On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9) - Page 46

And the intimacy of the moment caught her. Slid into her mind as he slid more and more easily into her body, as the hair at his groin tangled with her curls. As she felt the first stirrings of submerged passion, a frisson of reawakening desire.

She glanced up, caught his eye — it was the wrong moment for awareness to strike, yet it did. Full awareness of her nakedness, her vulnerability, of how essentially helpless she was in the face of his strength, trapped beneath him, her thighs wide.

What he saw in her face, she had no idea, yet although the harsh, set planes of his face never softened, the line of his lips did.

"Stop thinking." He quoted her words back at her, then withdrew from her completely, only to return in the same heartbeat, more forcefully than before, until he was fully seated, jerking her slightly, sending a streak of sensation through her, giving notice of his intention, and the pleasure to come.

Still holding her gaze, he came down on his elbows, letting his body down atop hers. "Stop resisting."

She did; the feel of him, so close, so real, reassured her — the warmth of his body, the contradictory comfort she drew from his muscled strength, washed through her and swept away the last of her maidenly fears. In truth, she was a maiden no longer. She was his.

She would have smiled but her face felt too tight; instead, she sent her hands sliding around to spread on his back. Holding tight, she lifted her face to his, breathed against his lips, "Show me then. Now."

His lips quirked in the instant before they met hers. The kiss was long, deep — undisguised. "Stay with me then," he murmured, and took her mouth, then took her body again.

And again.

And again. The relentless repetition fed a whirlwind inside them, a hungry, compelling tide of need. It combined with the restless flames of desire, flaring anew, stronger, more powerful, now unrestrained, unrestricted, then the power coalesced.

And erupted.

Into a firestorm.

A raging, uncontrollable conflagration where the physical, sensual, and emotional swirled, where lips melded, tongues tangling, hands gripping, their bodies merged and came together, locked and fused, driven to give, driven to take, driven to be one.

The force was frightening, thrilling, utterly compelling. She moaned; he gasped. She sank her nails into his back and arched wildly, taking him deeper, wanting him deeper, satisfied only when he thrust harder, faster, ever more powerfully.

He sank one hand into her hair and held her down, ravaged her mouth as he plundered her body. Beneath him, she squirmed, hot, urgent — wild to provoke him further.

It wasn't a game, but a fiery dance of desire, the recognition of a need beyond desperate, a need beyond her knowledge, a need that had to be fulfilled.

A need he seemed to share, equally driven, equally susceptible.

That welling need pulled them down, out, away from the world, onto a plane on which nothing beyond them and that need existed. On which nothing bar the fusion of their bodies was real, their senses held, locked, overwhelmed by the slickness, the heat, the gasping urgency, the spiralling tension. The steadily escalating excitement.

She would have given anything to grasp the bright triumph, the pinnacle of fulfillment that hovered and beckoned, just out of sensual reach. He drove her on, and she sobbed; he thrust deeper yet and her body closed hungrily, holding him, tightening yet more…

And she suddenly felt it — let go, let herself ride the tide, joyously let it sweep her up, let it claim her soul and take her to the stars. Her body imploded in heat and glory, shards of sensation flashing down every nerve to melt in satiation just under her skin. Golden joy suffused her; the wave crested and she held tight — felt him thrust deep and hold still, holding her there, in glory, then the wave slowly ebbed.

Luc dragged in a breath, eyes closed tight as he felt the last spasms of her completion fade, then his body took charge, no longer his to command, driven by a need he couldn't control, a need he had to slake.

A need to make her his, to bind her to him — to have her and know her to a degree beyond the carnal. To command her surrender. Complete and absolute.

With his.

He couldn't stop himself from reaching for the gilded fruit, even though enough of his mind yet functioned to warn that, once tasted, he'd crave it again and again. Not even the certainty of lifelong addiction could turn him from his goal — bracing his arms, lifting above her, he watched as he loved her, watched her body take him in, cradle him, hold him. Watched her sumptuous, pearlescent curves lift and ease as she rode his thrusts, felt her acceptance as he spread her thighs wider and filled her deeper yet.

Release came on a long wave, a tsunami of feelings that built and rose and finally broke, pouring about him, crashing through him as he shuddered and filled her, spilled his seed deep inside her, then slumped, exhausted, wrung out beside her — more deeply sated, more deeply at peace, than he'd ever been in his life.

They were both exhausted. The sun sank low, slanting through the windows, illuminating their tangled limbs as they lay wrapped together, too drained to stir, and waited for life to reassert itself, waited for the world to start turning.

Slumped on his back, Amelia a warm silken bundle beside him, her head cradled on his chest, Luc idly played with her curls, and tried to think.

Tried to define just what had happened, and what it meant.

The most frightening thing was he couldn't even define what "it" was — the force that had risen out of nowhere and driven him — he suspected them, but couldn't be sure. She, of course, thought it only normal; he knew better. The point that exercised him most was that it had felt like it belonged, as if such a force was a natural part of him and her — a natural element in their physical interactions. An element that had elevated the latter to heights sufficient to stun even him.

He closed his eyes, tried not to think of the moment he'd first slid into the heat of her, or the moment he'd finally been able to thrust as deep inside her as he'd wished, and feel her close lovingly about him. She'd been so damned tight — easing her into letting him ride her freely had taxed his will, yet the result had been worth every iota of restraint…

Tags: Stephanie Laurens Cynster Historical
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