Windswept (29 page)

She offered her mouth, and he took it. When her tongue greeted his, when she made a small purr of agreement, when her body went pliant, the hunger he’d been suffering burst its bonds and erupted into ravenous starvation. He greedily thrust his tongue hard into her mouth, to claim, to devour, to possess.

And found himself possessed in return. She returned his kiss with a wild passion, an aggression, an avarice to match his own.

He slid one hand around her neck and behind her head, threading his fingers through her curls to hold her still. The other, he ran up her back, then down to press her hips even tighter against his rock-hard arousal. And he took the kiss deeper still, down to the hot darkness where only need and want and desire existed.

How long they stood, wrapped in each other’s arms, he didn’t know.

It wasn’t long enough. He could stand here, kissing her, forever.

No, it was too long. The compulsion to see her, touch her, smell her, taste her without the barriers of clothing grew strong, stronger, then overwhelmed him.

He raised his head enough to free his lips. “Barrett,” he whispered.

“Davis,” she breathed the word more than said it.

“Come to bed with me.”

“Yes-s-s-s.” She tried to pull his head down into another kiss.

He resisted. He wanted much more. “Come,” he said.

He stepped back, took her hand and led her toward his bedroom above the office wing. He opened the door and drew her inside, down the long room to his big bed against the far wall. The bedside lamp he’d fortunately left on cast a warm glow and gave him what he wanted--the ability to see her, all of her. When they reached the bed, he brought her back into his arms and looked down into her heavy lidded eyes. The passion, the desire in them staggered him. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. She was his woman, he knew it in his heart and his soul.

Barrett gazed back at the black eagle before her. He was so fierce, so intent, so concentrated on her. In return, she could look nowhere except at him. Her mind had no room for thoughts of her surroundings or anything else except her need for him. His kiss mesmerized her. His touch ignited her blood. She wanted him with every ounce of her being. She’d never felt like this before, so focused on, so needful of anyone. She had to have more.

Running her hands up his shirt front and around his neck, she pulled him down into another kiss. Davis could kiss like no man she’d ever known. She was becoming addicted to his warm, pliant mouth on hers, their tongues dancing, his mustache tickling and enhancing each caress. She indulged herself and kissed him back with all the fervor she was feeling inside.

But kissing quickly became no longer totally satisfying. She wanted, needed, yearned to touch his bare skin, stroke the hard muscles moving under his shirt, be warmed by the heat of his body, and realize the wonder of coming together without any barriers.

Without breaking their kiss, she pushed at his shoulders and then at his jacket until he loosened the steel bands of his arms and shrugged off the coat. The motion moved them apart, but only long enough for him to whip off his loosened tie. Between small, tantalizing kisses, she went to work with trembling fingers on his shirt buttons. He took care of his cuff links, pulled the opened shirt out of his pants and off. Breathing heavily, he stood still, and she could at last touch his bare skin.

“Mmmmm,” she hummed. Better. She splayed her hands across his broad, hard chest, through the dark curly hair. She leaned in, inhaled--oh, he smelled so good--and kissed his skin just above his solar plexus.

He shivered, cupped her head in his large hands, tilted her head back, and kissed her until she thought she’d explode. Then he released her lips and murmured, “My turn.”

She was the one to shiver as he reached behind her and unzipped her dress. He took a step back, grasped the shoulder straps, and drew the dress down to her waist, then over her hips. When he let it go, it pooled around her shoes. He looked her up and down, his glance almost a physical caress as it traveled over her lacy strapless bra, panties and thigh-high hose.

He slid his hands from her waist, behind her again, and released the back catch of her bra. As it fell away, he straightened and his gaze dropped to her bare breasts. His eyes gleaming, he looked for a long moment before reaching out to cup them gently. With his touch, she felt them grow heavy and tight, their peaks pebble and swell. Then he weighed them, flicked their nipples with his thumbs, and the intense tingling sensation spreading through her from those two points stole her breath. She closed her eyes and heard herself whimper.

