Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!

Passionate Possession




.......


... She was standing up now from the couch, and so was Nial .

'I am,' he told her, and while the words were still reverberating through her skull he reached out and touched her, drawing his knuckes gently down the side of her face.

'You have such soft skin,' he told her quietly. 'It's so unbelievably sensitive. No, don't tense your muscles. There's nothing you need to fear.'

'I'm not afraid,' Lucy denied stoutly. 'Why should I be?'

'Why indeed?' Nial agreed.

He was, she realised, whispering the words against her lips, and the hand that had just touched her face was now resting warmly against her throat, somehow gently easing her head back so that he could brush his mouth slowly and tantalising against hers.

She had never realised that so light a touch could have such an intense reaction, she acknowledged.

She wanted to open her mouth, to let her lips cling to his, to touch him with her tongue, to see if he tasted the way her senses told her he would. She wanted to raise herself up on tiptoe and to press herself against him. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to feel the hardness of his chest against her breasts. She wanted him to hold her and to touch her, to stroke his hands down her back until they found that vulnerable spot they had touched this morning. She wanted to feel his touch against her naked skin. She wanted him to want her, to tell her and to show her that he found her desirable, irresistible. She wanted to see and to touch his body as well; to stroke her fingers over his chest, and through the soft darkness of his body hair. She wanted to feel his muscles contract with arousal beneath that touch. She wanted to stroke his skin with her tongue, to explore the alien flat hardness of his nipples and to feel the corresponding surge of sensation fill her own breasts as she did so.

She wanted him, she recognised helplessly as he continued to kiss her slowly, savouringly, so that her mouth opened for him completely of its own volition, her body turning soft and fluid as he cupped her face and held her while he kissed her with such slow deepening sensuality that she was fathoms out of her depth before she even realised it.

She wanted him, wanted him so much that her body openly vibrated and pulsed with that wanting and she was helpless to do anything to stop it, and he hadn't even touched her, hadn't done a single thing to elicit the openly sensual trembling that convulsed her. All he had done was to kiss her, to whisper against her mouth that the feel of her, the taste of her was driving him out of his mind.

His thumb-tip stroked the vulnerable hollow behind her ear. She trembled violently, drowning in the intense storm of feeling that erupted inside her as his tongue thrust passionately into her mouth.

It was an act as dangerously erotic and almost as intimate as though he had actually possessed her, and her senses responded helplessly to it.

Without knowing how she had done so, she discovered that she was clutching him, her fingers digging into the flesh of his back. The flesh of his back... not his shirt, and yet she had no knowledge, no awareness, of having tugged the shirt out of his jeans, of having slid her hands beneath it, but she must have done so.

'Shall I tell you how much I wanted you this morning?' Niall was saying against her mouth. 'How much I wanted to share your shower with you, to take hold of you and touch you, to love you...?'

To love her... Her mind recognised the verb and retreated from it, but her senses were far too aroused for her to dwell on the small sharp pain that had momentarily jarred through her. Niall was still kissing her, his mouth slowly exploring the line of her throat. He was also trying to push her away from him, she recognised.

She must have made a protest because he stopped moving, holding her still, while he kissed her slowly again and then whispered, 'It's all right... I just want to take this off.'

'This...' She gave him a dazed look and realised that he was removing his shirt.

'And this,' he told her, speaking quietly, as quietly as someone might to a half-wild nervous creature. As though his tone had soothed her, Lucy stood still while he removed her jacket.

'Do you know what I was thinking while I waited for you this morning?' She heard him saying softly to her.

'I was thinking how much I wanted to feel the silky warmth of your breasts against my body. I was trying not to imagine how it would feel to take your nipple into my mouth and to suck on it until you cried out with pleasure.'

