Authors: Stephanie Laurens
He waited; their breaths mingled. Then she angled her head and kissed him. He opened his mouth and welcomed her in, teasing and tempting her. He held tight to their reins and let her play, let her explore, let her learn.
When she was totally enthralled, he closed both hands about her waist, then slid them lower, easing her breeches down. They didn’t fall from her—she was too curvaceous for that—but they now gaped front and back. Their kiss had become a heated melding; he caressed her boldly, then slid both hands deep beneath her breeches and closed them about the firm hemispheres of her bottom. Her skin was flushed; he kneaded, deliberately possessive. Her hands clenched on his nape, then speared into his hair and fisted.
She moved against him, her body lifting, caressing—a siren’s song as old as time. He understood; gliding one hand from her bottom, over the curve of her hip, he splayed his fingers over her stomach, pressing until she moaned and repeated her instinctive demand. Then he gave her what she wanted.
He’d caressed the soft flesh between her thighs before; Phyllida wanted to feel the magic again. He traced and played, then entered her, one finger sliding deep and stroking, but it wasn’t enough—not nearly enough.
She wanted more, much more—she knew exactly what she wanted.
Drawing back from the kiss, she lifted her weighted lids and looked down. Then she reached down, and closed her fingers gently about him. He tensed; the fingers caressing her slowed. Fascination washed over her.
So hard, so male, yet so delicate. Her fingers brushed, reached, traced, lingered on the softest skin she’d ever touched, then she closed her hand again.
A groan reached her. She glanced at his face just as he raised his head. The moonlight highlighted features set, hard-edged, etched with desire. She tightened her grip and watched his face grow taut, felt his body react.
It was too tempting not to experiment. To see just how much tenser she could make him, how much pleasure she could lavish on him with just that simple touch. Rigid became more rigid; his whole body hardened against her.
He drew in a huge breath, looked down at her, then his head swooped and he took her lips, her mouth, in a kiss that poured fire down her veins. His hand left her; his fingers locked around her wrist and he drew her hand from him. He bent, wrapped both arms around her hips, and lifted her against him.
She didn’t want to end that kiss; she framed his face with her hands and, now above him, kissed him hungrily as he walked to the bed. He stopped by its side; he juggled her—she felt him blindly groping, then he flung the covers back. His arms locked her to him. Holding her tight, he kissed her back—a heated duel ensued—it quickly spun out of control. Desire raged through them in a hot tide.
He pulled back with a gasp. He stared up at her face, his breathing ragged, his eyes black pools. They searched her face, her eyes. She looked steadily back at him, her pulse racing, her breathing fragmented.
He reached up again as if to kiss her, but held off with less than an inch between their lips.
“Tell me you want this as much as I do.”
A command and a plea—she heard both, felt both.
She slid her hands into his hair. “I want it more.” She kissed him ravenously, letting all she felt flow freely, letting the wild desire, the wanton rush of feeling, the excitement, the sensual joy, the anticipation, pour from her to him.
He drank it in, then broke from the kiss and tossed her across the bed. His brief laugh was harsh. “That’s impossible.”
She didn’t argue, but he was wrong. He’d done this before; he knew what was to come, but she’d never experienced it. And she wanted to—with him, tonight.
It felt right, so very right.
He reached for her boots; she let him slide them off. He reached for her breeches and she lifted her hips. He pulled the breeches from her, then let them fall, his gaze locked on her.
She lay naked—as naked as he—and let him look.
He couldn’t seem to look away. He knelt on the bed, first one knee, then the other. A ripple of excitement shivered down her spine as he crawled on all fours to come over her. Then, slowly, he lowered himself to her.
It was a shock—a sensual shock—feeling his hard weight settle upon her, sensing his strength, the reined power in his body, feeling the rasp of crisp hair against her sensitive skin. He caught her hands and moved them to his shoulders. He looked into her eyes, then dipped his head.
“We’re going to take this slowly. Very, very slowly.”
Was he murmuring to her, or repeating an injunction to himself? His lips brushed hers, then slid along her jaw until he nuzzled her throat. His hands pressed down into the mattress, easing beneath her. They traced down her back, caressing as they went. They stopped at her hips, closing possessively.
