Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

He swore at her stubborn resistance, then parting her lips with the tip of his tongue, he plundered her mouth with unrestrained passions.

Emma’s pulse raced as his tongue slipped into her mouth and, arching against the hardness of his chest, she shoved her fingers into the thick satin of his hair. He groaned, wrapping her in his arms as he urged her backward. Still holding her mouth captive, he tumbled them both onto the wide divan.

All thoughts were lost as he landed on top of her, his heart beating a rapid tattoo against her tender breasts.

He should have been too heavy, too overwhelming, too…male. Instead, she savored the feel of being pressed into the velvet cushions and the rough scrape of his hair against her skin.

This was no gentle seduction. No sweet love play.

This was a raw craving that refused to be denied.

“Emma…” Breathing heavily, he brushed heated kisses over her face, his hands outlining the curve of her hips. “It has been too long.”

It had been too long. Far too long, she admitted to herself, arching beneath him in a silent plea for relief from the need clawing deep inside her.

“Then why are you wasting our time together with conversation?” she demanded, her voice strained.

He growled, his mouth trailing down her throat and over the upper curve of her breasts. Emma had no notion where her brazen manner was coming from, but she was too impatient to worry over it. She had spent too many nights dreaming of being in Dimitri’s arms to squander a moment.

“As you wish, moya dusha,” he rasped, his hands shifting to cup her breasts so he could ravage them with his lips and tongue and teeth.

She cried out in pleasure, her legs parting so he could settle between them. The hard length of his arousal pressed against her inner thigh. She shuddered, already damp with longing.

“Dimitri.”

“Patience,” he urged, his lips moving down the soft swell of her stomach, his hands slipping beneath her backside to lift her to his seeking mouth.

“Dear…Lord,” she breathed, trembling beneath the onslaught of sensations.

He was wicked, decadent and as beautiful as a bronzed god in the flickering firelight.

What woman could possibly resist?

Certainly not Emma.

Biting her lower lip to keep her moans from filling the harem, she felt Dimitri shift until his mouth could nibble on the flesh of her inner thigh, his hands holding her still as she squirmed in pleasure.

His lips stroked ever higher, at last finding the very source of her desire. She closed her eyes in appreciation, her fingers clutching his hair as he stroked his tongue through the heart of her femininity.

Her head spun and her soft pants filled the air. That exquisite pleasure was beginning to build in her lower belly and still he continued with his caresses. Over and over he teased the tiny nub, seeming to take delight in her muffled groans.

At last she tugged at his hair, hovering on the edge of pure bliss.

“Please,” she begged, her voice barely recognizable.

His head lifted to meet her dazed gaze, his eyes glowing with a fierce craving.

“What would you have of me, Emma?”

Your love.

The words whispered through her mind only to be roughly shoved aside.

She would not ruin this night with impossible dreams.

“I need you,” she whispered.

“Yes.”