When he bent and kissed first one tip, then the other, she had to grip his shoulders to remain upright. When he took one nipple in his mouth and suckled, she rose on tiptoe to offer him more. When he transferred his attentions to the other, she moaned, arched against him, held up only by her clinging hands.

By the time he pulled back, kissed his way up her neck to her mouth, she could only hang on. And want more.

He bent, picked her up, and placed her on the big, high bed. Leaning over her on braced arms, he kissed her, another hungry but too short kiss. Then he straightened and ran his hands down her rib cage to her waist and lower to her thighs. After he removed her shoes, hosiery, and panties--so slowly she thought she’d burst from anticipation and the slide of his warm hands on her legs--he stood again, and his gaze roamed her body as if committing it to memory.

She made no attempt to cover herself; she felt no need for modesty with him. She did have a need to see all of him, however, and she did her own share of looking as he removed the rest of his clothes. Within seconds, he stood before her, wonderfully nude, his sex jutting proudly toward her.

He was beside her before she had seen her fill, but it was all right. In fact, it was more like heaven when, lying on his side, he took her into his arms. He thrust his top leg between hers and hugged her tight. For a long moment, they simply held each other, cheek to cheek, hardly moving at all. She felt giddy from inhaling his scent--woodsy aftershave and musky man.

Oh, how glorious to touch along the entire length of their naked bodies, to entwine around each other, to feel his searing heat warm her down to the marrow in her bones. How marvelous to run her hands over his hard back, his firm buttocks, to sense the strength in his muscles, in the man himself. How exquisite to feel his hand kneading, first her breast, then her bottom, then sliding down and up the entire length of her leg.

He lifted his head, and she felt fever rise within her as she met his darkened eyes. Their lips came together, and their kiss turned from merely hungry to voracious in a flash. Wildfire burst forth in her blood. She was liquefying, flowing into a molten lake of desire.

When he left her lips, made his hot, openmouthed way down her neck to her breast, and laved, then dropped kisses all around the areola, she groaned. When he rubbed his mustache across the aching tip and then suckled hard, she arched against him with a wordless cry.

It was too much. No, it was not enough. More.

He turned his attentions to her other breast and she writhed, pushing her hips against his when she felt his slick, damp penis slide against her wet core. He shifted, moving over her, turning her onto her back as he knelt between her legs. Braced on stiff arms above her, he kissed his way up from her breasts and found her mouth again.

His move gave her access to his chest, and she rubbed and kneaded, traced his hard muscles, tested the resiliency of his skin, brought his flat nipples to tight pinpoints. He seemed almost to purr at her ministrations. She reached lower.

When her fingers closed around him, he lifted his mouth, went still, watched what she was doing. She caressed him, measured his thickness, his length with her fingertips, then took him between her palms. She could feel his blood pulsating; hers beat in unison. She squeezed gently and he grew longer, harder. She felt her own sex swell, ache, long for him. She raised her hips, searching for him.

“Wait,” he grated as he sat back, captured her hands and brought them to either side of her head. He let her go, leaned over to the night stand, opened the top drawer, pulled out protection and swiftly applied it.

He shifted again, back to his original position, but braced on one hand.

With his free hand, he fondled her breast, then moved lower, over her nest of curls to her swollen folds. He raised his eyes to hers as his finger found the engorged knot of nerve endings under its hood. When he rubbed it, she gasped as all her muscles tensed. When he pressed it, her hips bucked of their own accord. When he stroked lower, she wrapped her legs around his hips and rose to meet him.

Their gazes locked, he withdrew his fingers, positioned himself and pressed in. And in, and in. She felt herself stretching as the broad head of his erection slid into her. Stretching more as he filled her so slowly.

And finally he was in, to the hilt. She was panting, as was he. Poised above her, he looked triumphant. She felt the same.

“Hold on,” he said, his voice low and rough. She raised her hands to his shoulders, grasped tightly. Then, staring into her eyes, he began to move, again slowly, almost out, all the way in, almost out, all the way in.

She could feel her internal tension increase and her muscles clasp him tighter with each stroke as he increased his rhythm, but only in small increments. She could see in the rigidity of his face and feel in the tightness of his body the price his control was costing.