He wasn't just removing her jacket, Lucy realised with dazed awareness. He was removing her top as well, and her skirt, and she wasn't doing a single thing to stop him. She didn't want to stop him, because all she could think about was the mental images conjured up by his huskily rough words. Already her body was respondinig shamelessly to him, and she knew that when he removed her bra, as she knew he was going to do, her nipples would be as hard and as sensitively swollen as though he had in fact already drawn them into his mouth and suckled on their eager peaks.

He was holding her closely now, stroking her back, tenderly exploring the slope of her shoulder with lips that seemed to know exactly where to linger, where to exert that little bit more pressure, until she shuddered in frantic response.

'I want to take you upstairs. To make love to you slowly and lingeringly in the privacy and the comfort of my bed, but if I stay here with you like this for much longer...'

Lucy felt the shudder galvanise his body and knew it was caused by his desire for her. Her heart leapt with joy, her body pulsing ly eager to respond to the messages of his.

Picking up his shirt, Niall gently put it on her, his hands resting lightly against her breasts very briefly as he leaned forward and kissed her, a slow almost tender kiss and for some reason made her want to cry, her throat tight with choking emotion.

The fabric of his shirt felt soft against her skin. Somehow because he had worn it it was almost as though in some erotic way he was actually touching her. She was conscious of his scent clinging to the fabric. She trembled as he fastened the button between her breasts, her nipples peaking urgently, her breath catching in her throat as she felt the aching swell of desire to have his hands touching her.

'Come on,' he said slowly against her mouth. 'Let's go upstairs.'

With his arm around her, holding her against his side, he guided her into the hall and up the stairs. Halfway up them he stopped and turned to look at her, an odd sombre look that made her heart beat heavily with painful anxiety.

His arm was still around her. He lifted his free hand and touched her face, almost as an adult might touch a child, she recognised.

'Lucy, I want you to know ---' he began, and then stopped as she silenced whatever it was he was about to say by pushing herself against him and lifting her mouth to his, kissing him with an almost desperate ferocity.

She felt the shock tense his body, and then both his arms tightened around her and he was kissing her back.

She had no idea what he had intended to say to her. She ony knew that she didn't want to hear it; that she didn't want to hear anything that might destroy the shining fragility of what she was feeling.

He carried her the rest of the way up the stairs and into a large low-ceilinged bedroom where the eaves sloped down to a pair of small dormer windows... The bed, high and old-fashioned with a heavy wrought-iron bedstead, its white linen covers worn with age.

When Niall placed her carefully on the bed the linen felt soft against her skin.

As he kissed her Nial told her, 'I won't be a moment.' He was gone before she could query where he was going.

She stared round the room, her eyes huge and round as though she was half unable to believe what was happening.

On the oak chest between the two dormer windows was a photograph in a silver frame. Her heart started to thump frantically as she started at it.

'My grandparents,' Niall told her, coming back into the room and observing her.

Niall, she realised as she looked at him, was carrying her clothes, and as he carefully placed them on the chair beside the chest she was overwhelmed by the strongest surge of emotion she had ever experienced.

It wasn't just desire she felt for him, she acknowledged as her eyes suddenly burned with tears. It was love as well. He was so caring, so compassionate, so aware, that how could she not have loved him? She blinked, the emotion that filled her blotting out everything else.

She was still wearing his shirt, and now as he came over to the bed he teased her gently.

'Mm... I'm glad you kept this on.'

Foolishly perhaps, or perhaps because suddenly she felt oddly nervous, almost shy, she didn't immediately sense what he meant, and asked him uncertainly, 'Why?'

He laughed then, his eyes warm with pleasure as he looked at her.

'So that I can undo it, of course.' he told her as he kissed the side of her throat and then the hollow at its base when her pulse raced so frantically, and then lower into the open V of his shirt, while his hands smoothed up over her body beneath the shirt, their touch warm against the curve of her hips, shaping the narrowness of her waist.

Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for the moment when his hands and his lips would reach the same point, knowing that her breasts were already shamlessly flaunting thier need.

