Wildstar

His narrowed look followed every shock, every startled reaction in her face, taking in the cloud of tawny hair, her flushed cheeks, her trembling mouth. He was flooded with fiercely masculine satisfaction and a desire so violent he ached. He wanted her so badly .he thought he might ex­plode just from touching her. All he could think about was how tight and hot and wet she would be on his throbbing shaft.

He lowered his head again, his hungry mouth covering hers, hard and compelling, kissing her with a fierceness that stopped her breath, while his bold fingers continued their determined arousal.

Jess lost the ability to speak, to reason. She felt the stroking thrusts of his tongue in the depths of her body, a carnal imitation of the stroking fingers between her thighs. The world was reduced to his hot mouth, his thrusting tongue, his erotic hand.

She moaned into his mouth, a panicky, anguished sound, which Devlin answered with a deep-throated mas­culine growl. His fingers plied her weeping flesh merci­lessly, back and forth, in and out, rubbing, probing, tor­menting.

Jess squirmed wildly against him, seeking release from the terrible, exquisite tension. Her nails frantically raked his shoulders while her hips strained feverishly against the imprisoning caress of his hand.

They seemed the acts of a stranger. This couldn't be her, making these little whimpering sounds of feminine need, feeling this desperate wanting, this raw frenzy. This wasn't her. She couldn't be doing this.

A low sob rolled from her throat as she tore her lips from Devlin's.

"I don't . . . want this . . ." Jess panted with a last at­tempt at sanity.

"No? You want it lying down? I can oblige, angel."

His brazen fingers left her abruptly, yet he didn't release her. Instead, he bent and scooped her up in his arms. Jess gave a startled cry, but the impatient heat of his mouth on hers again silenced any possible protest.

She no longer wanted to protest, though. Her body had caught fire. Every muscle and nerve she possessed trem­bled and ached with need. She wanted to scream with the violence of it. Her fingers clenched* in his thick sable hair, anchoring Devlin's lips to hers.

Kissing her hard, he strode to the bed, laying her on the yellow-patterned quilt. His eyes fiercely primitive, he cov­ered her with his body, one powerful knee wedged be­tween her thighs, pressing hard against her woman's mound.

"I'm going to have you in a real bed," he promised hoarsely, "the way it should have been the first time."

His lips were both tender and harsh as he assaulted her mouth again, yet it was only a score of heartbeats before the fierceness left him. His kisses turned hungry, needy.

Jess felt the difference, gloried in the difference. The stranger was gone; her dark lover had returned. His lips were the same lips that had offered her comfort and ec­stasy in a night of darkness and fear, his kisses the same devastating kisses. He was here with her, desiring her, needing her, loving her. She clutched at his hair, trying to get closer, trying to tell him with her body that she needed him, too.

In some distant corner of her mind, she felt Devlin shudder against her. Then he drew back with a sharp inha­lation.

"Damn, I want you," he muttered raggedly.

"Devlin . . ." she breathed in return.

He shut his eyes tightly, fighting for control—but he knew he'd already lost it, the way he always did with her. Only Jess could stop him now.

She wasn't even trying. She lay with her eyes closed, her hands reaching for him, her wet, passion-bruised lips parted. She was hot and e

xcited and oblivious to anything but their lovemaking, and the knowledge made him rigid with longing.

Fumbling with the buttons of his trousers and drawers, Devlin freed himself and shoved up her endless skirts. He felt near to bursting, and knew he would burst if he didn't have her now. Pushing apart the folds of cloth between her parted thighs, he thrust his burning shaft into her, groaning aloud with pleasure, with shattering relief, as her moist tightness swallowed him.

At his savage entrance, Jess gave a soft cry and arched wildly beneath him. He clutched her to him, drove deep inside her, hard and fast, taking her as if she were an ex­perienced whore and not the innocent young virgin he'd taught to know passion just a few nights ago. Yet Jess met his every thrust, her hips moving in fervent response, hun­gry and unashamed. She hadn't known love could be so furious, that it could be like riding the edge of a dark, wild pleasure. He was all taut and fierce and driving. He was her world—mating, claiming, filling, surrendering, pump­ing into her with mindless, blinding need.

"Oh, God . . . Jess. . . ."

The sudden possessive explosion took them both by sur­prise. She sobbed his name as with one last strong plunge the peak burst on him helplessly, savagely. She heard his choked sounds against her ear, the side of her face, passion tearing from him in hoarse gasps. Then together they were convulsing and tumbling and falling into a dark chasm of ecstasy.

In the heated aftermath, the tortured sounds of their breathing filled the small room. Collapsing, Devlin buried his face in her damp throat and lay there panting, while the sweet, piercing pleasure slowly dissipated, leaving behind a glow of sated warmth.

He should regret what had happened just now. He should be cursing himself and giving Jess the apology he'd insisted he didn't owe her. He'd never behaved so sav­agely toward any woman. He couldn't remember a time when he'd lost control with a woman, wanting her so badly he'd buried himself inside her like a maddened kid. Always before he'd made it a practice to act the consum­mate lover, pleasing his bed partners as he expected to be pleased. He'd never been so angry that he'd lost every shred of civilized behavior and decency.

But then he'd never met a woman who questioned his integrity, his honor. He'd never met Jessica Sommers.

Just then she stirred beneath him with a small moan. Devlin froze at that slightest movement of her hips. It star­tled him, the sharp renewed hunger that surged through his body. He wanted her again, and he hadn't even recovered from the devastating climax he'd just shared with her. That was something else he'd never experienced with any other woman—that shattering explosion that left in its wake an even more shattering sense of completeness.

In response to her plaintive movement, though, he eased his weight onto his elbows, sparing her the crushing heav­iness of his embrace, yet not relinquishing the hot, moist sheath that still enveloped him. He couldn't bring himself to be that noble.