M y darling, I want to touch you everywhere,” Lars whispered.
Miranda shivered as his long, elegant fingers slid down the flat plane of her belly, his skin so dark against her own pale flesh. His hardness stirred against her bare leg and she gasped. Soon he would drive that thick column of flesh inside her. Could she possibly bear it?
A soft mewl escaped her lips as his hand drifted to the delta of springy curls between her thighs. She squirmed in embarrassment as his fingers tickled the entrance of her body, finding her shamefully wet, aching for his touch.
“Oh, Miranda,” Lars sighed, groaning in approval as he felt her wet welcome. “Have you any idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this, how I’ve ached to slide inside the sweet petals of your womanhood…”
Lauren put the book facedown on her bedside table and closed her eyes. Her hand slid down to the waistband of her pajama bottoms and inside her cotton bikini panties. In her mind, Miranda’s silvery blond hair became a mass of cinnamon curls, and her petite, delicate figure became Lauren’s own strong, curvy form. Lars morphed too, his burnished gold hair turning thick and black, his burning blue eyes melting into deep, dark chocolate.
She bit back a cry as her fingers found her slick, hot center, circling her clit, teasing herself so this wouldn’t all be over in less than a minute. Her hand became his—huge, strong and callused from work, rubbing, circling her clit, sliding inside her just enough to tantalize. Just enough to make her ache to feel the hot, huge length of his cock driving deep inside her.
A muffled cry squeezed past her lips as she came, arching off the bed, pressing her hand firmly between her thighs to draw out her climax as long as possible.
Before the last tremors of her orgasm had subsided, she flipped over onto her side, hugging a huge down pillow against her stomach. Wishing with everything she had that it was him instead of a pillow.
These ridiculous fantasies about Tony Donovan had to stop, or she was going to put her head through a brick wall.
Never mind that Lauren had been telling herself the exact same thing for seven months now, ever since she’d met him. And, she scolded herself silently, her steady habit of romance novels wasn’t helping matters. Could she help it if, no matter how the author described him, every damned hero ended up looking like Tony? She closed her eyes and allowed herself one more glorious vision. Six foot three, a body that should be on the cover of Men’s Fitness magazine. Thick, dark hair with just the tiniest hint of curl and an adorable cowlick waving off his forehead. And his eyes, big, dark, and liquid. Eyes that made a woman think about drowning herself in chocolate so he could lick her clean.
Cursing, she reached for the remote control and flicked on Sportscenter. Maybe that would distract her…………………………………….