Scandals Bride (Cynster 3)

Richard rode her, just a little deeper, just a little harder, just a fraction more intimately. He was having a hard time clinging to his reins-only rock-hard determination, and his Cynster strength of will-of endurance-allowed him to do it-to see her panting beneath him, her hair a burning veil spread across the pillows, her thighs gripping him urgently as he loved her. She responded without guile, without reticence, without hesitation-with a complete lack of reserve, the strongest feminine spell he'd ever encountered.

Her welcome, every time he sank into her, was bone deep. The temptation to lose himself in her arms, in her body, grew with every passing second.

But he needed to know her reasons, as well as her.

Gradually, he slowed, letting the rhythm stretch-not die but slow to the point where her frantic need-a need he knew well how to manage-rose to the fore again.

When she whimpered, and squirmed, trying to urge him on, he brushed a kiss to her temple. "Why do you want me? Why me? Why now?"

A frown passed across her face like a breeze rippling corn, then she shook her head and it was gone. She lifted beneath him, wriggling more urgently; swallowing a curse, he impaled her fully

again, then kissed her breathless.

And gave her a little more-rode her a little higher up the mountain of desire. Despite his weight, she undulated beneath him, hips rising, meeting him more fully. Letting go of her hands, he grabbed a pillow; releasing her from their kiss, he eased back, lifted her hips and stuffed the pillow beneath them.

Tilting her up so he could sink deeper-without stimulating her to completion. Her breath fractured when he thrust deep-an urgently evocative sound. He shut his ears to it. "Wrap your legs about me."

She did, immediately; arms braced, he held himself over her and drove her up, up, and on to the next level, the next plane of passion. Eagerly, she clung to him, her hands, now free, trailing over his chest and arms, then gripping tight as he delved deeper and pushed her on.

Fingers sinking into flexing sinews, Catriona let her head fall back, lips parted as she struggled to breathe. Senses aswirl, her wits long gone, she surrendered to the whirlpool of sensations he commanded, surrendered to the power she could feel in every thrust that joined them, in every synchronous beat of their hearts. A sense of beauty, of delight, of joy unimaginable hovered-just out of reach.

"Why are you here, with your legs spread wide, locked about my waist-with me buried to the hilt inside you?"

The question floated down to her, a whisper in the night. It was beyond her-eyes closed, she shook her head. And concentrated on the steely flex of his body as it melded with hers.

Powerfully, yet still slowly. In some dim corner of her mind, a hazy, rather acid thought formed: If this was his performance when asleep, what would he be like awake?

A soft moan surprised her-she bit her lip, determined to be quiet. Then gasped as he surged more powerfully, faster, deeper…

She caught her breath on a strangled gasp-then cried out, in shocked disbelief, when he pulled back and left her. Fighting to raise her lids, she saw him lift fully away from her. Stunned she reached for him, half-sitting-

Large hands caught her and flipped her over, then locked about her hips and pulled her back onto her knees.

And they were everywhere, those large, hard hands-kneading, stroking, squeezing, probing. Until her breasts ached, until her skin glowed, until her nerves were taut and tingling. Until the heat within her was a raging furnace and pure molten need filled her veins. And her loins.

Kneeling behind her, reaching over and around her, a dark, rampantly aroused presence in the night, he bent his head and nipped her ear lobe, then soothed it with his lips. "Lean farther forward."

His hands clamped about her hips as she did, steadying her. Then he nudged her thighs wider, and caressed her-stroked her slick, swollen flesh until it was throbbing anew, until she sobbed his name.

He slid into her-smoothly, easily-filling her deeply, until she was so full of him she could sense him throughout her body. Eyes closed in rapturous delight, she pressed back and took him all.

Richard felt her clamp tight about him; features set, etched with passion, he couldn't smile, not even smugly. She needed him inside her now-if he was not there, she'd feel empty, hot and aching. This way, he could fill her without risking her willfullness getting the upper hand. She couldn't reach heaven this way, not without his active cooperation. Taking her from behind, with her on her knees, he could keep her locked for just a little longer in the web he'd woven-and try again to get the answer to his question.

But first…

He was going to love her until she couldn't think, until she had no will left to deny him.

So he caressed her inside and out using his body, hands, and lips in concert, consciously bringing the full force of his expertise and experience to bear.

He intended to be ruthless.

He filled his hands with her swollen breasts and kneaded, and she whimpered with desire; he shut his ears to the sound, and dotted kisses along her exposed nape. Locating her nipples, he teased and tweaked, until she moaned and sobbed. Nuzzling aside the heavy fall of her hair, he pressed hot open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, then down her spine.

And all the while he filled her, to a slow, steady rhythm guaranteed to leave her both satisfied and wanting-glorying in what was, and ready to sell her soul-tell the truth-in order to get more.

He was going to be ruthless.

He had already studied her curves-he knew them well. Now, with her on her knees before him, he took in other aspects of her beauty-her delicate bones, the sleek, supple strength of her the very feminine curve of her spine. The sweet hollow between shoulder and throat, the long sweep of her neck.