fueled by something more. By a desperate, primitive need-something buried so deep beneath his civilized exterior that few women would ever guess it was there.
Let alone tempt it.
Invite it.
Without breaking the kiss, he lifted her; she clung to him, as greedily desperate as he, as wantonly hungry.
His legs hit the end of the four-poster bed. Gathering his strength, he eased her from him, broke the kiss, juggled her and tossed her onto the brilliant crimson coverlet.
“Wait.”
Portia lay as she’d fallen, on one hip, half over on her stomach, knew she wouldn’t have long to wait. She watched as he stripped off his clothes, let her gaze rest on his face, drank in the austere lines as he flung his waistcoat aside. His features looked harder, more set and angular, than she’d ever seen them. The strength in his body, that invested every movement, was somehow clearer, more intense. Less veiled.
His shirt followed the waistcoat; she twisted back a little to get a better view of the wide expanse of his chest, the hard ridges across his abdomen rippling as he shifted, then bunching as he bent to pull off his boots.
Trousers and stockings went in seconds. And then he stood naked, flagrantly aroused. His gaze locked on her, traveled slowly up her body as he walked to the bed.
He reached out. Traced his palm up the back of her leg, curved his hand about her bottom as he set one knee on the crimson silk.
Lifted his eyes to hers. “You can call a halt at any time.”
She met his gaze, dark and burning-couldn’t quite smile. “You know I won’t.”
He searched her eyes one last time, then he closed his hand and shifted her.
Onto her stomach.
She felt the bed bow as he knelt on either side of her legs. Felt the heat of his body run like fire over the backs of her thighs, over the dewed skin of her bottom as he leaned down, close-and pressed his lips to the base of her spine, just above the cleft of her bottom.
Closed his hands about her hips, held her steady as he worked his way upward, following her spine, planting hot, openmouthed kisses as he went, as if he in truth meant to devour her.
The rough hair of his chest brushed her skin; the heat of him poured over her yet he didn’t lean on her, hovered just an inch above her, taking his weight on his hands as he moved steadily higher, over her, surrounding her-a potent masculine animal who had captured her and was now intent on possessing her.
She couldn’t stop a reactive shiver; closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the wave of heat rising over her, steadily engulfing her, glanced over her shoulder as, pushing her hair aside, he neared her nape.
He lifted his head; for one instant, his blue eyes locked on hers, then he drew back a fraction, straddling her thighs, set his hands to her hips, swept both hard palms slowly up her body, tracing the indentation of her waist, rising up her sides, fingers boldly caressing the sensitive sides of her breasts before sliding down the backs of her arms to grip her elbows.
“Stretch your arms up, above your head.”
He pushed them up and she let him; without their support, she slumped onto the bed, her breasts, nipples already tight, pressing into the crimson silk.
Placing her wrists among the pillows, he released them. “Leave them there-don’t draw your arms down again.”
A command, gravelly and absolute. Her heart thudded, her senses leapt as he reversed the direction of his slow, possessive stroking. She could feel him close, but other than the occasional brush of raspy hair across her skin, he’d touched her only with his hands and lips.
And his gaze. She could feel that, another sort of flame, following his hands as he traced the long lines of her back, down, past her waist, until his thumbs caressed the shallow indentations below her hips.
Her skin prickled; anticipation welled and rushed through her.
To her surprise, he shifted back, shuffling down the bed, his knees on either side of her legs… then his hands closed about her hips; smoothly, he lifted them and drew them back.
Until she was curled on her knees before him.
She started to lift her shoulders from the bed-
“Leave your arms as I told you.”
The tenor of the words sent a flash of expectation sheering through her, wound her nerves even tighter. She’d obeyed before she’d thought-without the use of her arms, she slumped over her knees. Helpless.
Even before she’d fully assimilated the total submission inherent in the pose, one hand settled heavily on her back, just above her waist.
Holding her down.
In the instant she realized, his other hand spread over her bottom, boldly caressed until her skin was damp, then reached farther, to the slick, swollen flesh between her thighs, in this position readily accessible to his probing fingers.
He held her down, ruthlessly touched, stroked, teased-caressed but never penetrated, never gave her greedy, wanting senses the slightest succor, instead stoked her fire until her skin was aflame, until her breaths came in ragged pants.
Until she moaned.
The wanton, abandoned sound shocked her, but it was quickly followed by more. Held immobile, she could gain no surcease from the unrelenting stimulation, from the need that was flaring inside her-burgeoning, building, rising high.
Eyes closed, her hair fanning about her with the restless motion of her head-the only part of her free to move- she bit her lip, tried to hold back the sound welling in her throat.
Couldn’t.
She sobbed. Sobbed again as he raised her hips, turned the sensual rack one notch tighter…
In the instant before she broke and told him precisely what she wanted him to do, he shifted. Opened her with his fingers, guided the broad head of his erection to her entrance-and thrust deliberately and heavily home.
Filled her with one long, sure stroke that pushed all the air from her lungs.
That left her feeling more full of him that she ever had before.
His thighs outside hers, his groin to her bottom, he gripped her hip, withdrew a little way, then surged within her.
Still holding her down, a supplicant before him, her body offered for the enjoyment of his.
An offering he took, accepted, savored-with every hard, deep, too-knowing thrust.
She’d told him she was all his; he’d taken her at her word. As he held her before him and possessed her, deeper, harder, faster, she finally fully understood what that meant.
Couldn’t find it in her to complain.
The fire, the flames, and the love were there, around them, about them, within them. She gave herself up to it all, lost herself in the inferno.
Willingly surrendered.
Simon gasped as he felt her body tighten. Closed his eyes, savored the exquisite sensation of the firm curves of her bottom riding against him as he buried himself in her scalding heat. Again and again and again.
Taking his hand from her back, he clamped both palms about her hips and held her still as, all restraint long gone, he took all he wished-all she’d offered him.
The most potent invitation a woman could issue-to have her however he wished. To possess her, all she was, all the delights her body could offer, without reservation.
His heart thundered, filled to bursting as he filled his senses with her. As, step by step, her body responded, as did his, wanting more, reaching further.
Releasing her hips, he leaned over her, ran his hands up and around, filling them with her breasts, hot, swollen, finding and squeezing her nipples until she cried out, until she sobbed anew.
She’d come alive beneath him, riding his thrusts, meeting them. He bent his head, nuzzled her hair aside, set his teeth to the tendon running along the curve of her neck, and nipped.
Laved as she reacted, as on a wild gasp her body rose beneath his and clenched tight, then imploded,
