On a Wild Night (17 page)

He stripped the gown from her, freeing first one shoulder, then the other, murmuring instructions which she obeyed. She glanced at his face, marveled at the sharp edges desire had lent features already austere. Then he jerked the ribbon ties of her chemise undone, and pushed gown and chemise down, baring her to the waist.

The look on his face sent sheer joy winging through her—he looked stunned, mesmerized, utterly enthralled. Cool air washed over her skin, yet she didn't feel cold, not with his eyes feasting upon her. His hands rose, closed almost worshipfully about each breast, then his fingers firmed. She gasped, closed her eyes, head rising, concentrating, caught by a rush of seductive delight. He'd touched her breasts before, but not like this, not with her above him. It was different—freer—so clear that this was her choice, that she was participating by her own act, rather than accepting a caress he pressed on her.

She moved restlessly against him, felt his erection rigid against her stomach. He shifted and caught her lips with his, drew her senses once more into the heated depths of a kiss.

Then his fingers shifted, tightened about her throbbing nipples—and delight flashed through her, sharp as a lance. He repeated the torture, drank her gasp as her lungs seized. Then his touch eased, drifted, fingers stroking languidly, soothingly. Each touch was reverent, as if he were stroking the richest velvet, the most costly satin.

Heat blossomed, spread.

He slid his lips from hers, nudged her head back so he could trace the line of her throat down to where her pulse throbbed. He closed his mouth over the spot; heat flared beneath her skin as he sucked lightly, subsided when he drew back and licked, laved.

Then his head dipped lower, lips skating over the upper
curve of one breast. Her nerves leapt, tensed, sparked—she caught her breath, knowing, wanting . . .

He urged her up and she eagerly complied, gasped when his mouth closed hotly about the ruched peak of one breast, melted when he sucked lightly, licked—then he suckled and her breathing shattered.

He didn't let her catch her breath, didn't let her senses stop spinning. Supported by the cushions, fingers splayed on his skull, she held him to her, urging him to take as he wished, to feast, to devour to his heart's—and her senses'—content.

Every nerve was alive, every sense she possessed focused on his touch when he finally eased back, lay back on the cushions and reached for her, spearing his hands once more through her hair and drawing her lips to his.

Martin revelled in her eagerness, in her unfettered sensuality, a sensuality that spoke so directly to his. She met him at every turn, at every touch, every beat of their hearts. They were already one—one in intent, one in anticipation. Long habit made him draw the moments out, savoring each step along a road he knew well, caught in the wonder that with her, the way had changed, the scenery altered.

He was as fascinated as she.

So much was different—
she
was different—but more than that, the entire landscape had transformed. He was enthralled, intrigued; they were novices together, learning together, experienced in some ways yet so much was new.

He would never get tired of touching her—simply stroking his fingers, his palms, over her lush curves, over her rose petal skin. But the heat building through their kiss, tended, fed, steadily stoked with each flagrantly evocative caress, was escalating, step by step into urgency. He needed to sate his increasingly clamorous senses, to touch more, explore further. He ravaged her mouth and she gasped, then met him, pressing her demands as boldly as he.

More—he had to have more. Sliding his palms down her sleek sides, he caught her gown and chemise and pressed them further down. The material slipped easily along her skin, down over the curves of her hips, over the lush swell of her derriere. Breaking from their kiss, he shifted, half rising,
one hand splaying over her bare waist, locking her to him; with the other, he grasped the crushed fabric and drew it down her legs, all the way down, then tossed the garments to the floor.

She looked down, caught her breath, then toed off her satin slippers, with a small kick sending one, then the other, to join her gown.

His gaze fixed on her silk-stockinged toes, he drew in a long, deep breath, conscious of the expansion of his chest, of the softness of her breast pressed to him. Every nerve he possessed had stilled. Slowly, he swept his gaze up the curves of her legs, from her small, delicately arched feet, past trim ankles and slender calves to her knees, all screened by fine silk, ultimately to where her blue silk garters circled her thighs.

