Susan Amarillas (18 page)

Her breath caught on a rapid intake of air and, though her heart was pounding a frantic rhythm, her body went absolutely still, poised, waiting for him.

He didn’t disappoint her. Through the cotton of her blouse, he brushed his thumb over the peak of her breast. Once. Only once.

Her nipples pulled up into marble-hard peaks, and delicious heat radiated outward to coil tightly in the junction of her legs.

Luke’s voice was rich, and lover-soft. “I was thinking about you before you came in.”

“Were you?”

“Oh, yes.” He cupped one side of her face with his hand. “You do that to me, you know. Make me think about you...make me want you.”

She looked alarmed, as though he’d just revealed some great secret. Perhaps he had. His passionate gaze never wavered as he reached around her and removed the remaining pins from her hair. His fingers combed through the tumbling silken threads. “I always think of you with your hair down...like this...like the last time.” That quickly the memory, lush and primitive, of her naked and wild assailed his senses. The sudden swelling between his legs was strong and potent.

He hovered close, overtaking her with the sheer male power of him. His thumb teased her bottom lip, but he didn’t move. It was as though he were waiting for something, she thought, perhaps giving her a chance to change her mind, to flee this madness.

She didn’t want to flee. God help her, she wanted this. She wanted him.

Sensing her surrender, Luke gracefully dipped his head toward hers. “Rebecca...” was all he said an instant before his lips brushed hers. Desire, long denied, surged to the surface with electric clar-ity.

“Luke, please...” she managed to say, though uncertain what she was asking for.

His breath mingled with hers. “I want you, Becky.” His voice was quiet, yet tinged with urgency.

With the pads of two fingers, he turned her face up to his. “If you stay here, I’m going to make love to you. You must stop me now, or...”

His hand dropped away but his gaze sought hers and held her as surely as if he were touching her. He waited, willing her to know, to understand, that he was giving her this chance. Prepared to let her go, he wondered if a man could die of wanting a woman.

She smiled then; it was the barest curving of her lips, but all the encouragement he needed.

With infinite slowness, as though still uncertain he’d read her correctly, he lowered his head. When she made no effort to stop him, he covered her mouth with his.

The sensation of Luke’s lips on hers was startling in its intensity. His lips, warm, gentle and exploring, offered her an invitation to carnal delights. He cupped her face between his hands, the tips of his fingers threading into her hair.

With each beat of her heart, his kiss deepened, becoming more and more demanding. For Rebecca, there was no thought of resistance. There was no thought at all. She reached up to meet him, opening to him, welcoming him.

His tongue grazed her bottom lip, tracing its curve, teasing the corners of her mouth in a way that sent waves of desire pulsing through her. When his tongue demanded entrance, she eagerly obliged, feeling him lave at the tender flesh inside her lower lip.

A rhythm as old as time pulsed low in her body, and she let her tongue glide into his mouth, feeling his groan. He tensed, and, taking her firmly by the shoulders, he turned her fully toward him and pulled her against the hard plane of his bare chest.

Desire, raw and savage, exploded within her. She clung to him, her hands curving over his broad shoulders, her fingers clawing at his flesh.

Luke kissed her lips, her cheeks, her brows. He blazed a fiery path of moist kisses along her jaw, pausing to nip and lick the sensitive flesh behind her ear. Pleasure shot through him when she moaned in response.

His mouth caressed her throat and, greedily, she arched back to give him better access. His breath fanned her moistened skin, inciting her desire to greater heights, as though she’d been waiting for him all these years. Perhaps she had.

Luke knew the instant she gave in to him. The instant her muscles relaxed, the instant her body swayed toward him. He heard her moan. It was the barest of sounds, but enough to send his heart racing faster.

Sitting side by side was awkward, so he stood, pulling her up to him, desperate to feel her full length against his.

Deftly he managed to unbutton her blouse and slip it from her shoulders. His mouth quirked up in an appreciative smile. She was wearing black. Black corset. Black camisole. It was fine lace, and sheer as gauze, and he could see the crest of her hardened nipples straining at the translucent material.

“You are a temptress,” he murmured against her lips.

