Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(48)

He broke the kiss. Her chest rose and fell with each savage breath that shuddered free of her lungs. His eyes glittered at her in the dark, twin spots of gleaming light.

“What are you doing here?” A senseless question, she knew as he gathered her nightgown against her hips.

“I think it’s clear what I’m doing.” In a single, swift move, he pulled the nightgown over her head. Night air rushed over her and she shivered. “Finishing what we’ve begun,” he breathed against her temple, stirring the fine hairs there. Her heart leapt in her too-tight chest.

She managed a strangled sound, a gurgled affirmation. With every fiber of her being she wanted this. Needed this. It would be all she had of him, of passion.

She would seize it and not regret a moment.

His large hand cupped her bottom and lifted her high against him, snuggling her against his prodding erection. That hand rounded the curve of her bottom, sliding lower, fingers teasing, probing her entrance and ripping a gasp from her throat at the intimate touch.

Then she was falling. His body came down over hers, surrounding her, pinning her to the bed. Instinctively her legs parted wide, allowing him to settle deeper against her. There was no fear. Only desire. Their mouths fused together, a hot, wet melding of lips and tongues, of nips and long, deep drinks from their mouths.

The dam broke at last and she let herself go, reveled in his mouth, his tasting tongue, his hands on her body. Even without marriage, without his love, she could have him, have this.

An incredible sense of freedom, of power, seized her, and her hands flew to his trousers. Following her instincts and the deep pull of desire in her pounding blood, she closed her hand around his hard length.

His groan emboldened her. She sighed at the silken feel of him. A shudder ran through him and vibrated within her as she stroked him—slowly, hesitantly at first, then in long, firm strokes that made him breathe harder. Her own breathing increased, grew into ragged pants.

She rubbed her thumb over the tip of him, delighted at his low groan, at the bead of moisture that rose up to kiss her thumb and coat the head of him.

“What are you doing to me?” He tangled a hand in her hair and dragged her mouth to his for a searing kiss. Meanwhile her hand worked over him, feeling, fondling, caressing, and exploring that part of him which fascinated her and fed her hunger.

Releasing him, she shoved his chest with the flat of her palms. He fell back on the bed. She hovered over him for a moment, wishing she could see the magnificence of his body in the dark chamber. Memory would have to serve.

Hands fumbling in her excitement, she removed his shirt, glad he’d already discarded the rest of his garments.

She traced the ridges of muscles along his stomach, the outline of each rib. Dipping her head, she tasted him, licking her way down his hard chest and tracing the thin line of hair along his navel.

She stopped, perched uncertainly over him.

The rasp of his breath filled the air, encouraging her. “Take me in your mouth.”

Clasping him in one hand, she placed a kiss at the tip of him.

“Grier,” he croaked in a voice she had never thought to hear from him. Vulnerable. Lost. Totally at her mercy. It thrilled her. Aroused and prompted her as nothing else ever could. Slowly, as if he were the most delectable piece of fruit she had ever sampled, she licked him fully.

His body jerked almost as if in pain.

She released him and turned her face toward him. He sat perched on his elbows, his face tilted toward her in the gloom. “Did I hurt you?”

In response, he clamped down on her arms with his warm hands. Before she could draw a breath she was on her back and he was over her.

The sensation of their naked bodies, all smooth, bare skin sliding sinuously together, left her breathless. Air choked within her throat at the slide of his chest against her breasts. His dark head dipped, his mouth a hot drag down her arching neck.

As his large hand surrounded her breast, her head flew off the pillow, a gurgled cry exploding from her lips. She was undone, utterly ruined for him. As she writhed and panted beneath him, her body afire, her hands clutched the slick flesh of his straining biceps.

Soft pleas spilled from her mouth. For him to make it end . . . to never stop.

At the first touch of his mouth to her breast, she bucked beneath him, overcome. She went utterly still, shocked at the sensations rippling through her as he took her nipple deep into his mouth.

Hunger pulled deep in her belly. She threaded her fingers in his hair, squirming beneath him with building frustration, needing, wanting, craving, desperate for something more.

His warm hand trailed between them, delving between her legs, sliding expertly between her quivering thighs.

“I’ve dreamed of this, Grier. Dreamed of you,” he murmured against her breast, his thumb stroking and pressing at a secret hidden spot she never knew existed before. She lurched against him, shuddering in his arms.

He moved his face up to hers. “I can wait no more.”

She nodded, speechless, too overcome as spasms racked her body.

And then he was driving into her, so deep, so fully.

She gasped at the intense pressure. It should have hurt; it probably did. He was large and pulsing inside her, but he filled that gnawing, clenching ache in such a way that she didn’t care. She felt whole, complete at last.

His mouth slammed over hers as he plunged in and out of her body, mating with her body so fiercely, so thoroughly, she doubted she would ever be the same again.