CHINESE DELIGHT

He wasn't physically touching her so why did it feel like he was setting her on fire?

"Roarke, Johnny's upstairs," Betsy said.

"I know," he murmured. His lips were barely brushing hers now. Her eyes closed as the ecstasy rushed through her. "But all I want is one taste."

Betsy felt as if he was a flame and she was a moth—helpless against his lure. "Roarke," she began breathlessly.

"Do you know what I ate tonight?"

"Noooo."

"I had Triple Delight. All I could think about when I was eating succulent shrimp, chicken and pork was how I'd like to be devouring your triple delights."

He moved his hand until he was touching her breasts. Betsy groaned in anticipation of how he'd pleasure her nipples. Instead, his touch was fleeting, a mere brush of his fingertips across her already aching nipples.

She was wearing a sleeveless cotton tee-shirt. It was like his fingers were caressing her through the finest silk.

"The first delight is these lovely ladies," he said, nibbling at her lips like he was taking a leisurely stroll. The action was working like holding a carrot in front of a starving rabbit. All Betsy could think about was tasting more, having more.

His fingers danced across her breasts, circling her hard nipples and stroking the undersides but not cupping them fully in his hands.

"Yes, these lovely ladies. A night hasn't passed without me dreaming about them," he said. "They are the true first delight."

Finally Betsy had all she could take. She grabbed his head by the hair and pulled his lips hard against hers, getting the full taste of him she needed. Just when she was about to go down for the count, she heard the sound of her son jumping down from his top bunk bed onto the floor above their heads. It acted like a bucket of cold water on them.

By the time Johnny skidded into the kitchen, Roarke was standing beside the door and Betsy was on the other side of the table.

"Who are you?" Johnny asked, a frown on his face. Betsy couldn't believe what she was seeing. It almost looked like he was getting ready to defend her.

Amber Quill Press