The sensation of his lips slowly caressing the hollow between her breasts while his hands cupped their swollen softness made her cry out, her body arching fiercely against him, her hands going out to hold his head.

If he had not done it for her she knew that she would have wrenched off the shirt herself, guiding his mouth to her aching flesh, but he seemed to know instinctively how she felt, how she ached, and the touch of his lips, at first gentle and explorative, very quickly became far less controlled, far more demanding as he felt her response to him.

The sharp spasms of sensation that pierced through her made Lucy cry out and reach up to him, holding him agianst her body, a tumbe of incoherent words smothered against his skin as she pressed her face against him, too caught up in what she was experiencing to have room to feel anything other than a brief sense of shock that she could actually feel like this, abandon herself like this.

The ache deep within her body demanded the pressure of Niall's weight against her, but, even as she acknowledged that need herself, Niall responded to it, his hand stroking down over her body, cupping her, holding her, while he slowly relinquished her nipple, caressing it soothingly with his tongue before easing her back against the bed and than kneeling over her, watching her.

'I want you so much,' he told her sombrely. 'Tell me you want me as well, Lucy.'

'I want you.'

She said it softly, immediately, without any desire to conceal or deny her need of him, so totally at ease with him, somehow made so confident of her femininty and her desirability to him, that she felt no need to hold back or to pretend.

He cupped her face, his hands sliding into her hair as he unfastened her plait.

She felt him shudder and saw the dark flush of color stain his kins, and she marvelled that she could have this effect on him.

She watched silently as he removed the rest of their clothes and then caught her breath, her face flushing a little at her own naive response to his nakedness until she saw in his eyes how much her reaction to him had pleased him.

'Don't,' he told her as she instinctively tried to turn away. 'I like seeing that you want me. I like knowhing that my body arouses you as powerfully as yours does me... Tell me what you want, Lucy,' he murmured to her as he leaned over her. 'Tell me how you want me to touch you... to make love to you.'

Lucy closed her eyes, shaken by the surge of knowledge that she didn't just want him to touch her, she wanted to touch him as well.

It was a need shse simply could not put inot words; instead she reached out and touched his skin, her fingertips hesitant and uncertain as they traced the corded muscle on the inside of his arm. Totally bemused by the sensation of his skin, she raised herself up and placed her mouth against it.

She hadn't realised that a man could tremble so violently, she thought in awe as he groaned her name, hadn't realised how the most tentative touch could weaken his masculine control.

Nor had she realised how good it would be to taste his skin, to draw her open mouth against the muscled hardness of his chest, to flick her tongue hesitantly at first and then more surely agianst the itght hardness of his nipple while he cried out and gripped hold of her, his body suddenly slick with sweat, his muscles corded with response.

When he touched her, intimately seeking the moist invitation of her body, she arched up against him, pressing herself fiercly agianst his hand, telling him feverishly and openly how much she wanted him, how much her body craved the satin strength of his.

It had been a long time since she had last made love, and then it had never been like this; then she had never come anywhere near experiencing this intensity of arousal and yet as Niall moved against and then within her she was so exquisitely conscious of him that she cried out in shock, her eyes wide open as she met the burning intensity of his.

It wasn't pain that made her cry out, her dizzied brain acknowledged, it was a sensation, a pleasure so unknown and yet immediately so recognised and welcomed by her body that it instantly adapted itself to Niall's special rhythm, responding to it and to him as though it had been born to do so.

Afterwards as Niall held her, stroking her, soothing her, whispering murmured wrds against her skin, she clung desperately to him, her heart aching with the weight of all that she didn't want to acknowledge, while her body acked with the pleasure he had shown it.

Later Niall made love to her agian, touching her, kissing her with an intimacy she had never dreamed she would ever want to share with anyone, never mind feel a fierce need to actually experience.

The taste of her own body on his mouth when he kissed her was powerfully erotic, making her ache to share the same intimacy with him, to experience the texture and the taste of his most essential maleness.