Page 38 of Darla's Christmas Knight
His heart swelled with love. And his dick swelled with desire.
The moment she placed the oven dish on the stove top, he pounced, done with the wooing shit.
He took her by the shoulders, turned her to face him, shoved his fingers into that thick mane of curls he adored, and plundered her lips. She emitted a surprised yelp, a sound he gladly absorbed with his mouth as he shoved his tongue deep. There was nothing gentle or quiet about their kiss. Teeth gnashed; lips sucked; tongues dueled. They both moaned, and he lifted her onto the counter, shoving things aside. Cutlery clattered to the floor.
Darla grabbed the plackets of his shirt, and buttons popped as she ripped it open. He shrugged it off his shoulder and down his arms with her help. He grabbed the bottom of her (his!) shirt and (reluctantly!) tore his mouth from hers to peel the cotton over her head. She pushed his undershirt above his pecs, and her tongue licked a long line up the middle of his chest. Nails scraped over his nipples, and growling, he closed his eyes, whipping the material off, desire pulsing through his veins.
Vision clouded with lust, he unhooked her bra and dragged the straps down her arms. He caught her hands in one of his, securing them behind her. Taut and high, her tits exposed for his viewing pleasure, Bobby lowered his head and ravaged those delightful orbs. He licked and sucked on the left, his free hand kneading and plucking the right.
Darla arched, crying out, smashing her chest against his face. She hooked her ankles into the small of his back, her pussy hot against the denim strangling his erection.
“Hold on,” he muttered, hauling her from the counter, his hands now full of luscious arse.
It was a quick walk to the bedroom, and they toppled to the bed. He shot to his feet, fumbling with his zipper while watching her peel his sweatpants over her hips. “Stop,” he cried, hoarsely.
Eyes wide, she stared at him in confusion.
“Let me.”
She dropped her hands to the bed, fisting the cover.
He took a moment to drink in the vision of perfection. Dark skin, bare breasts, nipples hard, one glistening from his saliva, flat stomach (not for long, he thought with satisfaction!), rounded hips half revealed by navy sweats, the white band of her panties peeking out on one side. He hooked his fingers on the thick fleece and the white band, and pulled, exposing her fully.
The cream bandage on her thigh (the only material still covering skin) gave him pause. His gaze shot to hers. “The scratches?”
“Are fine. But if you don’t get rid of your jeans in the next second,Iam going to pounce and inflict some damage toyourbody.”
He grinned, shedding the remainder of his clothing. His cock jutted out, turgid and aching, and he closed his fist around it, giving it a firm pull. Darla groaned and spread her legs, exposing her center to him. Planting her feet on the bed, she moved back, giving him space to settle between her legs.
12
Darla watched Bobby crawl to her, then over her, sinking to one shoulder. His cock, long and thick and velvety hard, pressed against her hip. Anticipation and desire, hot aching desire, flamed higher. His head lowered to her breast, and his mouth closed over the nipple, sucking it deep and hard, and his free hand teased the other. The dual stimulation pummeled her senses, leaving in its wake nothing but need.
Urgent, reckless, boundless need.
A need only Robert Björn Bellerose could satisfy. “Ro-bert,” she keened.
“Darla,” he groaned, his mouth vibrating against her sensitive nipple. His hand moved, down, down, and he teased her rightthere, his fingers slick with her desire. He pushed inside, one finger, then two. She came apart, crying incoherently, her orgasm ripping through her body, every nerve ending alive, her back arching off the bed. He stayed with her, whispering sweet nothings, slowly bringing her back to earth.
And when she opened her eyes, her vision dazed and hazy, he surged inside, filling her to capacity. He lifted her legs to drape over his shoulders, and he pushed deeper still. It was his turn to cry her name as his hips thrust harder,deeper(how was that even possible?), his fingers digging into her hips.
And then she felt it.
The second climb.
Only with Bobby.
Somehow, he was able to coerce her sated body to give more.
“Bobby, Bobby, Bobby,” she chanted, shaking, thrashing, her hands clenching at the sheets.
“Name,” he growled.
“Robert,” she cried, knowing what he needed. “Robert.Ah!Björn. Belle—Argh!” She clenched around him. “Yes. Yes.Yes!”
“Darla,” he moaned, hovering above her, his neck thrown back in ecstasy.
And he climaxed, hot spurts shooting into her until he stilled completely. He sank down, pressing her deep into the mattress.
