Scandals Bride (Cynster 3)

Letting his gaze roam, he straightened, hands drifting back to close about her hips. The smooth planes of her back were exquisite, perfect ivory, unblemished, unmarred. Hands trailing farther, he traced the long muscles of her thighs, braced, lightly quivering, flexing slightly as he rode her. His gaze, however, had fixed-on the firm globes of her bottom, ivory hemispheres meeting his body with satisfying force every time he thrust into her, on his staff rigid and engorged, gleaming with her slickness, sliding effortlessly into her, deep into the embrace of her waiting willing sheath.

The sight held him entranced. She moaned softly then rotated her hips, clinging to him, closing like a burning glove about him as he pressed deep.

Richard gasped, he closed his eyes and tightened his death grip on his impulses.

Opening his eyes again, he drew a ragged breath-and leaned forward. And reminded himself to be ruthless.

But the instant his hands curved about her shoulders, then trailed down to cup her breasts, he knew the best he could hope to be-with her-was ruthlessly gentle.

Not even she could worship her Lady with the same devotion with which he worshipped her-felt compelled to worship her. She was his temple, he her priest, serving her. Lavishing attention on her. Helplessly in thrall, drawn deeper with every heated thrust, every caress he pressed on her-and she pressed on him-he was a victim of emotion that bound him to her through this act and yet more deeply, reaching to his soul. Demanding his obedience, his acceptance his surrender. It was as if some deeply buried part of him recognized her as his mate-and his salvation.

When next he straightened, his breathing was beyond ragged, his control badly frayed. He knew he had a question-it took a moment to recall what it was. With her on her knees before him, with his staff buried in her sweet heat, it was difficult to imagine anything else mattered.

But one thing did. Chest swelling, he set himself to take her up the last stretch of their road. Fingers tightening about her hips he looked down-and noticed a birthmark, just by his thumb on her right buttock-a strawberry mark in the shape of a butterfly in flight. The size of his thumbnail, the mark showed clearly against her pale skin.

Richard dragged in a deep breath; fingers sinking into her hips, he anchored her, and thrust deep. Again, and again-pushing her high, then higher swiftly taking her toward the shattering climax that he'd deliberately designed for her. On and on, higher and higher-she panted, then sobbed in her need.

He took her to the last but one step-

And withdrew from her, drawing her up against him, his hands full of her breasts, his throbbing erection riding between the globes of her bottom. He held her upright on her knees against him, and delicately kissed one ear.

The change was so swift Catriona could barely take it in, barely heard, over the desperate thudding of her heart, his gravelly whisper.

"Why do you want me inside you?"

She couldn't see his face, she was so heated and urgent and needy she couldn't think-yet she heard the warrior's demand in his voice; she answered truthfully.

"Because I need you " The words came out on a sob-a sob of pure need Raising one hand, she reached back and traced his lean cheek "Please, Richard. Now.

His face was beside hers; she heard a soft hiss, then a smothered curse.

Then he reached around her, grabbing first one pillow, then another piling them before her, even as his other hand pressed on her back and guided her down. Swiftly, he drew her knees back, and she was lying on her stomach, the piled pillows beneath her hips.

And he was behind her, between her spread thighs, his hips pressing against her bottom. Against skin flickering with heightened nerves, her inner thighs excruciatingly sensitive to the brush of his hair-dusted limbs.

With one thrust, he surged into her.

She screamed with sheer delight. Horrified, she grabbed handfuls of the twisted sheets and held them to her face. And heard him groan-braced above her, his hands planted on either side of her, he drew back, and surged deep-so deep-again.

In bliss-and knowing there was more to come-Catriona closed her eyes, buried her face in the bedclothes, and surrendered-her wits, her senses, her body-to the glory that beckoned. Surrendered to the desire to take him deep and love him, hold him tight and caress him.

He rode her hard, filling her completely, driving her on-straight over a precipice and into the sun.

She screamed as it shattered about her.

Eyes closed tight, braced above her, Richard drank in the lovely sound. Half muffled by the sheets, it was still pure magic; the sound of her ecstasy was pure ecstasy to him. Sunk to the hilt inside her, he held still, rigid, tense as a coiled spring, and savored her contractions, the rippling caress of her body as release swept through her.

He waited, not patiently, but with steely determination, until she eased beneath him, then, gritting his teeth, he leaned forward, grabbed two more pillows, lifted her, and raised her hips still higher.

So he could ride her on, up the next peak-the one she hadn't even guessed existed. When she realized it was there, she joined him-eagerly, wantonly-as focused as he. Heated once more, flushed, her skin dewed, she writhed beneath him, urging him on not with words but with deeds, with the flagrant encouragement of her lush body.

And when he sent her tumbling through the stars again, the effect was cataclysmic. He heard it in her unrestrained scream. The sound caught him up-tugged at his heart, his loins, his soul. Closing his eyes, he filled her completely and swiftly followed her beyond the end of the world.

Catriona awoke, disoriented, not entirely sure she was awake. Sweet peace held her, warmth surrounded her-she didn't want to move, to disturb the spell.

But presentiment nagged her-reluctantly, she lifted her lids. And looked into gloomy d

arkness. Blinking rapidly improved her vision marginally, enough to realize where she still was-where she shouldn't be.