Fused by fire, bound to each other by golden strands of feeling, by silver threads of shimmering emotion.
His blatantly sexual perusal, gaze burning under lids weighted by reined desire and a passion she could feel, had wound her nerves tight, so taut they ached with every long, slow sweep of his hands over her skin. Over her back, over her bottom; one hand explored in leisurely appraisal, the touch of a pasha learning a new slave. That wandering hand caressed her bottom, tantalizingly tracing, leaving damp heat in its wake, then drifted lower to close, cupping the back of one thigh.
He lifted her to him, held her against him and shifted his hips, letting her feel the insistent pressure of his erection against her lower stomach. Heat bloomed deep inside, flared into flame as he deliberately rocked against her.
She couldn't breathe but took her breath from him, raised her hands and framed his face, spoke to him through their kiss and urged him on. She wanted him inside her-knew it without thought, surrendered without question to the need. Yet…
He understood; he shifted again, tipping her back into the silk-strewn softness of the bed. It was incredibly accommodating, designed for the act. As he rose over her, she smiled blissfully; arms freed, she reached for his coat. Pressed the halves wide, temporarily trapped his arms. He frowned slightly, but acquiesced, drawing back to strip off the coat and fling it aside.
Half sitting, she moved onto the studs securing the front of his shirt. Nimble-fingered, driven by a sense of racing urgency, she disposed of them and wrenched the linen open, then stared in open-mouthed fascination at the vista she'd uncovered.
She felt her mouth go dry. Eyes wide, she raised both hands and placed all ten fingers, splayed, over the heavy muscle band crossing his chest. Pressed her fingers in, felt his muscles shift, tense. Enthralled, she trailed her hands down, revelling in the springy hairs that wound about her fingertips. She traced through the indentation at the center of his chest, down over the ridges of his abdomen, rock-hard and rigid.
He was so hard, so hot. Heat rolled off him in waves, intensifying as, eyes dark, almost black, he reached for her.
In the instant before his lips came down on hers, she marveled at the passion blank, desire driven set of his features. Always harshly angular, in the grip of passion they seemed hewn from granite-implacable, unresistible.
Not that she thought of resisting.
She gave herself to him, wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him back with a fervor to match his, to incite his demands, to drive him on, to bind him to her. Satisfaction rushed through her as he gathered her to him, closed his arms about her and urged her back down.
Until she lay beneath him, thighs spread with him between, his hand on her breast. He drew his lips from hers and ducked his head. She lifted her arms over her head, let them fall on the silk, sighed as his lips teased her breast. Then he drew her nipple into his mouth and suckled sharply; she caught her breath on a gasp, felt her spine arch.
Felt her body react, felt an ache blossom between her thighs.
He repeated the subtle torture, soothing one breast with a knowing hand while with his mouth he teased the other, until she was gripped by a roiling unnameable need, hot, yearning, compulsive.
His lips left her breast and drifted lower, over her midriff.
She caught her breath, glanced down. Tangled her fingers in his hair and tugged.
"Your trousers. Take them off." She had to pause to moisten her lips, met his eyes when he glanced up. Smiled like a cat. "I want to see all of you."
His hands had strayed to her hips. For one instant, his fingers flexed, pressed in, then his grip eased. Bending his head, he returned to tracing kisses about her navel, but his hands drifted down to his waistband.
She lay back, let her lids fall, seized the moment to catch her breath, very conscious of the warmth, the building heat, the rising, rushing tide of desire. His and hers-theirs-to be shared. Totally.
He shifted and she opened her eyes, watched him rear back and strip his trousers and stockings off; he'd already kicked off his shoes. Then he was as naked as she; as he turned back to her she wished there was a mirror usefully hung, so she could see his back, the long planes narrowing to his waist and hips, the long length of his muscled legs.
He was gorgeous-all she could see met with her complete approval, but she still hadn't seen all she wished to see.
She tried to push back from him, tried to glance down, but he followed her too closely, pressing her deep into the silken cushions as he lowered his body to hers, lowered his head and took her lips in a suddenly searing kiss.
A kiss that left little doubt the time had come, that the lion had played enough and now would have his due. A tide of desire seemed to rise at his command-he sent it rushing through her and it swept her away.
Martin couldn't control the force that had claimed him, that had driven him from the moment she'd told him just what had so aroused her. He knew he should think, but couldn't, couldn't free his rational mind from the overwhelming tide of desire, stronger this time than it had ever been before, fueled by a deeper passion, swollen by a whirlpool of emotions he didn't recognize, much less understand.
All he knew was that she was as committed as he to their joining, to the satisfaction of merging their bodies, to the soul-deep pleasure they would share. All he could feel was the driving need to be inside her, buried deeply within her luscious body, savoring the incredible sensation of her surrounding him, pleasuring his senses with the ultimate caress. With instincts trained by long experience, he'd managed to slow the tide, hold it back long enough to ease her way. But his reins had snapped in the instant he'd felt her bare thighs caress his naked flanks.
He caught her up in the kiss, pressed her back into the cushions, anchored one hand in her hair. With his hips, he pressed her thighs wide, then reached down between their bodies. His questing fingers stroked through the soft tufts of her curls; ravenous desire growled through him at the realization they were already damp.
Reaching further, he touched her, shackled his need long enough to trace the swollen folds, seized just one moment to learn her by a lover's touch, intimate and evocative. Hot wetness met his fingertips; sinking into her mouth, boldly probing with his tongue, he equally boldly opened her, then slid one long finger slowly, steadily into her soft sheath.
Her body arched lightly under his; she gasped through their kiss, then he took her mouth again, played havoc with her senses as he stroked once, twice-she clamped tight about his finger. He stroked again, then withdrew, then pressed another finger in alongside the first.
Her hips lifted, tilted; he inwardly smiled-ravenously. Overwhelmed by the kiss, senses dizzily fractured, she responded instinctively to the intimate caress, opening to his penetration, hips and thighs easing, relaxing.
He shifted, rising over her, pressing his hips deep between her thighs. Withdrawing his fingers to her entrance, he used them to guide the throbbing head of his erection into the soft, surrendering flesh. He pressed in and her slickness welcomed him. He rested there, just inside her body, and gave his attention to her mouth, demanding, commanding all her attention, enmeshing her senses… then he eased fractionally back and flexed his hips sharply.
Drove deep into her body with a single powerful thrust, felt the fleeting resistance of her maidenhead give way, felt the slick, sleek heat of her enclose him, then clamp tight about his rigid length.
Her cry was more a yelp, a sudden sound of pain. Then she stilled, completely, beneath him. Laboring for breath, in a state close to agony, he forced himself to remain still, held back the need to plunder her warmth, to conquer, claim her and make her his. One hand still anchored in her hair, the other braced beside her, he lifted his head and looked down at her face.