She sent her hands roaming, fingers flexing over his bare shoulders, glorying in the sculpted strength tensing beneath her fingertips, in the heavy resilence of his flesh, so unlike her own. He had her locked to him, lips devouring as his hands evocatively kneaded her bottom, his erection a hot heavy ridge impressed against her belly. She couldn’t push back enough to press her hands between them; denied the chance of exploring his chest, she ran one hand down his back, reaching boldly for his waist, his hip, the subtle flare of his buttock. That was all she could reach, yet she sensed his pleasure in her touch; his lips clung to hers, distracted, then his attention returned to her in full measure, hotter, harder, more urgent.
Encouraged, determined, she pushed back, and he let her, shifting over her so his weight pinned her to the bed. His legs tangling with hers, he released her bottom; his hands rose to her breasts.
Their kiss continued unabated, mouths melding in a feast of mutual need, their hunger steadily growing, the heat between them swelling, escalating, this time out of control. Neither sought to rein it in; neither even considered it. By mutual accord, they let it rage, and rage it did.
He’d touched all of her before, had had her naked beneath his hands before, yet this was different. Her senses splintered, avidly trying to take in every new sensation. From the crisp, crinkly rasp of his hair-dusted legs against the fine skin of hers, to the unexpected weight of him above her, to the promise in the hard hot length now pressed to her hip, all was new, fascinating and enthralling.
As was the compulsion within her, building and swelling with every beat of her heart, with every knowing sweep of his hard hands. Without pause, he pushed her on and she went gladly, matching him, meeting him, even, when she sensed him struggling to regain control, goading him.
Her hands had been resting on his shoulders; she swept them down, pressing her palms to his hot flesh, fingers searching, exploring, as wantonly sensual as he in learning him, in tracing the muscle bands, letting her fingers tangle in the mat of hair across them, finding a flat nipple beneath the pelt and tweaking it to a tight bud.
His hips shifted against her. Emboldened, she sent her hands lower, caressing the taut, ribbed muscles of his abdomen, then reaching lower yet.
Until she found him, hot, heavy, velvet over steel.
He’d taken his weight on his arms, allowing her her way. She took full advantage and traced, caressed, then took him between her palms almost reverently, amazed, enthralled by the feel of him, the weight, the length and thickness, the baby-fine skin so obviously shatteringly sensitive. She could feel his reaction to her every touch, feel the flickering of his locked muscles, the heat that flowed through their kiss, welling and swelling with every sweep of her fingertips, every gentle squeeze.
Abruptly he broke from the kiss, and rolled onto his back, taking her with him. The sudden change in position momentarily distracted her; while she was reassessing, her attention deflected by the feel of his body now beneath hers, he reached down.
He caught her nightgown, gathered the skirts until he held them bunched at her thighs.
> What he intended burst into her mind. She looked down, met his black eyes.
And suddenly they were themselves again, sane, rational—yet no longer who they had been. They’d moved on, traveled the very last stage of their road, and arrived at their destination.
It was different from what she’d imagined.
He said nothing, simply waited, his need in his eyes, in his body taut and tense beneath her.
Within her, she felt her own need swell, recognized it as similar yet subtly different from his. Knew in her soul that their needs were complementary—they would be assuaged by the one act, sated and fulfilled in the same moment.
Their gazes remained locked, their lips mere inches apart, their breaths, panting and ragged, softly filling the silence between them.
She found it was impossible to smile. Instead, she shifted; fingers tangling in the silk, she twitched it. Upward.
He didn’t wait for more, but drew the gown up, past her hips, past her waist, tugging it up over her breasts, waiting while she disentangled her arms before dragging it free and flinging it away.
And she was naked in his arms.
He reached for her; giving her no time to think, to dwell on the intimacy, the vulnerability, he drew her lips down, took them, took her mouth, and dragged her back into the flames, into the furnace of their mutual need.
His hands were everywhere, claiming anew, drowning her in glorious sensation.
The flames roared; heat engulfed them.
She was suddenly sure her skin was on fire; as for him, he burned. His hands felt like brands, spreading liquid flame as he caressed, boldly possessed. Then he rolled again and pinned her beneath him.
He spread her thighs and settled between; braced on one arm, he hovered above her, his lips feeding from hers, his hips holding her down as with his other hand he reached between them, and found her.
She was swollen, wet and wanting, all but aching with the need to feel him within her. She knew it, didn’t try to deny it, hide from it.
His fingers briefly played, then penetrated her. Once, twice, delved deep, then withdrew.
He shifted, his hips pressing between hers, then she felt the broad head of his erection part her swollen flesh, sliding easily between the folds to press in.
He stopped. Bracing both arms he lifted above her, simultaneously breaking their kiss.
With an effort, she managed to lift her lids; panting, barely sentient, she raised her eyes to his.