Lover With A Slow Hand Novels & Stories

The kiss got intense as his hands loss her rode in her cheap gown, her hands held his shoulders and bit her lips so not to let out a moan. She opened her teary eyes which widen in horror, her face was pale and her hands grips even tighter on her lover neck..... Aaaahhhhhhhh!!!!!! The priecing screamed of the lovers echo sliently in the garden. Unknown to nor. *********

He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I’d rather lose everything else.” Her breath trembled. The air tightened. Their history vibrated between them. This wasn’t new attraction. This was unfinished love. She searched his eyes one last time. Looking for doubt. Looking for calculation. She found neither. So she closed the distance. The kiss wasn’t explosive. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow. Careful. As if both of them were testing something fragile. His hand settled at her waist not claiming, just holding.

With one free hand, I grasp his neck, holding him in place, and I kiss him back. But I don’t just gracefully ghost my lips over his, no. I kiss him, fully, needing him to know just how comfortable he makes me feel. This man who is some amalgamation of my deepest dreams and desires, who saw me first. Time moves slowly as he kisses me back, as our mouths and tongues dance together in a haunting waltz. And then it’s over. He breaks away, his amber gaze holding me still. Lyla is quiet and the sun has set, and my heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest.

All my strength is in his hand. My brain curls up like wilted leaves.… I stretch my legs open, and he is on top of me. Too heavy to hold, and too light not to. He puts his thing in me. His face is next to mine. The bedsprings sounds like them crickets used to back home. He puts his fingers in mine, and we kissed passionately. I hold on tight. My fingers and my feet hold on tight, because everything else is going.

He pulled my hand to the base of his shaft, applying more pressure at the base, and pushed my hand to the tip as he loosened his grip. The movement was easy, up and down, back and forth. He picked up the pace, and I looked up at him. His eyes were trained on me, filled with love and lust. His gold gaze darkened when it met mine, and I could see the lilac reflected back at me. The hand he wasn't using to guide mine wound itself into my hair as he lowered his lips down to mine. I started moving my hand fast, not relying on him to set the pace, and he removed his hand altogether. As my hand came to the end of his shaft, I lightly rubbed my thumb over the tip. He groaned into my mouth, so I repe

The hook played and I jumped on it. “Round and round around you….. firm grip but tender hands, my world’s spinning around yours, tied and bound by promises and your love.” It went twice, moving my hand to queue him in. It did not get any better. I immediately slapped my hand over my mouth when he went in.

My hand finds his chest and I feel his heartbeat under my palm and the warmth of him through the cotton of his shirt. I tilt my face up moving my face closer to his. His breath pours on me for a moment, before I press my lips on his. The kiss is nothing like the wedding night. It’s slow and careful. His hand comes to my jaw, tilting my head, and the tenderness of it breaks something open in me that has been sealed for a very long time. He lays me back, moving over me and his weight is careful, not heavy, one hand beside my head, the other drawing a slow line from my shoulder to my hip like he is learning the geography of me by touch in the dark.

He took his time, relearning me, rediscovering me, his hands and his lips mapping a path across my skin that left me trembling and aching with a need that was just as powerful as before. He entered me slowly, his eyes locked on mine, his hips moving in a deep, steady rhythm that was both tender and possessive. It was a slow, sweet torture, a deliberate, passionate claiming that was as much about love as it was about lust. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, matching him stroke for stroke, our bodies moving together in a perfect, timeless rhythm.

[Amor’s POV] The handshake lingered longer than normal, casual handshakes. My hand engulfing her fragile, soft, warm hands. Even when she tried to take her hands back, I held it tight. She lowered her gaze. Her breaths hitched as I broke our handshake by leisurely brushing my fingers with hers. I dropped my hand beside my thighs. My fingers stretched out as I felt the tingle of her warmth sprawl all over my palm. It was a strange feverish sensation burning my palm, and spreading throughout my body like a flame spread on paraffin.

This time around, he was almost leaning towards me, slowly walking his fingers around my ears as he made way for my lips. Slowly walked backwards till I came to a halt leaning on his door. "B…but…" "Shhhh," his fingers against my lips. "All you need to do is give me hot sex, make me scream your name while you're on top of me." His hands were already in my breast, squeezing and fondling my nipples. I could barely breathe as his lips were firmly against mine. I could feel between my legs his hard dick caressing and trying to find its way into me as though we were naked.