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An Excerpt From:  Snow Angel
Erotic Romance - (Rated E-rotic)

© Copyright Joey W. Hill, 2003.

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave, Inc.

Snow Angel

It was Christmas, she was lonely, she wanted to be taken. If it was empty lust, so be it. She’d take lust over simple emptiness. Her body was so ravenous for a man’s touch, a man’s loving, that even if it was for five minutes in the bathroom, she’d accept it. She might even convince herself he cared, because Sam had always been a good person to her, the one boy in high school who hadn’t taken advantage.

Only now he was a man, a gorgeous male specimen with a warm body and taut muscles that her hands were grasping just above his waist under the unbuttoned shirt. Her thumbs were at his waistband, feeling the curve of his back, the narrowing to his hips. The look in his eyes was pure primal dominance driven by desire, a male ready to sweep her off her feet, overpower her.

“Hold onto me, baby,” he murmured, and it was her only warning to clutch his shoulders before he turned them toward the sink counter. The edge pressed into her ass as his teeth scraped over hers, then he pushed her back, breaking the connection. He turned her so she faced the mirror and he stood behind her, those hazel eyes fired with desire. He slipped off the spaghetti strap of one side of her dress and caught her hand in his, holding it by her hip. He reached across her, his forearm pressing against her breasts, and dropped the other strap. She made a helpless noise, mesmerized by their images as he tugged gently at her waist, and the dress tumbled, pooling at her waist, revealing her curves, held up and together for display in the black strapless bra. The straps of the dress, lying loosely just above her elbows, held her arms to her sides unless she wanted to rip them.

“Beautiful,” he slid his thumb across the top of one breast, her flesh prickling with need at his lightest touch. “Constance, you have always had such lovely breasts.”

She wanted to tell him it was the clever engineering of wires and side pads, but anything more complicated than a whimper was beyond her just now. His hands moved back to her waist, then he was gathering the fabric of her snug skirt, inching it up over her hips. The palm of one hand pressed the small of her back, bending her forward so her cleavage was propped up on cool Formica.

He’s going to fuck you like some feudal lord with a castle serving girl, her mind screamed. You’re going to feel degraded, cheap, worse than when you started. Remember the boys in the back seat, who wouldn’t even buy you a Big Mac when it was over? Cheapest little whore at school, that’s what they called you, because you never asked, never demanded more. You just wanted them to take care of you. But they never did. They didn’t care. You’re not sixteen anymore, Constance.

“No.” She started to rise, and found out how much stronger he was. His hands slid down her bare hips, and he grasped her thighs above the lace top of her stockings. He went to one knee and lifted her as she might lift a pillow, putting her knees on his shoulders, balancing her there, still facing the mirror. She rocked forward as he raised her hips just above the line of her shoulders, making her completely helpless. It was a terrifying, exhilarating feeling to be submissive to a man’s overwhelming strength. His mouth closed over her pussy, his lips separated from her flesh only by the black strip of the thong she had worn to avoid panty lines.

He wasn’t fucking her like some rutting beast. He was offering her pleasure like a gift.

“Oh, God…” It had been too long since she’d let her body feel this, and now suddenly everything was pressurized, like a bottle of soda that had been tossed around and now lay in his control to turn the top and let what was churning inside explode. She didn’t have the reins. He had simply plucked them away.

“Sam, I can’t…”

“Yes, baby. You can.”

His tongue licked, licked, pulled satin across swollen, wet folds, the friction rubbing again, again. His teeth closed over her clit, pressing down, urging her on. His nose was against her, nuzzling the enervated crease of her buttocks, his hair brushing the inside of her thighs, forced open a fixed width by his head being there. Her feet kicked the air uselessly in her slender heels, her knees pressing into his shoulders as he worked her with his mouth and his arms banded over her thighs. He gripped each of her ass cheeks, spreading her open with his thumbs and moving the strap of her thong against the opening of her anus. As rhythmically and relentlessly as the passage of time, he licked her pussy some more.

“No, no…”

She threw her head back, saw herself in the mirror, eyes wild, moist lips parted, her breasts overflowing the bra, sliding against the smooth surface of the counter as he kept fucking her from behind with his mouth. Her hands caught the edge of the counter below her hips and pressed against it, instinctively seeking the rhythm to send her over, pushing her harder against his mouth.

As the orgasm descended upon her, she turned her head and tried to press her mouth against her shoulder to keep her screams from reverberating.

He caught her fingers, pulled them from the edge of the counter, his grip shifting to hold her arm behind her back in a way that increased the spiral of reaction in her belly. Her other hand lost its purchase on the counter. Now she had no anchor. Like foam, she moved on the ocean of his mouth, only able to travel where it took her.

“It’s soundproof, sweetheart. I want to hear you scream.”

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