Lords of Rainbow Read Online Free Page B

muttering stream, his hands lingering more on her flesh than the laces.
    Molten lead. Head spinning, breath becoming shallow.
    “ Ah, yes. . . .” She exhaled, relaxing under the touch. “There, yes, lower. . . .”
    And at the same time, as always during the beginning moments of arousal, she forcibly made her mind wander with lazy objective ease, to prolong the pleasure yet to come. She glanced at the things around the room. The filigree metal statuettes on the small table before the window, there. How they caught the gray fire of the sun, their tiny wire surfaces reflecting minute sparks. . . .
    As he squeezed the hemispheres of her hips, her knees weakened. How nicely strong his fingers were (she had been right to take him), so hard and strong, and hard and strong, and . . .
    The familiar rhythm was beginning to pulse in her blood.
    And yet she remained motionless, wanting him to be the aggressor, to be strong and wrench her; wanted to feel light and helpless, to be tossed easily like a feather, to be taken .
    And involuntarily, an elusive recurring image came to her, of a haughty man, aloof and beautiful like a demon of dark hair and pale skin, and who had always politely refused her.
    A demon of ice.
    Yet she knew that if ever that demon would touch her like that, she would melt like a flake of snow, absolutely, dissolve under him, screaming silently with all her soul.
    The tunic had fallen down to her waist, releasing her heavy breasts. Shuddering, Linnec ( ah, he is but a soft youth! ) embraced her tightly, yet not daring to rush.
    You are a young trembling beast, yes. Show me your vulnerable inside, let me see you in this explosive state, just on the verge , she thought fondly, then said, “Touch me harder, sweet.”
    His leaden hands moved upon her, while their bodies entwined closer, his thighs beginning to move against hers, his young limbs hot through the thin covering of the dress. The flimsy garment was still held hanging, caught against her hips. Her own hands went around him, lightly plucking his back like a taut string, with the deceptive softness of her fingertips.
    She never used her nails. She knew that would frighten the boy. Instead, she briefly wondered where her brother was and what he might be doing. But then, Hestiam was practically always with a young nubile bitch, or in a stupor of Dirvan play, so that was no great mystery.
    The pounding within her grew, the weakness in her lower torso beginning to overwhelm. In those instants she always felt a peculiar anger response, a sadistic strange desire to rip out this weakness, pound it to death—and with it, its perpetrator. And again her body told her that the only way to accomplish that was to continue moving. . . .
    “ Sweet love!” he gasped fiercely, and she felt him pressing hard against her. “Please, Deileala,” he whispered then, his voice quavering beyond control.
    “ Yes, now . . .” she replied, her own voice breaking.
    And immediately maddened, he lifted her dress. He entered a deep burning place within her, while at the same time his face buried itself at the back of her throat, clumsily biting the nape of her neck, his hands tearing at her in pitiful confusion.
    Deileala could no longer stand it. Her head with its mass of dandelion hair tilted back, while a single hoarse sound came from her parted lips. Impaled, she arched in reflex; she panted, squeezed the life out of him, and in the next second they had fallen to the floor, their locked bodies rhythmically convulsing.
    Such is the end always , came her last distinct thoughts. I play at swine with them. Dirt . . . Dirt! Filthy swine!
    And as always, she ended by straddling him, the contours of her waist and hips moving from one wave into another, faster, faster. . . .
    The youth beneath her groaned as he came, and then Deileala herself heaved with one great final wave, and burst into a silent ultimate other place of singular height and detachment, falling