“This is going to hurt. You know that, don’t you?”
She lay beneath him, feeling his heat surround her, feeling her own heat rise in response. His hips lay across her thighs, his erection hot and heavy between them. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Yes.”
He said nothing more, asked nothing more. His hands slid lower, tracing the backs of her thighs, then gripping and parting them. He settled between, reached between.
He caressed her, over and over until she thought she’d scream. Her body arched beneath his and still he stroked, probed. She was slick and wet, all but melting when he withdrew his hand; gripping her hips, he eased into her.
It did hurt, but from the first touch of that incredibly soft skin at the entrance to her body, where she so longed to feel him, she knew she couldn’t live without having him inside her. The conviction was so strong that despite the discomfort, she tilted her hips to urge him in.
He stilled, fingers clamping hard about her hips, anchoring her. “No—just lie still.” The words were strained, uttered against her throat. He waited until she eased back before pressing inward once more.
Slowly, steadily, he filled her. She felt her body stretching and marveled. Then he stopped. He lifted his head, found her lips, and kissed her deeply. She responded eagerly, breathless and yearning—quite for what, she wasn’t sure.
She had only an instant’s warning—the sudden coiling tension that gripped him. He drew back and thrust into her.
Her scream spilled into their mouths; she arched beneath him, but almost immediately the sharp pain receded. She eased back, into the bed, tensed muscles gradually releasing. He lay still, upon her, within her, and kissed her. She kissed him back, letting him catch her up in the caress, willingly following his lead.
His experienced lead; she realized that when he finally lifted his head. Her body felt invaded, he lay heavy within her, but the pain was gone. He looked down at her, dark eyes glinting. His expression was one she’d never seen before, set and locked, passion-driven. He searched her face—she had no idea what he saw, but it seemed to reassure him. Bending his head, he set his lips to hers. Her hands resting lightly on his shoulders, she gave herself up to the kiss, up to him. Then he moved.
Until he did, the sensation of being so stretched, so filled, hadn’t fully registered. As he withdrew, then returned, riding her slowly, the sensual realization impinged again and again.
Her body stirred beneath him. She found his rhythm and matched him, rising to meet him. The effortless joining, the repetitive glide of his body into hers, became her reality. His body shifted against hers, crisp hair rasping her sensitized skin. She slowly heated as if he were fanning a furnace deep within her. Her senses swirled, whirled; the surge of his tongue into her mouth mirrored his possession of her body.
She was his—her fingers tightened, sinking into the muscles of his upper arms. She held tight as the world fell away and only they remained, skin to heated skin. Desire lapped, a warm sea washing over them, through them.
He said it would be slow—she’d felt no sense of urgency, not at first. But something—some compulsion, some blinding physical need—was steadily swelling inside her. Something hot, tight, coiling inside her—with every thrust he touched it, stoked it, fanned the flames higher.
She drew back from the kiss with a gasp; pressing her head back, into the bed, she arched and struggled to breathe, struggled to urge him nearer. Deeper. She needed him there, deep and hard—suddenly, she was sure of it.
He raised up, arms bracing, lifting his chest from hers; his next thrust rocked her.
She gasped again; her fingers trailed, nails sharp, down his chest. The crisp hair that brushed her palms focused her mind on the feel of crisp hair rasping between her widespread thighs. Spreading her hands, she ran them over his ribs, then around—the heat inside her coiled tighter, almost painfully tight . . . she rose, hands sliding to his back, then clinging tight as she lifted her lips to his.
He took them in a kiss that was almost savage—his weight shifted. He leaned on one arm, his other hand curving over her bottom, tucking her hard against him, holding her there as he thrust deeply—again, again.
The heat inside her exploded; her lower body clenched. A silvery sensation, brittlely intense, speared through her, then the spasm dissolved in a burst of glory. A river of feeling welled and washed through her, soothing away her compulsive heat, leaving a different warmth in its place.
She clung to him and rode the warm tide.
