SHE WAITED FOR lightning to strike

SHE WAITED FOR lightning to strike from heaven as angels came to rescue her, but heard only the common crackle of the fire and her husband’s shallow breath.
His hand slid down her body and caught the hem of her garment, raising it slowly, pushing it into a bunch about her waist. Reluctantly, she shifted, granting him access while trying to evade any additional contact. But his hands skimmed along her skin like petals blowing over water and her lungs fluttered inside. She sat up and turned her back, raising her arms. He tugged the last of the shift over her head, and the fabric slipped away and floated to the floor, along with all her defenses.
She fell back against the mattress as if pushed, and closed her eyes tight, wishing him away. But he leaned closer and ran a fingertip down her face, between her eyes, and over her nose, letting it linger on her lips. One finger joined another and another as he traced the soft curves and tiny valleys of her ears and jaw and throat. Her pulse thrummed, like the flap of a thousand swans leaving the surface of a loch.
When his lips brushed, feather soft, against the corner of her mouth, she nearly bolted upright. But she fought the urge to flee, and instead lay unresponsive as he trailed tiny butterfly kisses following the path where his fingers had explored.
A sweet, unexpected torment.
And always, he’d come back to the edge of her lips, never kissing her full-on. She flushed with heat and nearly turned her mouth toward his just to end the teasing. But she could not. Would not. A Sinclair could withstand any torture, no matter how it was delivered.
She felt the moisture of his lips on her skin and the cool aftermath as the night air continued the kiss. She tried to think of Margaret or her father, or anything besides the sensations swirling within her. She should hate this, despise him, writhe away from his grasp. To find pleasure in his touch would be her ultimate defeat.
But his hands traveled lower, growing bolder and more firm, sliding over her shoulder and along one arm, then back to cup her breast. Her eyes popped open then, and she caught him by the wrist, trying to still his ministrations. But he persisted, gently squeezing the fullness of it and rubbing his thumb over the tip. It sizzled like fire from his fingers. She gasped and would have begged him to stop had he not chosen that moment to at last kiss her mouth. Traitorous relief flooded through her.
This was no chaste peck like he’d given her upon the chapel steps. That kiss had been for God and for the priest, but even in her innocence, she knew this kiss was for Myles himself. He pressed firm, teasing her mouth with his own. His lips were soft, so much softer than she expected, and felt at delicious odds with the scrape of his jaw. He smelled of wine and cloves and leather, a scent mingled with the fragrance of her own body, creating a potent mixture.
He bent his head lower, gently nipping at her skin and then soothing away the tiny injuries with his tongue. She moved to escape the tender assault, but he followed and pressed his leg between her own, pushing them apart. She felt unraveled. Adrift. Disloyal. He was a despicable Campbell, but somehow her body had forgotten and overruled her mind. She grabbed at his arms in useless defense, for with each movement, he somehow melted closer, like hot wax, conforming to her every peak and valley. His hand caressed her hip, pulling her tight against him, then pushing her back so he might slip his hand between them.
Her face turned toward the wall as his fingers sought out her most feminine folds, but a shameless whimper betrayed her shock of pleasure as he easily slipped within them. Faithless, perfidious limbs, useless now when she needed her strength. This enemy had tapped her will like sap from a tree, but with all she had left, she brought her leg up, pushing against the mattress to twist herself free. To no avail. Her pitiful actions only granted him more generous access to her very core.
“Ah, God, Fiona,” he murmured against her breast and drew his tongue across its center, “what perfection.”
