The Edge of Desire

She tensed, and waited, breathing all but suspended…

Eventually, with a languid authority that in itself was arousing, he let his fingers rise to the next point on his trail of conquest, lightly stroking, then playing with the crinkly dark hair shielding her mons.

He was patently in no hurry; her whole body was taut-she was ready to scream-before he consented to part her curls and reach farther.

To trace, stroke, and caress the already swollen flesh, to slide his fingers through the slickness his earlier caresses had drawn forth.

He chuckled at how wet she was, a dark rumble of male appreciation deep in his chest.

Her hands rose, locked about his hand where it splayed over her belly. He continued to play, as if learning her anew. She was quivering when, after an excruciatingly slow exploration of her tender flesh, he finally pressed one long finger into her sheath.

One slow, smooth, complete penetration.

The sensation brought her onto her toes.

Head back against his shoulder, eyes tightly closed, she gasped.

He held her there, naked before him, her silk stockings sliding against his trousers, her bottom held against his thighs, his erection a heavy rod against her lower back-and made her writhe.

Although her eyes were closed, her mind still saw-saw herself in his arms, held trapped against him, her flushed skin pearlescent in the steady moonlight, her hair tumbling from its pins, long tresses curling over her shoulders as she-her body-responded, helplessly surrendered to the simple blatant act of possession expertly executed.

She no longer had the will to resist. She was captured, not by him but by her fascination with this different side of him, this other lover who was him, yet not the him she’d once known.

The dark lover who held her before him, and pressed pleasure upon exquisite pleasure on her. He was not just older, but more experienced, a scarred warrior who’d lived through battles and had at last come home to claim… her.

His due, his reward. His bounty.

His without question.

That seemed to be the case, for he asked no permission, waited for no assent when, once the heat within her built, and the fever threatened to consume her, instead of allowing her to shatter and find relief, he withdrew his hand from between her thighs, set her on her feet, waited only a heartbeat to ensure she was steady, then grasped her hand and towed her toward the bed.

Thank God, was her initial thought. She expected him to lay her down, strip off his clothes and join her.

Instead he led her to the nearest corner of the bed, to where the thick post of the four-poster bed was hung with heavy green damask curtains. He reached for the silk cord that held the curtains back, wrenched it free, with one hand pushed the curtains to either side, exposing the post.

Before she could blink, he had her backed against the post. He caught both her hands in one of his, drew them up, then looped the curtain cord about her wrists and lashed them high above her head.

Stunned, she could only stare. He stepped back, leaving her standing with her spine against the post, her arms raised but not stretched; there was enough play in the loop for her to curve her hands down and hang onto the cord. She did, testing, but his handiwork held; the lashing didn’t budge, even under her full weight.

What…? She looked at him, intending to ask.

He met her gaze, his own dark and hard, simply said, “Wait.”

He turned away from her and started to undress.

She wriggled, glared, tested her bonds again. Glared at his broad back as he shrugged out of his shirt. Her body was on fire, the flames he’d stoked so deliberately still burning brightly, hungrily, greedily. All she could think about was having him inside her, having the thick rod of his erection moving within her to quench the flames.

But then he turned back, gloriously naked, fully aroused, and expectant relief flooded her. Heightened her readiness, her waiting, her wanting.

She needed him against her, skin-to-skin, more than she needed to breathe.

Then he halted before her-face-to-face, eye-to-eye.

And she suddenly remembered that this wasn’t the lover she’d known before, but a hardened warrior intent on claiming his due.

Her.

A shiver raced through her as she looked into his eyes-pure excitement laced with expectation, honed by a sense of dealing with the unknown.

He said nothing, simply raised his hands, framed her face, bent his head and kissed her-as if he would-was fully intending to-devour her.

Her every thought cindered beneath the heat in that kiss.

Her mind was awash with raw scalding need when he lifted his head. He looked down, following his hands as he ran them down her body, heavily, possessively, sculpting her curves, his prize, his reward. He reassessed, caressed, repossessed-then bent his head and set his mouth to her breast.

Treated her swollen flesh, as he had her lips and mouth, to a single-minded ravishment. One that had her hanging in her bonds, the fire within her escalating to an unbearable degree.

She would have writhed but his hands held her steady. She sobbed as he released the nipple he’d tortured to throbbing hardness. Unrelenting, he bent and skated his lips lower, with wet, open-mouthed kisses, with his tongue and his teeth, possessed as he wished.

He went to his knees before her, placed hot kisses over her quivering belly, then set his lips to her curls…then he settled back, his knees wide, grasped her thighs, raised them and placed one over each broad shoulder, grasped her hips with both hands and held her, then set his lips to her core.

She swallowed a shriek, tensed against the bonds, spine arching, her thighs pressing down hard against his shoulders.

To no avail. He possessed her there as he had elsewhere, with slow, thorough deliberation. Reduced her to a state of breathless panting need, consumed by the fire he’d so mercilessly stoked.

She was his beyond doubt or question, his to do with as he wished…she shrieked as his tongue entered her, screamed as he thrust and her senses imploded.

Letting her legs slide from his shoulders, he surged up, grasped the backs of her thighs, lifted her up and to him, and entered her with one long, hard, relentlessly powerful thrust. Impaling her, filling her.

She screamed again, felt her body clamp hard about him, helplessly clutched her bonds, wound her legs about his hips as he withdrew and thrust heavily again-sobbed as he moved within her and the pleasure rolled on and on.

He possessed her utterly. Thoroughly. Entirely. He refused to let the flames fade, but held her hips and drove steadily into her, almost immediately stoking the blaze again.

Forcing the flames and her higher, then higher.

Then he bent his head and fastened his mouth about the peak of one breast and suckled fiercely.

She shattered into a million shards, so completely fragmented she wasn’t, for one bright shining instant in time, sure she’d survived.

Then glory rushed through her, golden and welcome, filling her veins, swamping her nerves, pouring delight through her as he continued to fill her, thrusting long and hard, yet still ruthlessly in control.

She was open to him, completely given over to him.

Surrendered.

His.

Christian’s warrior self crowed, gloated, even as he tightened his reins and held himself back from the beckoning edge.

He wasn’t finished with her yet. She’d needed distraction; he’d needed her. The exchange was straightforward, but he hadn’t yet had his fill.

When the last ripples of her release faded, and she slumped, boneless against the bonds, her body softening deliciously about his, he reached up, yanked the cord free of the bedpost. Leaving it dangling from her wrist, he drew her against him. Lowering her arms, she draped them about his shoulders. His throbbing erection still buried in