A Rake's Vow (Cynster 2)

She gasped again, and closed her eyes. He pressed farther, deeper.

Then he stroked her-inside-deep within, where she was all slick and hot and so full of desire. So full of molten passion. A passion he stirred, deliberately inciting, stoking that inner furnace.

On a shuddering moan, Patience felt herself melt, felt her senses soar.

Vane heard her, felt her surrender-and inwardly smiled, a touch grimly. She was trying his demons to the utmost; by now, most women new to the game would have gone over the edge, or, more likely, been so overcome by need that they would be begging him to take them. Not Patience. She'd let him bare her completely, without any maidenly confusion-she seemed to enjoy writhing naked beneath him as much as he enjoyed having her do so. And now, when even accomplished ladies might be expected to break, she was floating-taking all he lavished on her and waiting for more.

He gave her more, learning her intimately, filling his male senses with her feminine secrets. Slowly, he drove her upward, turning the wheel of the rack of sensual excitement with practiced ease.

Still, she didn't break. She gasped, moaned, and arched-and her eager body begged for yet more. Her needs were not those of the ladies he was accustomed to; as he took her further still, that was brought home beyond doubt. Patience was older, more mature, more sure of her own self. She was not, he realized, the innocent he had labeled her-strictly speaking, she didn't, in fact, have very much of that commodity. She knew enough to know what they were doing, and to have made her decision.

And it was that that was different. Her character and its consequences. She was straightforward, assured, used to taking what experiences life had to offer. To picking and choosing among the fruits of life's tree. And she'd chosen. Deliberately. This-and him.

That was what was different.

Vane looked at her-at her face lightly flushed with desire, at her eyes, glinting gold from beneath heavy lids. And couldn't breathe.

From sheer lust-from sheer need. The need to be inside her.

The need to claim her as his.

With a soft oath, he drew his hands from her and shrugged free of his jacket and shirt. His boots took an impatient minute, then he stood to strip off his breeches. He could feel her gaze on him, trailing down his back. He flung his breeches aside and glanced over his shoulder. She lay naked, asprawl in the hay, calmly waiting. Simmering.

Her breasts rose and fell rapidly; her skin was gently flushed.

Naked, fully aroused, he turned to her.

Not a single hint of shock showed in her face-the face of a Fragonard wanton. Her gaze slid down, over him, then slowly rose to his face.

She lifted her arms. To him.

Vane went to her-covered her-took her lips in a searing kiss and eased himself into her. She was hot and tight; she tensed as he tested her maidenhead. And cried out as, with one well-judged thrust, he breached it. He held still, for one long, achingly tense moment, then she eased about him. Instinct claimed him-he thrust powerfully, deep into her body-and claimed her.

His reins broke-his demons took charge. Driving him, driving her, in a frenzied mating.

Far beyond thought, beyond reason, beyond anything except feeling, Patience held tight and let their passion take her. Every sensation was new, battering in on her mind, her overloaded senses, yet she clung to each thrill, each new intimacy, determined to miss nothing, determined to feel all.

To know the sheer delight of his hard body heavy on hers, his chest hard, hair-roughened, rasping against her sensitive nipples and the soft swells of her breasts. To glory in the hardness that filled her, the steely velvet that pressed deep into her, stretching her, claiming her. To experience, with every gasp, with every desperate pant, the power with which he repeatedly drove into her, the flexing of his spine, the rhythmic fusing of their bodies. To sense her vulnerability, in her nakedness, in the weight that anchored her hips, in the blind wanting that drove her. To revel in the excitement, shamelessly hot, unquenchably erotic, that swelled, grew, built, then flooded them, a raging tide avidly seizing them.

And to feel, deep within her, the unfurling of an anchoring force, more powerful than desire, more deep, more enduring, than anything on earth. That force, all emotion, golden and silver, swelled and caught her. She gave herself up to it and bravely, eagerly, knowingly claimed it for her own.

Ecstasy filled her-eagerly, she shared it, through her lips and their hungry kisses, through the worship of her hands, her limbs, her body.

He did the same; she tasted it on his tongue, felt its heat in his body.

Whatever he needed she gave, whatever she craved, he delivered. Mouth to mouth, breasts to chest, urgent softness gripping his hardness.

On a groan, Vane straightened his arms, and managed to find support enough in the hay to lift from her. He drove himself into her, savoring every hot inch that closed about him, pausing for an instant to feel her throb about him, before withdrawing, only to thrust deeply again. And again.

Sating himself-and her.

She writhed, heated and urgent beneath him. He'd never seen anything so beautiful as her, locked in passion's snare. She lifted and twisted, her head turning blindly from side to side as, inside, she sought release. He sank deep and pushed her higher, but still held her back from the edge-she could go higher yet. So could he.

And he wanted to watch her-so splendidly wanton, so gloriously abandoned-as she took him in and held him, as she gave herself to him for the first time. The sight stole his breath-and more. He would have her again, many times, but none would be the same as this, as vested with emotion as this moment was.

He knew when the end was upon her, felt the keen edge of tension ready to explode-and felt the hot flowering within her. He drove into it, and let go-let his body do what came naturally and sent them both over the edge. And, at the last, he watched as the explosion took her, as desire coalesced and turned her womb molten, a hot, fertile pocket for his seed.

Gritting his teeth, he hung on for the last second, and saw her e