Excerpt from Reaper's Novice:
As soon as my bedroom door closes, Rolf swings me
around and backs me up against the door, his entire length to mine. He slides
his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. He leans down, pressing his lips on
my forehead. “Your dad doesn’t trust me.”
I slide my hands up his
firm chest and slip them around his neck, tangling my fingers with the
silky-soft hair curling on his collar. “I don’t think my dad trusts any boy in my room.”
He chuckles, his warm
breath caressing the shell of my ear. “Good thing he doesn’t.” His voice is
hoarse, tossing away any decent thoughts from my mind. “I’ve missed you.” My
knees barely hold me up as his lips trail my jaw, in a slow torturous pace. His
arms tighten around me, melding us together. Hiking to my toes, I push my body
forward until all that surrounds me is his light sandalwood aftershave.
“Missed you—” His mouth
covers mine, cutting me off. Every sound inside the flat fades. Everything in
me veers forward, focusing on him, on his lips on mine, not caring that my
parents could walk in on us, or my siblings down the hallway could barge in.
His hands travel down the hem of my t-shirt, and under it, wrap around my waist
and soon his fingertips whisper into my skin. And I’m burning. They hike
farther up. Every nerve in my body narrows to his fingers. I’m sure if he
stops, my body will shatter into millions of worthless pieces. And when they do
move up to trace the outer line of my lace bra, my body trembles with the
promise of combusting. A whimper bubbles up my throat, and I push myself
further into him. If only I could get under his skin, then we could be one. He
groans low as he pushes me against the door seeming as desperate as I am. I
tighten my hold on him at the same time fumble awkwardly with his shirt
searching for the path to his skin. As soon as my fingers touch his skin, his
whole body trembles.
He lifts his mouth from
mine, then buries his face in the crook of my neck, breathing hard. I clutch
him closer, tighter, my breath mirroring his.
“Kissing you has got to
be the most pleasurable thing in the world, Ana.” His voice is still rough, his
breath deliciously warm on the nape of my neck. I couldn’t agree more. I mean
about kissing him.
About the Author:
Cecilia
Robert lives in Vienna with her two children, has an incurable obsession with
books, TV and medieval architecture. When not working in her full time job,
catching up with her two children, writing or reading, she can be found,
knitting or crocheting, taking photos of old buildings.