Devils Bride (Cynster 1)

Her nightgown was a fascinating creation-solid satin with slits to her hips. The long line of her legs had showed briefly, tantalizingly, then she'd halted, and the skirts had fallen primly straight-an illusion of virtuous womanhood.

Her fingers flickered in entreaty-slowly, he strolled forward, letting his robe fall to the ground behind him. Naked, he ignored her hands, letting her touch him as she would. With his own, he cupped her face, then, slowly, stretching each moment until they both quivered, he bent his head and set his lips to hers.

He kissed her deeply, ravenously-forcefully-he needed to stay in control. He locked his muscles as her hands slid about his waist. They halted, gripping him as she accepted his kiss, opening herself to it without restraint. Then she slid her hands over his back; she pressed herself briefly against him, then, to his surprise, pulled away. Puzzled, Devil let her go.

Her gaze shadowed, mysterious, she took his hand and led him to the canopied bed. Halting beside it, she faced him; her eyes on his, she raised her hands and opened the shoulder clasps that anchored her gown. It slithered down, revealing the full globes of her breasts, pale ivory in the moon's faint light. The gown gathered at her waist; with a wriggle, she freed it, letting it whisper to the floor.

With no hint of reticence, of coyness or shyness-with a directness that stole his breath and much more-she stepped close. She placed her hands on his ribs, then sent them gliding upward; she stretched sensuo

usly against him, wrapping her arms about his neck, lifting her lips for his kiss, pressing her breasts to his chest, sinking her hips against his thighs. Offering herself to him.

Something inside him shattered.

He reached for her and she was there-he wasn't certain if he'd hauled her hard against him or if she'd pressed closer. Her lips were under his, open and eager; their tongues twined, invoking all the devils of passion that ever were. Nothing else mattered.

Completion, fulfillment, was their only aim-the only thought in their fevered brains. Devil knew his horses had bolted but could summon no will to haul on their reins. She commanded his senses, his strength, every particle of his awareness; her needs, heightening to near frenzy, were the perfect counterpart of his own.

The desire to join flowed strongly through them, a powerful, fiery force. It beat in their veins, found expression in their gasping breaths; it invested each touch, each bold caress, with pleasure so intense it was close to pain.

Pulling back on a gasp, Honoria lifted one knee to the bed; Devil lifted her and placed her upon it, letting her draw him down. He let her feel his weight, reveling in the supple softness of the arms that slid around him, of her body undulating beneath him. She parted her thighs; he drew away only enough to reach down and stroke her, feeling the slickness of her need, the heat of her arousal.

An incoherent plea left her lips; she tilted her hips in unmistakable invitation. Her hands wandered down; they reached his ribs before Devil, settling fully upon her, his hips cradled between her thighs, caught them, one in each of his.

Her eyes, glinting from beneath weighted lids, met his. Deliberately, Devil anchored first one hand, then the other, on either side of her head. He was beyond thought, far beyond any concept of control-the force that drove him, consumed him, compelled him to possess her. Completely. Utterly.

The slick heat between her thighs bathed his throbbing staff; he nudged her thighs wider-she complied, but even in that, she managed to shake him, settling her hips deeper, perfectly positioned for his penetration, letting her thighs relax, leaving herself open. Vulnerable. Inviting him to take her.

The emotion that rolled through him was so powerful, so deep, Devil had to close his eyes briefly, holding back the storm. Opening them, he drew a deep breath, his chest pressing against her breasts, and bent his head to hers.

Their lips met, then melded; their fires ignited. With one powerful thrust, he joined with her-and the conflagration began.

He moved on her, within her; she moved beneath him, about him. Her body caressed him in so many ways, he lost the distinction between him and her. He stroked deeply within her and felt her rise, felt the fiery flight start.

Honoria surrendered to it, to the elemental heat that burned between them. It consumed them, a pure fire that burned away all pretense, leaving only truth and emotion forged in its searing flames. She felt him within her and accepted him eagerly, taking him in, both possessed and possessing. The sunburst rose and drew rapidly nearer; their bodies strove, racing to their fate.

Then it was upon them. It caught them in its heat, in its unquenchable delight, in sensation so exquisite she screamed. She clutched him tightly and he was with her. Locked together, they soared, gasped, then fractured-into a selfless void of aching peace beyond the reach of human senses.

Devil returned to the mortal plane first. Slowly, every muscle heavy with sated lust, he lifted away, then settled the pillows about them. His gaze roamed Honoria's face, serene, softly glowing. Gently, he smoothed her hair, drawing his fingers through the silken mass, letting it slip free to lie across the crisp linen. For long moments, silent and still, he studied her face. Then his gaze drifted down, skimming her body, fair skin glowing in the silvery light.

Seconds later, he reached for the covers, drawing them up to her chin. He settled on his back beside her, one arm behind his head, a frown tangling his black brows.

He was in that pose when Honoria stirred; from under heavy lids, she studied his face, dark features etched by the moonlight. He seemed pensive. Pensive herself, she let her gaze roam the broad expanse of his chest, dark hairs shading its width, each muscle band sharply defined. The covers reached to his waist; beneath them, she could feel the hair-dusted hardness of his leg beside hers.

She smiled, a cat savoring cream. Her skin was warmly flushed, her limbs deliciously weighted. She felt at peace, fulfilled-possessed. Deeply, thoroughly, possessed. Just the thought sent a frisson of pleasure through her.

The day was behind her. The unsettling uncertainty which had seized her the minute she'd regained her room after scurrying like a wanton maid through the corridors in the half light of dawn, had disappeared, eradicated by the night's fire. Her lips curved; she could still feel the inner glow. On the thought, she glanced up-Devil was watching her.

His hesitation was palpable, then he shifted, raising a hand to lift a lock of hair from her forehead. "Why weren't you in my bed?"

Honoria held his gaze, even though his eyes were too shadowed for her to see. "I didn't know whether you wanted me there."

Fleetingly, his frown deepened, then eased. But his lips did not curve as, with one finger, he lightly brushed her cheek. "I want you-and I want you there."

The deep words all but shimmered in the moonlight; Honoria smiled. "Tomorrow." She heard him sigh and saw his quick grimace.

"Unfortunately not." He lay back, his eyes still on hers. "While I'd much rather have you in my bed, until we marry, I'll have to suffer the restrictions of yours." He lifted one foot, demonstrating that even high on the pillows as he was, his feet reached the footboard.

Honoria frowned. "Why can't we sleep in your bed?"