When Strangers Marry (Vallerands #1)(46)

A muffled laugh escaped him, and he rolled away from her.

“No,” she panted. “Max, let me—”

“Not yet.” His voice was soft and rough with passion. “I’ll give you satisfaction, petite… but not yet.”

She climbed over him with feminine determination, crushing her br**sts into the thick black fleece on his chest. Her mouth caught at his, and she pressed against his long body in an effort to sabotage his self-control. For a few scorching moments, Max allowed her to make love to him, his large hands sliding over her back and bu**ocks. Soon, however, he rolled her over and pinned her arms to her sides.

“Let me touch you,” Lysette implored, her fingers digging into the mattress.

He ignored her, his thighs wedging between hers.

“Max,” she groaned, “I need to touch you. Let go of my hands, please, I have to feel you….”

His mouth wandered from the fine vault of her ribs to her stomach, until the muscles of her abdomen tightened exquisitely. His tongue entered the hollow of her navel with a soft swirl. Her wrists strained against his grasp, and she gasped sharply. He continued to tease and stroke, until she was sweating and rigid beneath him. His mouth drifted lower, moving languidly over her stomach.

She was shocked to feel his lips venture near the triangle between her thighs. “Max,” she moaned as his long fingers combed gently through the curls. Catching her salty female scent, he inhaled deeply. Lysette wanted to die at the unbearable intimacy, and her hands went to his head, fingers sliding into his rain-soaked hair. “Don’t,” she gasped, trying to push him away.

“You said I could do anything.” His fingers searched the delicate entrance to her body.

“I didn’t know what I was saying. I didn’t think… Oh, God.”

He had done the unimaginable, his mouth invading the tender cleft, his tongue thrusting past the sensitive inner lips. She sobbed and clutched at the wet dark head nestled between her thighs. He searched her hungrily, his hands clamping over her h*ps to hold her still. With each lap and stroke and flick of his tongue, her innocence dissolved like melting sugar. Soon his attentions centered on the erect little peak that throbbed with yearning. He drew her into the soft suction of his mouth, pulling rhythmically at her vulnerable flesh.

Lysette pulled her knees back in a desperate, shameless plea. Taking pity on her, Max flicked her with light, swift strokes of his tongue, while his middle finger found the opening to her body and slid deep inside. She cl**axed with a harsh gasp, her knees closing around his head, her body shaking with pleasure. His mouth remained on her for a long time afterward, his tongue nurturing every last quiver of delight, until she was limp and boneless beneath him.

Rising over her, Max positioned himself between her spread legs and entered her in a swift thrust. He filled her completely, stretching her, sliding until he could go no farther. Lysette bit her lip and arched at the painful intrusion of his hard flesh, her hands fisting against his back.

Max stopped immediately. “Does it hurt?” He took her head in his hands, his salt-flavored mouth brushing over hers. “I’m sorry, ma petite. I’ll try to be careful. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t stop,” she moaned, wrapping herself around him.

Max made a rough sound and began to thrust inside her carefully, trying not to hurt her. He kissed her br**sts, her mouth, seeming to lose awareness of everything but her. His violent panting contrasted sharply with the easy motion of his hips, and she realized what a tight restraint he had placed on himself. She pressed her face into the damp satiny curve of his neck. “I knew it would be like this,” she whispered, caressing his iron-hard back. His skin was slippery with rain and sweat. “I knew how gentle you would be. Don’t hold back. I want all of you.”

The words seemed to push him over the edge. He groaned and impaled her deeply, his large body jerking against hers. She gasped in delight as his silky-hard flesh throbbed inside her. Strange, that she could feel so vulnerable and yet so strong, with her body filled and weighted and surrounded by the man she loved. Stranger still, that she had finally yielded herself to him without knowing whether he loved her in return. She wanted to give him as much of herself as she could, with no conditions or expectations.

Max rolled to his side and gathered her against his chest. Purring, Lysette insinuated one of her thighs between his, loving the heat and texture of his body. The smell of the storm came in through the partially opened window, mingling headily with the musky spice of damp skin and sex.

Max’s hand drifted over her breast. His voice was deep and languid. “It will be better the next time, I promise.”

“I hope not.” Lysette stroked the side of his waist, her fingers wandering to the line where sun-darkened skin faded into the paler territory of his hip. “I’m not certain that I could survive anything better than that.”

A laugh stirred in his chest, and his lips pressed against her hair. “What a passionate little wife you are,” he whispered.

“More passionate than your placée?”

Max went still at the question. “There is no comparison between you and Mariame, ma chère. I have never desired anyone, nor found such pleasure with anyone, as I have with you.”

“You do care for Mariame, though, oui?”

“Of course. She has been a kind and generous friend. I owe a great deal to her.”