“murmured Ritchie. Beatrice Weatherly’s thighs were just as sweet and sleek in the flesh as they were in his most fevered imaginings, her skin as smooth as the surface of a bowl of cream. When she hesitated in the process of pulling up her nightgown, the hem still guarding her modesty, it was almost enough to be simply able to gaze on her. Almost. Still uncertain, she tensed and moved on his lap, the rounds of her bottom cruelly jostling his aching erection. “Hush, nothing to worry about. You kn...ow you can do it.” He ran his hand up and down the immaculate expanse, exploring the texture of her skin, imagining blood flowing wild beneath, and nerves sending messages of excitement. Fraction by fraction of an inch, he let his fingertips slide higher with every stroke, edging ever closer to her center. Last night she’d been delicious and responsive and he knew she could and would be just as willing soon. Yet still she seemed nervous about exposing herself. How strangely contrary. You’ll pose unclothed for photographs that are circulated to hundreds of avid men, yet you won’t show your naked puss to me in private.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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