mother who’d been gloriously, glamorously beautiful.
“Beautiful,” he repeated, stroking her cheek with a
bent knuckle. She flushed beneath his touch—his compliment. She wanted to
believe him. And that was the problem. What good would it do her to believe
in a fantasy. She started to turn away from him.
“Don’t turn away, Jayne. Let me show you how beautiful
you are.”
He set down his wineglass and, taking her by the
shoulders, turned her to the cheval glass she’d avoided up until now. It must
have been the distortion of the dust glazing the old glass as she didn’t
look half-bad in that clinging gown of pearly silk.
“See.” He fingered her curls back from her face and
slowly stroked the curve of her neck with the backs of his fingers. “You are
a vision.”
She didn’t know about being a vision, but she actually
looked like a woman who had some nice curves. She sipped at her wine as she
examined herself…and the man behind her. He was the perfect half a head
taller than her, with perfect chiseled features and perfect broad shoulders
that framed hers. Actually, his entire body framed hers…perfectly.
“See how the cloth drapes your body,” he murmured, his
mouth so close that his breath tickled her earlobe.
She snuggled back against him, this time not startled
by the bulge pressing into her buttocks. He ran a hand down her side,
making the slick fabric ripple against her skin, making her skin ripple
against the fabric.
“It molds to you like a second skin, showing off your
womanly hips.” His hand paused on her hip, his circling thumb warming the
thin fabric as well as the skin beneath. “See how it shapes your stomach,
your abdomen and your—” His fingers stroked her and she gasped.
“My touch is pleasurable, is it not?”
She sipped again at her wine and nodded.
“May I touch you further?”
She nodded again and drank more wine, her nipples
tenting the silk big as fat raisins. He caught her gaze in the mirror,
holding it as he slid his hand up her abdomen, over her stomach and paused
on her ribs. With the side of his thumb, he stroked the underside of her
breast.
A wonderful heat spread through her. Maybe it was from
the wine, but she doubted it.
He cupped her and murmured into her ear. “You are
heavy with your need to be touched.”
Her pulse fluttered.
He flicked his thumbs over her nipples and her hunger
scorched a path clear to the apex of her legs. She all but whimpered with
her need.
He smiled and kissed her ear, then her neck and the
slope of her shoulder. She sank back against him. He would soon fill her.
She knew it. She knew it with a certainty that made her tingle from her
toes to the roots of her hair.
She groaned, closed her eyes and pressed back against
the hard shaft that promised to fulfill her every desire.
His fingers brushed hers as he took the wineglass from
her. She didn’t know what he did with it. She didn’t care. All she cared
about was that his hands came back to her, hot, hard and urging as they
stroked her shoulders. Then, in tandem, he slid the thin straps of her
nightgown from her shoulders.
Her eyelids flew open and she clutched the cascading
fabric to her breasts.
“Let it go, my lady,” he urged against the curve of
her neck.
She met his gaze in the hazy cheval glass, saw the
earnestness in his eyes—saw his reassurance…saw his plea that she trust
him. Reluctantly, she unclenched her fingers. Soft as a breeze’s caress,
the gown slipped from her body. But she closed her eyes to avoid seeing her
reflection.
“Look at yourself in the mirror,” he softly commanded.
She shook her head, crisscrossing her body with her
arms. Gently, he pulled her hands away and urged her to look at herself.
Tentatively, she opened her eyes…and blinked several times, certain she
wasn’t seeing right. The woman in the mirror had a narrow waist, gently
flared hips and high, full breasts. She was a goddess.
“That’s not me,” she whispered.
“But it is, my lady. This is your body aroused.”
CLOSE WINDOW
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