He looked down at her, breathing harshly. "Got you!" he said in a low, thick whisper, and Linzi felt like someone standing on a beach who felt herself on sand, sinking, unable to hold her ground because it was drifting under her. Ritchie's hand slid down her body, caressed her softly, possessively, in a gesture of ownership that took her breath away.
He suddenly lifted her off her feet, walked forward with her held against him, into the shower, under the jet of water. Only then did he put her down, but he didn't let go of her. He still had his arms around her. His hands slowly fondled her, ran down her back, one following the deep indentation of her spine, making the tiny golden hairs on her peachlike skin stand up, prickling in reaction, the other sensually exploring the warm curve of breast and waist, hip and thigh, smoothly stroking each inch of her.
She had given up pretending. She had given up fighting either him or herself. Her conscience and her sense of guilt were smothered by something more powerful, an elemental drive so strong that she was helpless to stop it once it had her in it's grip. She had her eyes closed, she was moaning, shuddering with pleasure. The water ran down their faces as his mouth searched for hers, took it in a slow, intimate possession.
Linzi, had to cling to him or fall over, passion was climbing inside her in a tidal wave that was sweeping her away. Her whole body was beating to a hot, persistent rhythm, driving her, clamouring for the satisfaction she had denied it for so long.
Her fingers tightened on Ritchie's long, muscular back as she swayed closer to him, her breasts full and aching, dark-circled nipples hard and erect, pressing into the muscled tension of his chest, his thigh pushing between hers and the water running down between them, around them, trickling through their hair, into their lashes past their kissing mouths, along all the secret paths of their naked bodies.
His hand clasped her buttocks, pulled her even closer, his fingers exploring lower, between her parting thighs, finding the heat and moisture hidden there, she gave a wild cry and arched against him, her head falling back in utter abandon, her lips apart making those frantic, burning cries.
"Oh, God, I want you," he whispered, lifting her up.
She had her arms around his neck, let her head tumble down on to his bare, wet shoulder, twined herself around him, her legs around his, her feet touching behind him as he carried her out of the shower cubicle into the bedroom, dripping across the carpet, wet footprints on the pink wool.
Ritchie stripped back the coverlet and sheet in one movement, then lowered her on to the bed. She began to shiver, oddly feverish and chill at the same time, her mouth dry and her teeth chattering in a sort of shock at the force of her own desire. She tried to think, to realise what was happening, but Ritchie didn't give her time to have second thoughts.
His body slid intimately down over her, he found her mouth, his hands busy, too, cupping her breast, wandering in a soft, seductive exploration of her body that lit flames deep inside her.
It was so long since a man had entered her that she felt like a virgin, as he stroked her thighs, sliding between them, she was tense, trembling, fighting him.
"No! Don't...., don't hurt me..."
Ritchie lay still, as if listening to that note in her voice, perhaps even understanding her sudden fear. He kissed her softly, coaxingly, their mouths clinging, then his lips slid down her neck, and he kissed her breasts in that slow, tormenting way, until she began to relax again, the tension trickling out of her. She caught his head in both her hands, held it against her, groaning her pleasure, feeling his warm, smooth hair trickling between her trembling fingers, and the Ritchie began to slide downwards, uncoiling on her like a snake, his skin smooth and cool against hers, touching every inch of her, kissing her body as he descended, his head nuzzling her parted white thighs.
Nobody had ever made love to her like that before. Linzi's blue eyes had a startled, confused look as it drawned on her what he was doing. She had often wondered how it felt and now the gentle, sensual incitement of his mouth and tongue sent her into a fierce spiral of climbing pleasure, her body quivering, her cries hoarse. He was driving her crazy, continually breaking off the teasing play of his mouth whenever he felt her coming anywhere near a peak.
She twisted and turned, wordlessly begging him to go on, not to stop, but he did it again, deliberately delaying. Linzi gave a hoarse groan and wove her fingers angrily into his short, warm hair, tugged, dragging his head up.
He looked at her, his eyes glittering with a wilful triumph, and knew he had won.
"You want me," he whispered.
Flushed feverish, she breathed, "Yes. Ritchie, yes."
"Say it."
"I want you, you know I want you." Now, she thought with an intensity close to anguish, I want him now, at once. The need was absolute. She would have gone through hell fire to have him at that instant, nothing else in the world mattered.
Ritchie's face smouldered darkly, passionately. He stroked her parted thighs, staring down into her face, watching the look in her eyes intently. "Three years I dreamt of seeing you look like that," he muttered. "Night after night, for three long years..."
And then he moved with a fierce intake of breath, and with a shock she felt him entering her. Linzi gave a wild groan, lost to everything from then on but the ending of a sexual tension which was stretched to breaking point.
Ritchie was groaning, too, his lean body moving with hers in an erotic rhythm which beat between them like some far-off drum, grew faster and faster, more and more fierce, their skin dry and hot, their faces clenched into masks of rigid desire, primeval, archaic, so that she no longer even knew who was making love to her, she was mindless, lost, abandoned, her body had taken her beyond knowing anything but the race towards a climax that had become a necessity, life or death.
She had never imagined making love could be so sweet or so unbearable. Each movement he made sent ecstatic ripples up inside her body, the pleasure was so intense that it came close to the threshold of pain. She arched towards him, her head falling back and her eyes wide open, her mouth open, too, sobbing and moaning as the endless spiral finally became a frenzy. A moment later they reached the pinnacle, together. Linzi heard herself make the sounds of someone being tortured, dying and that was how it felt. An intense agony engulfed her and Ritchie at the same moment and they clung together, gasping like drowning swimmers, shuddering in the long afterthroes. And yet this agony was at the same time a pleasure so piercing that as the clamouring died down and her body went limp and still wanted it to begin again.
For a few moments neither of them moved or spoke. They lay on the bed as if they had been knocked down, breathing quickly, eyes closed, heavily flushed.
Then Ritchie rolled over and propped his head up on one hand to stare down at her. Linzi was overwhelmed with shyness, she couldn't look at him yet. She kept her eyes shut, her long lashes nervously flickering, but she was intensely aware of his gaze. What was he thinking? She wished she knew...., or did she? It might be better not to know. Men were so bewildering, their minds were difficult to fathom even if you knew them well. She had thought she knew Barty, but she had been wrong. What did she really know of Ritchie? Or of the way he thought?
YOU ARE READING
Guilty Love (Completed)
Romance"Everything I did was for you!" "For me? You killed my husband for me? Do you really think I wanted him dead? I loved him!" It was an obsessive passion. It had gone too far, and Linzi's husband had died as a result of it. Ritchie Calhoun was sexy an...