His mouth blazed a moist path down her throat, his teeth nipping at her flesh, then kissing away any hurt.

She shivered, trembled, and felt the coil of heat beginning to swirl and spiral inside her.

“I don’t mind being tempted,” he added, his hands already reaching for the straps of her camisole. He slid them down, returning to tug the fine material low enough to free her firm, ripe breasts above the stiff corset edge.

The cool air was like ice to her heated flesh, which made her skin prickle, her nipples pull even tighter.

“Oh, Luke...what...are you...”

“Exactly what I said. I’m making love to you,” he told her, his voice raw with emotion. Slowly, he drew the tip of her nipple into the wet, warm interior of his mouth. With tongue and teeth, he teased and enticed, until Rebecca was certain she would die of the enchantment.

He paused to move to the other breast. “Don’t stop,” she pleaded. Her hands threaded hard into his hair as she held him to her.

“Don’t worry, honey. I have no intention of stopping.”

She was dimly aware of his hands around her waist, of him lifting her and settling her on his lap. Her riding skirt bunched up around her knees and covered his wool-clad thighs.

Having her seated in front of him gave Luke better access to her mouth, her shoulders and her delicious breasts. Those dusty-rose peaks begged to be kissed.

His hands splayed over her back, he held her to him, taking his fill of her. As his tongue licked and curled around each nipple, he heard her groaning in pleasure.

His blood turned to fire as he felt her move on his lap, felt her press and squirm against his throbbing manhood, straining against the wool of his trousers.

Blindly he fumbled with the laces of her corset, cursing the double knots until they came loose. His fingers actually shook as he worked the laces free, one after the other.

She never moved, never tried to stop him. Slowly, so slowly, he pulled the laces through the eyelets. As the corset loosened, her breasts eased down, looking fuller, rounder and more even more enticing, if that was possible.

When he reached for her constricting waistband, he said, “Stand up.”

Passion-driven, she complied. Her knees wobbled a bit, and he hooked his arm around her for support.

His fingers moved to her waistband, unfastening the buttons and pushing the skirt down to pool around her stocking-clad ankles.

Blood pounded in his ears and neck as he looked at her, in her camisole and pantalets. She was all long legs and bright eyes, and the insistent throbbing of his arousal made him wonder if he could wait much longer.

With urgent hands, he cupped the contours of her buttocks and hauled her to him, wanting to feel the length of her against the length of him. She was lush and luscious and she was inflaming his desire faster than a storm moving over the wild Texas prairie.

She molded herself to him. All heated flesh and soft, throaty purring. He groaned as he captured her mouth once more, feeling his desire cresting and knowing he had to have her soon.

He pulled the tie on her pantalets and felt it ease down between them.

Rebecca felt his fingers intimately touching her like fire on her skin. The flimsy material of her camisole pulled erotically against her hard, cresting nipples, her flesh aching for his touch, his mouth.

He found the edge of the camisole and began to lift it, shirtlike, over her head. The thin lace caught on the fullness of her breasts. But Luke was not daunted. He wanted her naked. Taking her lush breasts in his hand, he lifted them and slid the material over her nipples with his other hand. He tossed it aside.

She stood naked before him, dressed only in her stockings, the smooth black silk a lush contrast to her paler skin.

Reverently, as if in prayer, he knelt before her. With exquisite slowness, his hands encircled her thigh. She gasped. Her body weak from the sensation, she clutched at his shoulders. His touch a heated caress, he rolled the silk languidly down her shapely leg. Lifting her foot, he slid the stocking off, brushing a finger across the length of her sensitive insole, making her shudder. He guided her foot to the carpet.

Thinking she could stand no more, she swayed, her nails digging into his flesh as he lifted her other foot and repeated the sensual gesture.

Her legs shaky, her muscles turned the consistency of sweet, sun-warmed honey. She swayed again. He caught her in his powerful embrace and settled her gently on the bed, apricot flesh against stark white cotton. She was an erotic vision. It would be a dream come true for him as soon as he was deep within her. He shed his trousers and joined her on the bed.

Rebecca felt his weight for an instant before he shifted upward, supporting his upper body on his elbows. The feather bed bunched up around them, shutting out everything in the room but the two of them.