Above them, her skin was bare, glowing like ivory pearl in the soft light. His gaze traced the gentle swells of her thighs, rested on the thatch of blond curls at their apex. Chest tight, he sent his gaze roaming higher, over her taut stomach, over the indentation of her waist to her breasts, swollen and rosy-peaked from his attentions. Lifting his eyes, he took all of her in, drank in the sight. She lay stretched alongside him, within the circle of one arm, totally naked but for her silk stockings, a creation designed to overwhelm his senses, resilient female curves encased in alabaster satin, her golden locks lustrous in the candlelight.

At her back, all around her, the jewelled tones of his silk shawls and cushions created a fitting bed on which she was displayed—a gem, a pearl beyond price.

His.

One part of him wanted to seize, to devour, to slake the lust that rode him. Another part noted the dreamy wonder in her eyes as from under heavy lids she watched him examining her, noted her shallow breathing, and wanted, more than anything, to open her eyes to delight, to steep her in pleasure.

The latter was more to his taste.

He bent his head, found her lips, took her mouth in a slow, drowning kiss, tightened his arm and drew her to him. Her
breath hitched as her sensitized skin came into contact with his clothes; he inwardly smiled, and drew her closer yet, let her sense the vulnerability of being naked in his arms while he, conquerorlike, remained fully clothed.

She quivered, then surrendered, opened her mouth to a long, extravagant brazen exploration, an invasion designed to spread heat through her veins, to draw her deeper into the furnace of their mutual need.

Amanda went without hesitation, without even pausing to try to gather her wits. They'd flown long ago; she was operating wholly on instinct, an instinct that insisted heaven lay this way, that together they could scale some fabulous peak and be forever changed. Forever bound.

Fused by fire, bound to each other by golden strands of feeling, by silver threads of shimmering emotion.

His blatantly sexual perusal, gaze burning under lids weighted by reined desire and a passion she could feel, had wound her nerves tight, so taut they ached with every long, slow sweep of his hands over her skin. Over her back, over her bottom; one hand explored in leisurely appraisal, the touch of a pasha learning a new slave. That wandering hand caressed her bottom, tantalizingly tracing, leaving damp heat in its wake, then drifted lower to close, cupping the back of one thigh.

He lifted her to him, held her against him and shifted his hips, letting her feel the insistent pressure of his erection against her lower stomach. Heat bloomed deep inside, flared into flame as he deliberately rocked against her.

She couldn't breathe but took her breath from him, raised her hands and framed his face, spoke to him through their kiss and urged him on. She wanted him inside her—knew it without thought, surrendered without question to the need. Yet . . .

He understood; he shifted again, tipping her back into the silk-strewn softness of the bed. It was incredibly accommodating, designed for the act. As he rose over her, she smiled blissfully; arms freed, she reached for his coat. Pressed the halves wide, temporarily trapped his arms. He frowned
slightly, but acquiesced, drawing back to strip off the coat and fling it aside.

Half sitting, she moved onto the studs securing the front of his shirt. Nimble-fingered, driven by a sense of racing urgency, she disposed of them and wrenched the linen open, then stared in open-mouthed fascination at the vista she'd uncovered.

She felt her mouth go dry. Eyes wide, she raised both hands and placed all ten fingers, splayed, over the heavy muscle band crossing his chest. Pressed her fingers in, felt his muscles shift, tense. Enthralled, she trailed her hands down, revelling in the springy hairs that wound about her fingertips. She traced through the indentation at the center of his chest, down over the ridges of his abdomen, rock-hard and rigid.

He was so hard, so hot. Heat rolled off him in waves, intensifying as, eyes dark, almost black, he reached for her.

In the instant before his lips came down on hers, she marveled at the passion blank, desire driven set of his features. Always harshly angular, in the grip of passion they seemed hewn from granite—implacable, unresistible.

Not that she thought of resisting.

She gave herself to him, wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him back with a fervor to match his, to incite his demands, to drive him on, to bind him to her. Satisfaction rushed through her as he gathered her to him, closed his arms about her and urged her back down.

