Wildstar

"Wh-what?" she stammered. Her tongue flicked out to wet her dry lips, drawing his gaze to her mouth.

"You have the power to grant my wish, sweet Jessie."

Slowly Devlin lay back on his bedroll, gently pulling her with him. Jess felt herself being drawn down, down, into his arms, into his gaze. His eyes were a lazy, fathom­less gray-black, and she wondered fleetingly if it were possible to drown in a man's eyes, to faint from just the wanton feel of him. She lay draped across Devlin's chest, hard against soft, soft against hard. Her breasts felt heavy and tight as they thrust against him, while the rest of her body felt weak and aroused.

"Sweet, sweet Jess," Devlin repeated in a husky whisper as he drew her lips completely down to his.

She thought she knew what to expect. He'd tutored her enough yesterday for her to be prepared for the devastating effect of his mouth . . . his wet heat, his thrusting tongue, his sheer seductiveness. . . . It was all intimately familiar to her. What was new was the overpowering need to get closer to him. His kiss filled her with such a fierce yearn­ing she couldn't begin to name all the sensations she felt. They all merged into a persistent hot ache deep inside her that somehow began and ended with Devlin.

Blindly Jess's hands sought his thick black hair, while her mouth feverishly tried to fuse with his. She couldn't remem­ber ever feeling so alive, so reckless, so free. Her body quiv­ered at the wild storm his kiss was causing. When finally he broke off and let her up for air, she didn't want to let go.

Her breath coming in soft gasps, she gazed down at him with dazed yearning. "Devlin?" she whispered, not know­ing whether she was protesting the cessation of his kiss or pleading with him to fulfill the nameless longing.

"Hush, sweet," he replied, silencing her.

His eyes were hot and smoky, like haze from a wildfire, as he rolled over with her, pressing her back against the thick yielding mat of pine needles between their bedrolls.

His mouth ate hers in small, tantalizingly brief nips as he pulled at the pins in her hair and freed the silken mass for his fingers to cherish. "Beautiful . . ." he murmured.

Jess stirred restlessly beneath him. She could feel his thigh pressing between her legs, making the ache there al­most unbearable. Without volition she arched her hips, hardly aware that the soft whimper she'd heard came from her own throat.

Devlin took advantage of her dazed state; his dexterous fingers pushed aside the lapels of her bolero, working at the buttons of her shirt.

"Devlin," Jess said shakily when she felt his fingers brush against her breasts.

"Hush, darlin'. I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

His lips found hers again, driving away thoughts and fears. His tongue was like a hot brand in her mouth, mark­ing her as his . . . demanding, possessing. She closed her eyes, unable to think about the danger of what he was doing to her, with her.

She had left off her restrictive boned corset but wore a camisole under her shirt. Carefully, with a gentleness border­ing on reverence, he pushed up the soft fabric and bared her beautiful breasts to his gaze. They were high and full and taut, the pink nipples already budding with arousal.

Bending his head, he pressed his lips against one dis­tended peak. A surprised gasp erupted from deep in Jessica's throat.

A grim smile of satisfaction curving his mouth, Devlin brought his hand up to cup the heavy underside of her breast and flicked his tongue over the swollen bud. Her gasp turned into a soft moan, while her fingers dug into the muscles

of his shoulders.

Devlin took it as an invitation to continue. Both hands came up to hold her breasts prisoner to his pleasure.

His hot mouth showed no mercy, his velvet-rough tongue doing shocking, wanton things to her breasts that Jess had never even dreamed about . . . licking, stroking, suckling. He seemed intent on driving her wild.

Even when her breath began coming in shallow gasps, Devlin wouldn't give her a moment's respite. His right hand moved downward over her body to close possessively be­neath her buttocks and draw her tightly against him. Erotically he rocked her, making slow, lazy circles with his lean hips, letting her feel the hard length of his arousal.

His passion-edged voice came to her through a dim haze of sensation. "Jess . . . what do you want me to do, honey?" His tongue traced the aureole of her nipple with tantalizing slowness.

Jess tossed her head feverishly. She didn't know what she wanted. She only knew the hot ache inside her had grown till she felt she was on fire.

Devlin experienced no such ambivalence; he knew very well what he wanted. He wanted her passionate and writh­ing. He wanted to show her the meaning of pleasure. He wanted to be the man to awaken her, the one who would set her free.

Devlin groaned at the image. He could almost feel him­self sinking into her hot welcoming flesh, feel the exquis­ite pleasure of her slick heat enveloping him.

The angry whip of a bullet at first didn't penetrate his overheated senses; it was sheer instinct for danger that made Devlin fumble for his rifle as the gunshot exploded in his ears. He felt Jess stiffen beneath him and fear clutched his heart. There was no time to ask if she'd been hit, though; in the golden light of the campfire, they made prime targets.

Grabbing desperately at the rifle with one hand, holding on to Jess with the other, Devlin prayed and started rolling . . . over and over, pulling her with him, toward the woods, away from the deadly light.

"Oh!" Jess's sharp exclamation told him at least she was alive—and she would stay that way, if he had any­thing to say about it.

They came to a bone-jarring halt at the base of a pine. Scarcely breaking momentum, Devlin twisted his body, half lunging, half crawling behind the shelter of the tree trunk, dragging Jess with him. An instant's glance showed him a dazed Jess trying to push herself up on her elbows.