The shape of his wicked hands branded her and made her gasp. Then abruptly his fingers curved over the neckline of her gown and ripped the buttons away, rending the fragile fabric to bare her breasts.
His wildness found an answering chord in Tess. She moaned when he bent his head and circled a nipple with his rasping tongue. And when he sucked the pebbled peak into his mouth, she arched into his hands, straining for his touch.
Her senses were knife sharp and almost as painful; the need to be joined with him was unrelenting. Unconsciously, her hips began to move, grinding against the bulge at his groin, her body urging him to fill her.
Thankfully, Ian responded to her need. Her naked breast still in his mouth, he rucked up the skirt of her nightdress and cupped the heat between her thighs. She felt her own slickness as his fingers rimmed her cleft, seeking and finding the throbbing bud of her desire and making her moan again.
She was shaking now, Tess realized. Feeling frenzied, she fumbled at the front flap of his breeches, but Ian pushed her hands away impatiently and swiftly unbuttoned his breeches himself, releasing his manhood. The swollen arousal surged into her hand, thick and hard and pulsing.
Tess sighed with relief and anticipation.
Abandoning her breasts then, Ian slid his hands under her buttocks and lifted her. His breath thickened as he spread her thighs wider with his own and bent his legs so that he could part her moist flesh with his shaft.
When he thrust inside her in one, long, sleek motion, Tess gasped, overwhelmed by each thick inch stretching her, filling her until the pressure was beyond exquisite.
Her longing was raw-edged, nearly out of control.
When she tilted her hips, drawing him deeper, Ian penetrated her even more fully and took possession of the rhythm, stroking inside her again and again, igniting sparks of pure passion.
She shuddered with ecstasy and knew it spurred him on.
“Tess …” His thick voice was hoarse with desire, a plea and demand both.
In answer, she wrapped her arms tightly about his neck and her legs around his hips as she struggled to drag air into her lungs. Her body welcomed him with frenzied need, savoring the power of him as he withdrew only to impale her again.
Their lovemaking was almost frantic. His fingers clenching on her bare buttocks, he stared into her eyes and drove harder, faster, the corded fabric of his breeches chafing her inner thighs with a friction that only heightened the ruthless sensations tearing through her. Ian’s eyes burned bright, hunger sharpening his features as he pounded into her. He wasn’t gentle, yet Tess craved his violent intensity, for she felt it herself.
This wasn’t a fight, wasn’t a battle. This was confirmation of life. This was gratitude and relief and reassurance. This was passion at its most elemental … a passion that threatened to burst inside her at any moment.
Caught in the tempest of desire, Tess blindly found his mouth. Ian answered rapaciously, kissing her with fierce need, as if he couldn’t get enough of her, meeting urgency with hunger, heat with fire. His tongue plunged into her mouth like the driving rhythm of his flesh sheathed deep in the burning-hot core of her body.
Their hips thrust together wildly until abruptly the heat exploded in an incendiary rush of flame.
Her cry was nearly a scream, his groan a shout as he poured his seed into her.
The searing wave finally crested, then slowly, slowly calmed. Eventually, Ian sagged against her and gathered her close. Tess heard the air rasping in his throat, but it was a long while before he stirred enough to lift one hand to her cheek.
The sweep of his finger was a whisper as he gave a hoarse, tender laugh. “I confess I never expected such a welcome reception.”
Tess felt another kind of heat flood her body, this one of scalding embarrassment. Chagrined to have flung herself at Ian in that desperate way, she tried to make light of her hunger.
“You should not read too much into my response, your grace. I was merely celebrating now that the danger is over. A release of tension, nothing more.”
“Is that all?” he murmured skeptically, his lips nuzzling her ear.
“Of course. I was concerned that you might have been shot.”
He hesitated a moment. “Should I be flattered, love?” he drawled. “I never thought you would care enough to worry about my fate.”
Tess started to reply in that same flippant tone, but then fell silent.
She cared, she realized, her heart sinking with a different kind of dread.
She cared far too much.
I was mistaken to think I could escape with my heart unscathed.
—Diary Entry of Miss Tess Blanchard