Stop this now!
Rebecca’s voice of reason called, as though from a great distance.

But her body was consumed by desire, and the voice was silenced by the demands of her body.

Luke’s mouth devoured hers. Breathing was nearly impossible. Surely she didn’t need to breathe. All she needed, all she wanted, was to feel. And she did. Her body was alive with feelings so raw, so intense, so powerful, that there was no room for thought.

The mat of hair on his chest prickled the sensitized flesh of her breasts and nipples and ribs. Everywhere he touched, she was on fire.

She clutched at his shoulders, feeling the fine sheen of perspiration against her fingers. She exulted in him, every touch, every movement, stoking the flame of desire to new intensity.

Fearlessly, driven by a force more powerful than any she’d ever known, she began to move beneath him, her body too inflamed to remain still.

Her hand played down his back, touching, tracing, the corded muscles pulled wire-tight as he levered above her.

“Luke...” She clawed at him. “Luke, please...”

“I will, darlin’. I will.”

There was no more thought, no more hesitation. His mouth found her nipples once more, rougher now, and he took his pleasure in hearing her moan, feeling her buck and writhe beneath him.

His hand wedged between them, seeking the juncture of her legs. Wanting to touch her, to stoke the fire of passion, to make her ready for him.

“Open your legs,” he ordered, his voice gentle yet demanding.

She hesitated.

But his fingers stroked her body from hip to breasts and back again in a rhythmic way, his hand always pausing to caress her aching nipples, to make her moan and strain toward him, and make the tight core of longing between her legs throb and pulse ever stronger.

He nuzzled her jaw and licked the inside of her ear. This time, when she felt his hand slip between her legs, she eagerly opened them to accept his touch.

Luke’s fingers glided expertly to the center of her, feeling the slick moistness gathered there. Levered on one elbow, his leg firmly between hers, he slid two fingers into the folds of her womanhood.

Instantly she bucked and grabbed for his wrist, but he stroked her again, and she groaned in pleasure, her hand dropping back to her side, her legs opening wider.

Lightly he ran his fingers over the sweet wetness of her, watching the play of emotions on her face, watching passion draw her mouth down.

“Is it better there?” he whispered next to her ear. “Or...there?”

She whimpered her answer.

“Ah,” he murmured, and stroked the spot, deeper and more fully. “There.”

“Oh, yes,” she told him through clenched teeth. “There. Please. There.”

She bucked and twisted and clutched handfuls of the bedding as he teased her relentlessly, his own passion increasing with every touch.

She moved against his hand, pressing hard against his skilled fingers. He knew the release her body was seeking. His arousal was hard and pulsing and pressed hard against her hip as his own body begged for release.

He felt her movements increase, and knew she was close. He needed to be inside her when she reached her orgasm, needed to feel her convulse around him.

In one motion, he slid his hand free and moved between her legs.

His throbbing erection was poised at the entrance to her heated core, the wetness clinging to his aching tip. She moved then, straining up toward him, her hands at his hips, pulling him to her.

He thrust into her, feeling her sticky wetness surround him as he glided fully into her. He withdrew and thrust again, testing, coaxing, wanting her to match him in need and pleasure.

She was wild beneath him, arching her back to take more of him inside her. Her hardened nipples brushed against the plane of his chest, her hands roamed his back from shoulder to buttocks and back again.

With each touch, each movement, the flame inside him grew until it was like a prairie fire, hot and impossible to stop.

His mouth took hers roughly, twisting, slanting, demanding, and she met him, biting at his lip, sucking at his invading tongue.

Too many days, and far too many nights, had fueled his desire. He could wait no longer.

His thrusts became bold, full, reaching for the depths of her. Again and again he pounded into her, and she rose up to meet him each time.

Her breathing was ragged. His was nearly nonexistent. She took all he offered, and demanded more. She touched and kissed and nipped at his shoulder. She was feverish and wild, and he felt the first tiny tremors of her orgasm. He knew it would be only seconds. He withdrew fully and plunged into her with a slow, deliberate thrust that made her cry out her pleasure.