Until she lay beneath him, thighs spread with him between, his hand on her breast. He drew his lips from hers and ducked his head. She lifted her arms over her head, let them fall on the silk, sighed as his lips teased her breast. Then he drew her nipple into his mouth and suckled sharply; she caught her breath on a gasp, felt her spine arch.

Felt her body react, felt an ache blossom between her thighs.

He repeated the subtle torture, soothing one breast with a knowing hand while with his mouth he teased the other, until she was gripped by a roiling unnameable need, hot, yearning, compulsive.

His lips left her breast and drifted lower, over her midriff.
She caught her breath, glanced down. Tangled her fingers in his hair and tugged.

“Your trousers. Take them off.” She had to pause to moisten her lips, met his eyes when he glanced up. Smiled like a cat. “I want to see all of you.”

His hands had strayed to her hips. For one instant, his fingers flexed, pressed in, then his grip eased. Bending his head, he returned to tracing kisses about her navel, but his hands drifted down to his waistband.

She lay back, let her lids fall, seized the moment to catch her breath, very conscious of the warmth, the building heat, the rising, rushing tide of desire. His and hers—theirs—to be shared. Totally.

He shifted and she opened her eyes, watched him rear back and strip his trousers and stockings off; he'd already kicked off his shoes. Then he was as naked as she; as he turned back to her she wished there was a mirror usefully hung, so she could see his back, the long planes narrowing to his waist and hips, the long length of his muscled legs.

He was gorgeous—all she could see met with her complete approval, but she still hadn't seen all she wished to see.

She tried to push back from him, tried to glance down, but he followed her too closely, pressing her deep into the silken cushions as he lowered his body to hers, lowered his head and took her lips in a suddenly searing kiss.

A kiss that left little doubt the time had come, that the lion had played enough and now would have his due. A tide of desire seemed to rise at his command—he sent it rushing through her and it swept her away.

Martin couldn't control the force that had claimed him, that had driven him from the moment she'd told him just what had so aroused her. He knew he should think, but couldn't, couldn't free his rational mind from the overwhelming tide of desire, stronger this time than it had ever been before, fueled by a deeper passion, swollen by a whirlpool of emotions he didn't recognize, much less understand.

All he knew was that she was as committed as he to their joining, to the satisfaction of merging their bodies, to the soul-deep pleasure they would share. All he could feel was
the driving need to be inside her, buried deeply within her luscious body, savoring the incredible sensation of her surrounding him, pleasuring his senses with the ultimate caress. With instincts trained by long experience, he'd managed to slow the tide, hold it back long enough to ease her way. But his reins had snapped in the instant he'd felt her bare thighs caress his naked flanks.

He caught her up in the kiss, pressed her back into the cushions, anchored one hand in her hair. With his hips, he pressed her thighs wide, then reached down between their bodies. His questing fingers stroked through the soft tufts of her curls; ravenous desire growled through him at the realization they were already damp.

Reaching further, he touched her, shackled his need long enough to trace the swollen folds, seized just one moment to learn her by a lover's touch, intimate and evocative. Hot wetness met his fingertips; sinking into her mouth, boldly probing with his tongue, he equally boldly opened her, then slid one long finger slowly, steadily into her soft sheath.

Her body arched lightly under his; she gasped through their kiss, then he took her mouth again, played havoc with her senses as he stroked once, twice—she clamped tight about his finger. He stroked again, then withdrew, then pressed another finger in alongside the first.

Her hips lifted, tilted; he inwardly smiled—ravenously. Overwhelmed by the kiss, senses dizzily fractured, she responded instinctively to the intimate caress, opening to his penetration, hips and thighs easing, relaxing.

He shifted, rising over her, pressing his hips deep between her thighs. Withdrawing his fingers to her entrance, he used them to guide the throbbing head of his erection into the soft, surrendering flesh. He pressed in and her slickness welcomed him. He rested there, just inside her body, and gave his attention to her mouth, demanding, commanding all her attention, enmeshing her senses . . . then he eased fractionally back and flexed his hips sharply.

Drove deep into her body with a single powerful thrust, felt the fleeting resistance of her maidenhead give way, felt
the slick, sleek heat of her enclose him, then clamp tight about his rigid length.