She tried to push his head away, but his close-cropped hair beneath her fingers felt of mink, enticing rather than repelling. Oh, what a traitor she was, giving up all Sinclair thought to simply feel beneath this Campbell’s touch.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Dia menunggu petir untuk menyerang dari surga sebagai malaikat datang untuk menyelamatkan dia, tapi mendengar hanya derak umum api dan suaminya dangkal napas.Tangannya meluncur turun tubuhnya dan menangkap kelim pakaian Nya, meningkatkan itu perlahan-lahan, mendorongnya ke banyak tentang pinggang. Enggan, dia bergeser, memberikan dia akses sambil berusaha menghindari kontak tambahan apapun. Tetapi tangan skim sepanjang kulitnya seperti kelopak meniup air dan paru-parunya yang terbang di dalam. Dia duduk dan berbalik kembali, mengangkat lengannya. Dia menarik yang terakhir pergeseran atas kepalanya, dan kain menyelinap pergi dan melayang ke lantai, bersama dengan semua pertahanan nya.Dia jatuh kembali terhadap kasur seolah-olah didorong, dan ditutup matanya ketat, berharap dia pergi. Tapi dia mendekat dan berlari jari wajahnya, antara matanya, dan lebih dari hidung, membiarkannya berlama-lama di bibirnya. Satu jari bergabung lagi, dan lagi sebagai dia dilacak kurva lembut dan lembah-lembah kecil telinga dan rahang dan tenggorokan. Denyut nadi thrummed, seperti flap seribu angsa meninggalkan permukaan loch.Ketika bibirnya menggosok, bulu lembut, terhadap sudut mulutnya, ia hampir melesat tegak. Tapi ia berjuang dorongan untuk melarikan diri, dan bukannya meletakkan tidak responsif ketika dia membuntuti kupu-kupu kecil ciuman mengikuti jalan mana jarinya sudah menjelajahi.Siksaan manis, tak terduga.Dan selalu, ia akan datang kembali ke tepi bibirnya, pernah mencium dia penuh pada. Dia bersemangat dengan panas dan hampir berubah mulutnya terhadap nya hanya untuk mengakhiri menggoda. Tapi dia tidak bisa. Tidak mau. Sinclair bisa menahan penyiksaan apapun, tidak peduli bagaimana hal itu disampaikan.Dia merasa kelembaban bibirnya pada kulitnya dan peristiwa dingin sebagai udara malam terus ciuman. Dia mencoba untuk berpikir tentang Margaret atau ayah, atau apa-apa selain sensasi berputar-putar dalam dirinya. Dia harus benci ini, membencinya, menggeliat dari genggamannya. Untuk menemukan kesenangan dalam sentuhan-nya akan mengalahkan dia utama.Tetapi tangan bepergian lebih rendah, tumbuh lebih berani dan lebih kencang, geser atas bahunya dan sepanjang satu lengan, kemudian kembali ke cangkir payudara. Membuka matanya yang muncul kemudian, dan dia tertangkap kepadanya oleh pergelangan tangan, mencoba untuk tetap ministrations nya. Namun ia bertahan, lembut meremas kepenuhan itu dan menggosok ibu jari atas ujung. Itu mendesis seperti api dari jari-jarinya. Dia terkesiap dan akan memohon untuk menghentikan dia telah ia tidak dipilih saat itu akhirnya mencium mulutnya. Pengkhianat bantuan banjir melalui dirinya.Ini adalah mematuk Suci tidak seperti ia telah diberikan padanya atas langkah Kapel. Ciuman yang telah Allah dan bagi imam, tapi bahkan di nya bersalah, dia tahu ciuman ini adalah untuk Myles dirinya. Ia menekan perusahaan, menggoda mulutnya dengan sendiri. Bibirnya yang lembut, sehingga jauh lebih lembut daripada dia diharapkan, dan merasa di lezat peluang dengan luka rahang. Ia berbau anggur dan cengkeh dan kulit, aroma yang bercampur dengan aroma tubuhnya sendiri, menciptakan campuran kuat.He bent his head lower, gently nipping at her skin and then soothing away the tiny injuries with his tongue. She moved to escape the tender assault, but he followed and pressed his leg between her own, pushing them apart. She felt unraveled. Adrift. Disloyal. He was a despicable Campbell, but somehow her body had forgotten and overruled her mind. She grabbed at his arms in useless defense, for with each movement, he somehow melted closer, like hot wax, conforming to her every peak and valley. His hand caressed her hip, pulling her tight against him, then pushing her back so he might slip his hand between them.Her face turned toward the wall as his fingers sought out her most feminine folds, but a shameless whimper betrayed her shock of pleasure as he easily slipped within them. Faithless, perfidious limbs, useless now when she needed her strength. This enemy had tapped her will like sap from a tree, but with all she had left, she brought her leg up, pushing against the mattress to twist herself free. To no avail. Her pitiful actions only granted him more generous access to her very core.“Ah, God, Fiona,” he murmured against her breast and drew his tongue across its center, “what perfection.”She tried to push his head away, but his close-cropped hair beneath her fingers felt of mink, enticing rather than repelling. Oh, what a traitor she was, giving up all Sinclair thought to simply feel beneath this Campbell’s touch.