Let his senses exult — let them free.
She was right — there was no point trying to resist, not this. Any chance he'd had of escaping had died the instant he'd set eyes on her, on all she was so set on offering him. All but naked in his arms, she clung, and returned his kisses greedily, avidly — flagrantly encouraged him to seize, take, and claim.
Her heart soaring, Amelia felt his arms lock tight, felt, in the lips bruising hers, hard and demanding, his decision. His surrender. He straightened, locking her to him; without interrupting the kiss, he lifted her and walked to the side of the bed.
Halting, he let her down, sliding her body down his, his hands cupping her bottom, pressing her to him, molding her softness against his erection while his tongue plundered her mouth, wreaking havoc with her senses. Within her, heat bloomed, burgeoned, grew — but this time she wanted more.
This time, she wanted it all.
She drew back from the kiss, found breath enough to gasp, "Your clothes."
Hands on his chest, she pushed his coat wide, trapping his arms. With a curse, he let her go, stepped back, wrenched the coat off and flung it aside.
The violence behind the movement had her blinking. He noticed, and stilled. His eyes, dark, burning, narrowed on hers, then he reached for her; palm curving about her jaw, he tipped up her face, drew her close. He studied her eyes — she didn't try to mask her curiosity. He bent his head, murmured, "You should beware of what you ask for. You might get it."
She met his lips brazenly, hoping she would — hoping she would meet the wildness she'd glimpsed so fleetingly a moment before. It was a part of him she'd always known was there, lurking behind his facade, a part he kept most deeply hidden — a vibrant, ruthless vital part she suspected was closest to his real nature.
A nature she'd always found fascinating — something different, illicit, veiled. At base, it was why she found him so attractive, why he and only he would do for her.
That revelation was simply there, its truth resonant and clear. She acted on it, grappled with the buttons of his shirt and yanked the halves apart, splayed her hands and touched, searched, grasped — purred with satisfaction. The skin under her palms was hot, the muscles beneath it rigid and locked. His chest was a wonder of rasping black hair and male hardness; her lips, her mouth, flagrantly welcoming, urgently inciting, she filled her hands and filled her senses.
He stripped off his shirt, but made no move to take charge; taking that as acquiescence, she moved on.
Spreading her hands wide, reaching around to hold him to her as he plundered her mouth, his hands closing about, then provocatively kneading the globes of her bottom. The long muscles framing his back flexed like steel beneath her wandering hands. She ran them down, marveling, then followed the heavy line of his ribs forward to caress the rippling bands across his abdomen. They flickered at her touch; he sucked in a breath as she sent her fingers questing lower. Held that breath as she lightly traced the line of his erection. His attention shifted — she sensed it. He stilled, but didn't stop her when she reached for the buttons at the waistband of his breeches. The tenor of their kiss changed; he was breathing more shallowly, his senses distracted…
Inwardly smiling, she slid one hand inside the opened flap, and found him. Rigid, as she'd expected, yet so hot, and with skin so very fine…
They both held to their kiss, yet their attention was not there, but on her questing fingers as she explored, and learned. Solid, as wide as her wrist, he more than filled her hand. Closing her fingers, she circled him, and felt him shudder.
She experimented, taking her time even though instinct warned that commodity would be limited, that the surge of heated passion she could feel rising through him, evoked, provoked by her touch — even though he ruthlessly held it back, soon, the dam would break.
And he'd let the tide loose, let it sweep her up, sweep her away.
He proved strong enough to give her the moment, to take advantage himself, despite her continuing ministrations. She was only dimly aware when he stripped her robe from her, releasing her prize to free her arms from the silk only to take him in hand again. Only to set her mind to provoking him further.
Luc clenched his jaw and endured, while his control grew more brittle by the second. She was still a novice, thank the gods, but even so, her instincts were sound, and her hands pure heaven. Yet her body promised ecstasy, and that was his fell aim. That, and more.
He couldn't fault her arrangements; the light was a boon, letting him see her, all of her, now, and later, when he finally had her beneath him. When he finally took her.
The thought sent another surge of heat, of pure unadulterated desire rising through him, hardening and lengthening that part of his anatomy that was currently the object of her fascination even more. She noticed, hesitated; he looked down as she sent her thumb stroking over his aching head.
He didn't need to look to know she'd found a latent drop. Before she could think further, let alone act, he caught his breath, nudged her face up and found her lips again, drew her into a drugging kiss, then ruthlessly, deliberately, let the walls fall, seized and devoured, claimed her mouth, her lips, and sent her senses spinning.
Capturing her wrist, he drew her hand from him, then drew her close, then closer, reveling in the sensation of her silken skin caressing his chest, his arms, his erection, while he plundered her mouth, holding her and her senses captive. She couldn't break free, and wouldn't. From here on, their script was his to dictate.
Amelia knew it; she was helpless against not just his strength, but the power he controlled. She didn't fight it — had no intention of doing so, now or ever. This was what she wanted — for him to make her his. Far from resisting, she sank into his arms, gave herself up to the commanding kiss, surrendered and waited, nerves tight with anticipation, for him to claim her.
He seemed to know; he wasted no more time. Breaking the kiss, he lifted her, placing her on her knees on the edge of the bed. Before she could even wonder, he ducked his head and set his lips to her breast. Set his hot mouth to one peak and suckled fiercely.
Her head fell back; her gasp shivered through the room. He feasted like a king, knowing her his slave. His hands, tight about her waist, held her steady, then one hand released and left her; the other slid to her hip and closed, hard, anchoring her, pressing her down so she sat on her ankles.
He laved her breasts, suckled, nipped — tortured the tightly pebbled peaks, his hot mouth pressing heat again and again beneath her skin. Her hands closed on his skull, holding him to her; it was only when he drew back and straightened that she realized he'd pulled off his boots and stripped off his breeches.
As naked as she, he was suddenly there, standing before her. She felt her eyes go round as she took in the sight, drank in the glory. She started to reach for him but he reached for her; gripping her waist, he raised her on her knees, drew her to him and found her lips again. Drew her once more into the heat of his embrace, into the flames and the fire, the heated, dizzying game of conquest and delight.
He conquered while she rode the wave of delight he evoked. She was with him, matching him kiss for kiss, breath for gasping breath as the kiss dissolved into an expression of raging needs, an inferno of unfettered desire. His hands roamed her curves, brutally explicit, no facade, no veneer, to mute his driving need. A need she gloried in, without thought or inhibition wantonly incited.
The feel of his hard body, hot and urgent about her, against her, the evidence of his desire never more real, shredded the last vestiges of modesty, swept away the last primitive restrictions, all remaining reservations.