Catriona fought wildly-just to catch her breath. When she finally thought she'd become used to the new sensations, he suckled one nipple fiercely-she screamed and melted anew.
Luckily, the folds of her gown got into her mouth and muffled her shriek. As sanity returned, she realized his attentions hadn't faltered-she hadn't jarred him fully awake. When he suckled her other breast, she was prepared for the lightning bolt-the shocking strike of pure sensation. Her body arched, but she contained her scream.
Panting, gasping, her body afire, she waited, desperately trying to imagine what he would do next.
His lips drifted lower, leaving trails of fire down her body, over her waist. He pressed hot kisses to her stomach; she tensed, then relaxed as the trails continued down her thighs, first one, then the other.
Then he shifted, moving back and away. Senses searching, Catriona placed him kneeling astride her calves. Then she felt his hands close about her knees and hit them, parting her thighs.
After the slightest hesitation, she let him open her; catching her breath, she waited for him to cover her.
Instead, she felt a feathery touch, then feathery kisses dotting along her inner thigh. First one, then the other.
As what he might intend broke on her mind, she gasped and tried to clamp her thighs shut, only to find his broad shoulders between.
He chuckled wickedly.
And pressed a long, hot kiss to her damp curls.
"Not yet, sweet witch."
Then he kissed her.
And licked her. And sucked so gently she thought she would die.
Mindless, she threshed, trying to fight her way free of her nightgown; defeated, she tried to sit up-only to feel the heavy weight of his forearm across her waist press her down. Only to feel his other hand slide beneath her bottom and tilt her up. So he could savor her softness more thoroughly.
And savor her he did. Long and slow, languid and devastating, his lips and tongue wove their magic, until fires burned under every inch of her skin, until her bones had melted and her nerves shrivelled and her wits had reduced to ashes. Until she was panting, almost crying in her need.
She was hot, she was needy-she was ready.
She was frantic.
Then he pulled back.
Richard!
Her cry was weak-a demand and a plea.
He shifted back onto his knees with a satisfied groan; the next instant, he smoothed aside the folds of her gown, searching for her hands. Their fingers touched, and locked; he drew her up so she was sitting.
Catriona swung her legs under her so she was kneeling, too-but before she could push her gown down, he whisked it off over her head. Aghast, she watched it float over the end of the bed.
She looked at her tormentor.
Which was a big mistake.
Fully dressed, he was intimidating. Naked, he was mesmerizing. Fascinatingly, mind numbingly male-a potent, powerful presence just waiting to claim her.
In all that had led to this moment, she had steadfastly refused to let her mind form any picture-to imagine how he would look naked, without the civilized cloak he wore when he stalked the world. Dragging in a tight breath, she wondered if imagining might have been better-might have better prepared her to face this.
To her mind, to all her senses, he was magnificent, his long, lean frame covered with taut muscle. The sight of him stirred her powerfully, unfurled some primitive emotion in her.
She gulped, and forced her gaze upward, relieved to see his boyish grin still in place.
"That's better."
While her eyes had been roaming, so had his, with very evident results. He reached for her, she tried to hold back but her knees slid across the sheets. To her surprise, he didn't gather her into his arms, but, sinking back on his ankles, stopped her with her knees against his and eased her back so she was sitting as he was, on her ankles, knees wide.
He grinned, his expression the very essence of male sexual expectation. "Next installment."
Her wits long gone, her senses reeling, she couldn't even summon a frown. "Installment?"
His hands closed over her breasts, confident and firm. His thumbs rubbed her tightly budded nipples, her body came instantly alive. Her lids fell of their own accord as she arched lightly, pressing her breasts into his palms. "What do you mean?"
"I want to see how high you can go-how high I can take you before you shatter."
She struggled to frown, struggled to make sense of his words, and couldn't. Not with his hands on her breasts, then roaming her body, her sides, her thighs, quiveringly tight.
Then he stroked her soft curls, then slid long fingers past to stroke her there, where she was hot and molten. Two fingers pressed in and filled her, then retreated; he circled her entrance, then pressed-and she gasped. His fingers slid away, and played, then returned to the same excruciatingly sensitive spot, and pressed again.
White light flared behind her lids. And suddenly, Catriona understood. She grabbed his wrist-and felt, beneath her fingers, the seductive shift of tendon and muscle as he probed her-slowly, deliberately, evocatively.
She snapped open her eyes and looked at his face. Harsh-edged with passion, the planes were set. Fully aroused, his gaze was locked on where his hand worked between her thighs.
She couldn't believe her senses. "You're teasing me? Like this?"
He looked up and met her gaze. His was still clouded, his eyes like black pools; if anything, the hold of the drugs was deepening. Then he smiled-the same boyish smile. "I've been itching to sink into you since first I set eyes on you-I've been aroused virtually every minute I've spent in your sight. Being around you, especially every time you put your pert nose in the air, has been torture I thought I'd give you a dose of your own magic before I ease my pain." His smile grew soft, distinctly dreamy. "And as for this"- he pressed again; Catriona gasped and swayed-"I plan on teasing you a lot more yet."
"A lot more?" Aghast, she stared at him and tried to think of what he hadn't yet done.
His grin widened. "When I'm inside you. It'll be long and slow-the most perfect torture for a sexy witch."
Catriona simply stared-what had she done? What had she set in train? He was dreaming. He really was dreaming-reality fluidly merging with fantasy. He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't realize he was frightening her, pushing her too far. Making her feel far too much. He didn't know she was real.
She was going to lose her mind it he didn't fill her soon. Simply lay her on her back and take her. Quickly. She could feel the passion mounting, bubbling through her veins, exactly as he had predicted. Her inner fires were raging, she was molten with liquid heat. And she needed to release it.
She wanted him-now, immediately, ten minutes ago. It was her own need that was scaring her, not his.
But he didn't know that-and she couldn't explain. She didn't want to beg. Unexpected panic flared within her.
It must have shown in her face, for he frowned. His fingers slowed, and he cocked his head slightly, studying her. He blinked once, twice-confusion was writ plain in his face. "What is it?"
Catriona opened her lips-but no words came out. What should she say? What should she admit to? He was clearly dazed, increasingly hazy-he was operating on instinct. What sort of instinct did a rake have?
Her gaze locked with his, she moistened her lips, suddenly aware of the huge risk she d taken. Algaria had tried to warn her, but she hadn't understood. She wasn't in control of this situation-and neither was he.
Which meant she d thrown herself on the mercy of a rake's true soul, his real, inner self, his true character-and she didn't know what that was.
She was about to find out.
Acting on instinct, she held out her arms to him. "I want you now."