Heat erupted inside her, spread through her veins, suffused beneath her skin. Raising her hands, she framed his face, then ran her fingers back, spearing them through his hair. She opened her mouth wider beneath his, with her tongue boldly taunted, deliberately incited him to take, and take more. Never had she felt so alive, so blatantly desirable.
So wanted.
They were standing locked together in her family’s parlor; she was sure he wouldn’t forget. Felt sure she could leave the decision on what was appropriate to him.
She knew, in her heart, in her soul, that he wouldn’t let her down.
Tony had no intention of doing so, yet the demands of the moment were many. A wild and primitive emotion was burgeoning within him; he didn’t recognize it, but he knew what it demanded.
Her. Not just her giving but his taking. A claiming, yet… this, he accepted, was neither the time nor place.
Not yet, not here. Soon, yes, but tonight…
He didn’t question the instincts that told him what to do; he’d been their captive for too many years. Experience analyzed, instructed, informed; he fell in with its directives.
Breaking from the kiss, he murmured, unsurprised his tone was low, almost harsh, “Jenkins?”
Courtesy of their kisses, she was close to breathless. “Upstairs. He locks up the front of the house early, all except the front door.”
Thank God. He kissed her again, ravenously, arms locking her against him, lifting her as he backed her toward the chaise. Stopping before it, he lifted his head and let her slide down until her feet touched the floor. “So we’re alone?”
“Um-hmm.” Her hand pressed under his collar and curled around his nape; she lifted her lips to his.
“Good.” He took them, kissed her hungrily, in no way disguising his need. She met him, flagrantly urged him on—didn’t so much as catch her breath when he eased her gown over her shoulders, then pushed it down to pool about her feet.
Still he held her to the kiss. Shifting to trap her between the chaise and him, he closed his hands about her breasts. Through the fine silk of her chemise, he teased the sensitive mounds, stroked and kneaded until they were full, until her breathing was tight, threatening to fracture.
Swiftly, he undid the ribbon ties and eased the fine fabric down; it fell in folds about her waist. Deciding his control didn’t need further strain, he left the flimsy garment there. It was so fine, it was barely a sop to modesty, but having her completely naked on the chaise beneath him might be that one step too far.
At the first touch of his hands on her bare breasts, she murmured incoherently, the words trapped between their lips, and pressed closer.
He held her, for long moments simply savored the sensations—of her mouth freely offered, all his, of her tongue slowly tangling, caressing his, of the way she softened as he explored, claiming at will, then artfully stoking her fires. A deep pleasure coursed through him, part victory, part desire, at the tactile confirmation his hands reported; he had her in his arms all but naked, her breasts bare, pressed to his chest, her hips, the cradle in which he ached to lie, screened by nothing more than a thin barrier of silk.
Now she was his, it was time to feast.
His hands shifted over her body, then he lifted her, knelt on the chaise and laid her on the damask, following her down so their lips didn’t part, settling beside her, his longer, harder frame trapping hers on the cushions. One hand rising to cradle her face, he plunged once more into her mouth.
Plunged them both back into the building flames.
Alicia went willingly, eager to know, to experience whatever and wherever he led. She knew it was dangerous, yet when he finally lifted his head and released her lips, and she struggled to breathe, to fill her starved lungs, there was no thought in her mind of drawing back.
Not when he looked at her with desire, hot and glowing, behind his black eyes. His gaze had dropped to her breasts; they were swollen and aching. Nerves tightening, she waited for his touch, waited for the burning delight of his mouth, for the sharp, addictive pleasure.
His gaze flicked up to meet hers, briefly locked, then his lips curved, knowing and sure. He looked down, bent his head, and gave her all she’d wanted, all her tight nerves craved, the intoxicating play of lips and tongue, the hot, wet suction of his mouth.
He orchestrated the whole until her gasps filled the room, until her fingers were clenched on his skull, her body bowing under the hand he’d splayed across her midriff.
A deep rumble of satisfaction reached her; he shifted lower, leaning over her. One hand still massaged her breasts, stroking, tweaking, caressing as his lips trailed down between, down over the centerline of her body. With one finger he drew the silk folds of her chemise aside, so he could continue his line of openmouthed kisses to her navel.
Raising his head slightly, he circled the indentation with one fingertip, then lowered his head and boldly probed with his tongue, an echo of their kisses, of the plunder, the claiming.
Dazed, her limp fingers retensing on his skull, she watched him minister to her body as if it was a thing worthy of his worship.
Finally lifting his head, his eyes met hers; they were dark and fathomless, hot yet unreadable. Watching her, he shifted, parted her legs and settled between, ran his hand up her thigh, sliding it under the layer of silk to lay it over her stomach, hard possessive palm to her hot, soft skin.
She couldn’t take her eyes from his, from the intent, burning look burnished in the black, didn’t dare shift her gaze even when she felt his hand move, felt his fingertips brush her curls, then slide further to caress her as he had before.
Her breath strangled, her lungs slowly seizing as he artfully, deliberately explored, then stroked, caressed, finally probed. One large finger slid a little way in, just enough to tantalize, to freeze her mind, and send her frenzied senses searching. Reaching.
He caressed and her body came to life, muscles tensing, flickering, her hips lifting in anticipation. Slowly, he slid one long finger into her, pressed steadily deeper, deeper.
Her lungs locked; her hips lifted, but he held her down, moving lower, his shoulders sliding from her weakened grasp.
He looked down, watched as he worked his hand between her spread thighs, as he worked his finger within her, then he glanced up at her face, with his thumb circled that critical spot he’d discovered before, simultaneously reaching deeper still.
On a moan, she closed her eyes, let her head fall back. This had to be wicked; it was too glorious to be right.
A wave of sheer sensual delight swept through her, caught her wits, trapped her mind in sensations. Wild, wanton, indescribable pleasure flooded her; this time, he seemed content to let the wave lap at her, lap at her, rather than build.
The deliberate, flagrantly intimate repetitive penetration encouraged her to wallow in the warmth, to let her body simply enjoy every moment.
She was hardly relaxed, yet with every minute the landscape grew more familiar, less threatening. The urgency hadn’t infected her yet, but she knew it would. Before it did…
She managed to catch her breath and look down at him. Reach for him, with her fingers brush his shoulders. He looked up; his eyes were so black she could read nothing of his thoughts, but his face was a graven mask etched with a desire she comprehended instinctively.
“You…” She moistened her dry lips. “I’m the one who’s grateful. I want to give to you, not…”
Her gesture encompassed her body, thrumming with warmth and pleasure, and him, now propped between her knees, one shoulder cushioned against one of her thighs.
His hot black gaze didn’t flicker. He glanced briefly down to where his hand steadily pandered to her senses, then he looked up and met her eyes.