But she didn’t want control. She wanted heat, passion, the Davis she knew lurked beneath his granite surface. She wanted all that and more. She wanted him. Now.

She reached her hands around his head and pulled him down and herself up and into a ferocious kiss. He seemed as solid as stone for a second, but when he groaned and his tongue thrust possessively into her mouth, she knew she had succeeded in breaking the bonds of his restraint. Beyond hunger, they both feasted, he as ravenous as she. His taking only increased her need to give. His giving only led her to take more.

They broke the kiss. They had to, to breathe. Instead, they stared into each other’s eyes, and the thought flashed through her mind: his concentrated attention was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen.

She tightened herself around him--once, twice. Her movement triggered something in him and he began to drive into her, faster, harder, deeper. As determined to take him as he was to have her, she rose to meet him. Their bodies pounded together, and the powerful force of his thrusts almost lifted her off the mattress. Her legs wrapped around him, she rode him as much as he did her.

Yes, this was what she wanted. Power, fire, ferocity. She let herself go, surrendered to the increasing tempo, to the building tension, to the man above her. Her body clasped his tight, then tighter, and she cried out as she shattered beneath him and tumbled into ecstasy.

Through a haze, she felt him thrust even harder, faster, more urgently, then lock himself to her as he climaxed. Then he gave a low groan, his arms buckled, and he relaxed on top of her.

As his breathing slowed and his heartbeat returned to normal, Davis came back to himself. His head was on the pillow next to Barrett’s, his nose in her hair and his lips barely an inch from her earlobe. Her hands caressed his back and her legs were wrapped around his hips. He was still buried deep inside her.

God Almighty, what a ride. He had never lost control like that in his life, taken a woman like a berserker. He’d never had such a lover before either--one who gave of herself so completely, who urged him on so demandingly, who wrung him out so thoroughly. He inhaled and smelled a light floral perfume, warm woman, and hot sex. He could stay here forever.

He nuzzled her neck, kissed her earlobe. She squirmed slightly, and he tugged on her dangling earring to provoke another twitch. He’d taken everything off her except her jewelry, and the thought of her wearing only precious metals and gems appealed to him--probably to his baser, more primitive instincts.

When she wriggled and trailed her fingernails down his back, he realized he must be heavy. But he couldn’t resist just a couple of seconds more of bliss. He knew his time was up when she gave him a hug with arms, legs, and the muscles sheathing his cock.

He raised up on his elbows and looked down into her face. She wore a sober expression, but her eyes were big and blue and soft, and when he kissed her lips, he felt her smile against him. He smiled back when he lifted his head.

“Stay the night with me,” he murmured. “I want to wake up with you in the morning.” He gave her what he hoped was a persuasive kiss.

She smiled again, ran her hands up and down his ribcage, seemed to be considering his request. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head and he watched her practicality resume control of her mind. For a moment he was afraid she’d refuse, but she finally said, “I’d like it, too. I need to wash my face, though, and take off my jewelry.”

“Fine.” He kissed her again, had to stop himself from eating her up as desire unexpectedly woke again. He wasn’t surprised at its return, rather at its speed. He shrugged mentally; just more proof of how much he wanted her. He rose on hands and knees and withdrew from her body. They both made little sounds; was she as sorry as he was to be disconnected?

After he got off the bed, she sat up and looked around. Her eyes grew bigger as she took in his bedroom furnishings, but she didn’t say anything, only climbed down.

“I’ll take care of this--” he said, waving at his lower body, “--and meet you back here. Okay?”

“Okay.” She nodded.

When he came out of his bathroom, she hadn’t returned, but her clothes were missing from the floor. He picked up his own, hung up the suit and tie and put the rest in the hamper. He was turning back the bedspread when she came in.

He couldn’t help but smile. She was wearing a huge, ugly, faded multicolored robe. It missed dragging on the floor by only an inch, and although she had rolled up the sleeves, her hands barely peeked out past the cuffs. It was the least seductive garment he’d ever seen. Then his body let him know she could be wearing a barrel and it wouldn’t matter.