He laid her down, then followed, but he rolled onto his side, then onto his back, taking her with him. She ended sprawled atop him with him still hard within her. She’d melted—she couldn’t move. Resting her head on his chest, she lay and luxuriated in heavenly delight.
How much time passed before her wits reengaged and she realized she still lay naked atop him, with his hand lazily, yet somehow intently, stroking her naked bottom, she didn’t know. The realization was suddenly there, along with another—he was still hard within her, filling her. His body was still strung tight with that tension she now recognized. He hadn’t . . .
She lifted her head and looked into his face. He studied her eyes, then raised a brow. She blushed, grateful he couldn’t see it in the moonlight. “What now?” Presumably there was a next step.
His lips curved, his eyes glinted. “I did say we’d take it slowly.”
Her skin was still heated, dewed where he caressed; in contrast, the air felt cool. She had felt relaxed to her toes, but tension was returning along with her wits. She licked her lips. “What does that mean?”
His wicked smile flashed. “It’s easier to demonstrate.”
He reached down and curled his hands around her thighs. He tugged, and she let him bend her knees up, shift her and mold her—she ended sitting astride him, knees bent, calves tucked to his flanks, hands on his chest, looking down at him. His face held more pain than smile as he lifted her hips slightly, then let her sink down again.
“Oo-oooh.” Exhaling slowly, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back.
“Does that hurt?”
“Hurt?” Opening her eyes, she looked down at him. She couldn’t find words to describe how it felt. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Good.” He lay back, sinking deeper into the bed beneath her. “So do it again.”
She did, lifting up without his help, although his hands still rode her hips, guiding her. He would let her rise only so far before he stopped her. She sank down and watched his lids fall, watched desire deepen the lines in his face. A new eagerness gripped her—she rode him slowly, concentrating on the feel of him pressing into her softness, concentrated on caressing him like that.
The tension investing his body increased; she felt it through her hands, through her thighs—saw it in his face. She was heating, too. His hands left her hips to close over her breasts; his fingers played—her urgency grew.
Then he rose beneath her and brought his mouth to her breasts. Sharp sensation speared her; she nearly died. Nearly saw rapture again. She clung desperately to her wits as he laved, sucked, teased. The wet spots felt cool against her burning skin.
One hand returned to her hip—he gripped and slowed her. Slowed her until she was nearly frantic, mindless with the need to take him deeper, harder, faster. She spread her thighs and pressed down on him. She rose again—he halted her and pressed her down. And took one turgid nipple into the hot wetness of his mouth and suckled.
She cried out and plunged down, pressing him high inside her. Her world came apart, fragmenting into glimmering shards of rapturous wonder. They penetrated her skin, spread, and melted, until she was a mass of glowing heat with him hard and vibrant at her core.
With a sob, she put her arms around his shoulders, held his head to her breast, curled herself around him, and clung tight.
Gradually, he moved back, drawing her down with him. His breathing was harsh in her ear. Every muscle in his body was locked tight.
“Why?” She whispered the word against his skin.
Lucifer lay beneath her and couldn’t think enough to form a coherent thought. “I wanted you more than once, but . . .” He lost the thread. She was hot and so tight around him. He brushed a kiss to her temple. “In a moment.” His voice was a gravelly rumble, almost hoarse with need.
He’d wanted her more than once, but she’d been untried, untutored. If he’d had his wicked way with her, he’d have had her three times, and she’d have cursed him in the morning. Instead, once inside her, he’d stayed deep, moderating the length and thus the force of his thrusts to minimize the abrasion and pressure to her delicate flesh. So he’d been able to enjoy having her come apart in his arms with him sunk inside her twice . . . thus far.
Lifting her, he withdrew from her, sliding from beneath her. She murmured, tried to clutch and hold him. He soothed her with a kiss along her back. “You have to do all I say, remember?”
She slumped onto her stomach. “So what should I do?”
He reached for a pillow. “Absolutely nothing. It’s my turn now.”
She lay boneless and let him lift her hips and stuff the pillow beneath them. He knelt between her legs and bent one slender limb, nudging it to the side, knee almost level with her waist. Then he touched her, leaned over her, and slid home.