On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

Felt her body arch as he suckled fiercely again, felt his hands on her, hard and demanding. No gentle lover, no soothing caresses, nothing but heat, possessive passion and a driving, urgent need.

A need that drove her, too, that had her gasping, fingers sunk in his hair, blindly holding him to her as he feasted.

Ravenously.

Cool air caressing her legs, then her thighs, told her he'd rucked up her skirts. For one instant, she wondered if he would take her there, against the door — then he cupped her and she stopped thinking.

His touch was knowing, blatantly possessive. He opened her, thrust one, then two fingers into her, worked them deep. Then his thumb found that most sensitive part of her, and circled it, tormenting, while he worked his fingers within her sheath, matching his rhythm to that of his suckling—

She shattered, fractured — so fast, so intensely, she saw rapture like a starburst on the insides of her lids.

His hands and lips left her — too soon, too quickly. She was empty, aching — boneless, vanquished…

Then she was gasping, falling; he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Laid her upon it and ruthlessly stripped her gown away. Stripped her naked. When she wore not a stitch to hide her from his gaze, black as night, burning with desire, he tumbled the heaped pillows, rearranged them, then lifted her and laid her among them. A sacrifice waiting, displayed.

She had no will to move, no strength even to lift a hand. He stalked back to the end of the bed, stood facing it, his gaze locked on her, traveling her body as if cataloging every last inch, every soft curl as he stripped off his shirt, flung it aside, then set his fingers to his waistband.

His face was graven, the features and planes so familiar, yet not. They'd been lovers before, yet it had never been like this — she'd never been able to taste desire, never been able to sense it like a shimmering aura around him, around her. Something heightened, something more — some meshing of physical and ephemeral needs that was both frightening and compelling had happened between them.

He kicked off his shoes; in a single smooth movement he removed his trousers, dropping them as he straightened. As he stood there, naked, rampantly aroused and intent, before her.

He knelt on the bed, his knee between her feet. The muscles in his arms and shoulders shifted, bunching like rock, flexing like steel. His gaze, locked on the curls at the junction of her thighs, lifted to her eyes.

"Open your legs."

A deep, gravelly, command. An outright order.

She complied, not quickly but without hesitation; he'd clenched his fists — hard — to stop himself from reaching for her. She remembered the feel of his hands on her breasts, their driving urgency, the sheer strength in his fingers. She knew, as her gaze fell into the black of his and she shifted her thighs apart, that he didn't want to lay hands on her — not yet.

Not while this sheer, ungovernable force rode him.

The force that, as soon as her thighs were wide enough apart, had him on the bed, poised over her, arms braced, hands sunk in the pillows on either side of her s

houlders. He settled his hips between her thighs, ruthlessly forcing them farther apart, wedging them wide.

His eyes locked on hers as the blunt head of his erection probed her slick flesh. Then he found her entrance; she caught her breath, trapped deep in the black fires of his eyes as he entered her — with one powerful, savagely complete thrust — one that stretched her and filled her, that had her arching, wildly gasping, hands gripping his forearms, nails sinking deep, her head pressing back into the soft pillows as he relentlessly pressed in.

Until he'd possessed her. Until he'd filled her so completely her every sense was filled with him.

Then he rode her.

She gasped, writhed beneath him, driven ruthlessly, relentlessly on. Hands spread on his back, feeling the unforgiving flexing of the powerful muscles bracketing his spine, she clung blindly and surrendered. His arranging of the pillows had had a purpose; they cushioned her, cradled her, tilted her hips and supported her so he could drive into her body harder, faster — deeper.

So her body could withstand his possession, could ride the force and the fury as he took her.

As he loved her.

It came to her in a blinding flash as she watched his face, passion blank, eyes closed, his every sense focused on their joining. The sheer force of his thrusts took him deeper yet; her body gave and she gasped, arched beneath him. He gasped, too, took every inch she offered, hung his head. Bent enough to take the tight peak of her breast, flagrantly offered as her spine bowed, her body supported by the pillows, into his mouth. Blindly, he feasted while his body plundered hers.

Fiery energy spread insidiously through her, down every vein, into her core. She felt it coalesce. Felt it build and swell with every deep rocking thrust, with every lightning-like flash of sensation he sent spearing through her.

Until she ignited, burned. Exploded. Until she lost every sense in the mindlessness of heat and wonder.

This time, he didn't leave her, but with guttural commands urged her on. Forced her on, begged her to stay with him.

And she did. Held to him, clung, senses wide-open, her body all his. Caressed him, eased him, offered herself to him. And he took, again, and again, and again—

A crash from outside echoed their gasps.