nipples. Had he touched her elsewhere while he'd had the opportunity?
She smiled at the thought, imagining her body in sleep, warm, pliant, moving only with her breaths. She imagined Christophe's tentative hand sliding under the hide, its soft fur caressing the back of those slender fingers as they explored her ribs, the slight mound of her belly, then lower to her own downy pelt. Had he touched her there? Had he fearfully taken the only opportunity he thought he'd be allowed?
Dee wanted to open her legs to him now, wanted to let him have total access to her body to see, touch, taste what he wanted. And she wanted to taste him again. Wanted that achingly sweet kiss.
Would it be allowed? 'Am I yours today, Christophe?'
His attention never wavered from her breasts. 'Pietre hasn't decided yet.'
Pietre? 'Who?'
Christophe stared for a moment longer, then his gaze flew to hers in confusion. 'I mean… Peter. He hasn't… We haven't…'
'Heard yet,' she finished for him, seeing fear invade his eyes, feeling it give her a kick. Power. She forgot her promise to Xavion and asked, 'So, how does he tell you? Does he come here himself or is there some kind of radio set-up?'
Christophe slipped off the platform and started backing away. 'I have duties and- '
'I want it to be you, Christophe.'
That stopped him.
'I want you and I to make love. Here. Now.' Dee slid off the platform and stood naked before him. The adrenalin was pumping. She wanted Christophe. To hell with Pietre and his games.
'Xavion — '
'Isn't here.' She looked around, then advanced on him slowly. 'There's no-one here but us. We can do what we want.'
'I can't.' He was backing up again, shaking his head, but his eyes were all over her body.
'Then I'll have to take you by force.'
His startled gaze met hers a second before his back connected with the wall, and she was right there with him, her hands on his chest, her body not quite touching his, their breaths mingling, lips close. She had him, exactly as she had the first time. Only now she was going to finish it.
'I must obey Peter,' he whispered, but it was a last ditch effort. His eyes were closing, his lips parting for the kiss they both knew she would take.
She wanted to crush him against the wall, to plundering his mouth and ravage the malleable body beneath her hands, to have him.
But she didn't.
Her hands paused on their journey to his hair, and tremblingly explored the fine bones of his shoulders. 'I won't be rough with you, Christophe,' she promised them both.
'Please, don't talk about…'
Her fingers tightened before she could stop them. 'Mack?'
'Yes.'
She felt him shudder and tried to imagine how his desire must be conflicting with horror at what she'd done. She could scarcely believe it herself, but then, that had been another Wendee. Not the gentle, patient Wendee that was intent on seducing Christophe.
Her fingers relaxed and she took a deep breath, filling her senses with the mysterious scent he exuded, his breath, his skin, his hair — the essence of Christophe that was so unlike any other male she'd ever met. It was a boy-smell, fresh and warm, yet with the distinctive undertone of arousal. Infinitely aphrodisiac.
She might look into those vulnerable eyes and think she could resist him, but not if he was close enough to scent.
'I can't think of another man when I'm with you, Christophe,' she told him honestly. 'You're so beautiful, so graceful.' She admired the muscles of his arms, tracing them down to his slender wrists and trembling fingers. 'There will be nothing crude between us. It will be like a dance,' she whispered, feeling the tenderness flowing from her fingertips.
He made a noise like a strangled sob, but her hands were sliding up into his hair, tilting his unresisting head down to meet hers. 'A beautiful, erotic ballet,' she promised, and took his lips, tasting again the trembling innocence that had so captivated her the first time, luring her to forget her desire for his body and simply drown in the sweetness of his kiss — the way she had to tease his tongue out, drawing it into her mouth where his moan of desire vibrated against their lips.
It was so tenuous, so exquisite that time began to lose its meaning. Again she imagined herself kissing him for hours, the pleasure building inside her like the voluptuously furry petals of an unopened orchid rubbing against each other as they waited to burst open and fill the air with their heady perfume.
It was enchanting, and she wallowed in its purity for an endless time. Longer than was safe. She'd been torn away from him the first time. What if it happened again? They could yet be interrupted. Should she quicken her seduction?
Christophe moaned softly against her lips, lost in his own world of pleasure. He seemed perfectly content to follow her lead. But was this all she wanted?
Abruptly, she deepened the kiss, crushing her body against his, the pain from her breasts being lost amid a swirl of pleasure as the weight of his arousal jerked against her belly. A soft groan came from somewhere deep in his chest and his hands rose to touch her. She pushed them back.
'I'm doing this,' she said, and kissed him again, her fingers struggling with the thin leather straps of his loin- cloth. Then it was loose and she stripped it away.
'Xavion will punish me,' he breathed.
She felt a moment of hesitation, a moment where she should have thought only of Christophe. But it was too late, her need was too strong. She kissed him harder to obliterate the memory of his punishment — those horrified eyes sucking at her soul in the moment of his orgasm — and how she'd fed on it, how it excited her even now.
Wrenching her lips away, she stared into those eyes, needing that intensity. And it was there.
He lay unresisting against the wall, panting, his pupils hugely dilated, liquid with helpless desire. And with the desire was torment — the sure knowledge that in pleasure, she would also bring him pain.
'You're right. Xavion will find us,' she said, suddenly realising it was what she wanted — Christophe punished. But why?
For a sexual thrill?
Her fingers bit into his shoulders again, wanting to push herself away, to protect him. Yet equally wanting to take him with all the violence surging around inside her. Pain, pleasure, it was all jumbled up in her mind.
Christophe waited, quiescent under her hands, a sacrificial lamb. His trust pricked at her conscience and that incited her to further cruelty.
'You'll be punished again,' she taunted. 'Worse than last time.'
He held her gaze. 'I know.'
They stared at each other.
Dee trembled with the fierceness of her warring emotions. Take him. Do it now, screamed the voice inside her mind. But from somewhere she found the strength to push herself out to arms length. 'I can't let — '
Her words were cut off as Christophe lunged forward and grabbed her, his lips mashing against hers with such unexpected ardour, such naive desperation that she was shocked into immobility.
She remained still as his hands explored her breasts in tentative caresses that carefully avoided her raw nipples, and the contrast between his gentle touching and the brutal possession of her mouth was unutterably sensual.
By relinquishing her control to Christophe, she was surprised to discover in her passivity a sexual excitement equal to that generated by her previous aggression. In the most primitive of rituals, Christophe was taking and she was giving, nurturing him with her femininity.
He was no longer a young and vulnerable lover. He was a man. A man who wanted her.
Her eyes were closed when he broke away from the kiss.
'I don't know… if I can do this,' he panted against her forehead.
'I can,' she whispered, and began working her way blindly down his body, guided only by her hands and her
