Devils Bride (Cynster 1)

of one thigh. He paid homage to the sensitive spot at the back of her knee, first one, then the other, then worked his way back up her other thigh. Honoria slowly exhaled, and waited to be allowed to roll over.

The next instant, her breath hissed in-and in. Her hands clenched on the pillow. In stunned disbelief, she felt tiny tender kisses dot their inexorable way up the inside of one thigh. Her skin shivered and flickered; as the kisses steadily neared the place where she burned, she let out a small shriek, stifled in the pillow.

She felt, rather than heard his deep chuckle. He swung over her and repeated the exercise on the inside of her other thigh. Honoria gritted her teeth, determined not to repeat her shriek; her whole body quivered with mounting need. When he reached the limit of his trail, pressing one last lingering kiss to skin that had never before felt a man's lips, she sighed-then shrieked, as his tongue swept tender, pulsing flesh-just once, but it was more than enough.

He seemed to think so, too; he drew back, rolling her onto her back, his weight pinning her again as his lips returned to hers, his kiss searing, conflagrationary-exactly as she wished it. Wrapping her arms about his neck, Honoria gave him back fire for flame, passion for desire, in a frenzy of escalating need. This time, her thighs were spread and he lay between; she could feel his throbbing staff nudging her thigh.

Abruptly, he drew back, onto his knees. Dazed, she saw him seize a fat pillow. Lifting her, he wedged it under her hips, then, leaning over her, he found her lips again. When he lifted his head she was panting in earnest, every nerve in her body alive, every vein afire. One hand was on her breast; swiftly, he lowered his head and suckled until she moaned.

"Please-now." Honoria reached for him but he shifted back.

"Soon."

He lowered his body to hers again, but too low-his head was at her breasts. He laved each burning peak until she could take no more, then trailed kisses to her navel. He circled the dimple with his tongue, then probed; the slow, repetitive thrusting brought tears of frustration to her eyes. She twisted and arched, her hips lifted high by the pillow.

"Soon." He whispered the word across the sensitive skin of her stomach, and followed it with a kiss. And another and another, slowly descending; when the first kiss fell amongst her soft curls, Honoria's eyes flew wide.

"Devil?"

The sensations streaking through her were unlike any she'd yet experienced, sharper, stronger, fiercer. More kisses followed the first and she gasped, hands reaching, fingers locking in his hair.

"Oh God!" The exclamation was wrung from her as his lips touched her softness. The sudden bolt of sensation was enough to melt her mind. "No." She shook her head.

"Soon," came the answer.

His lips left her swollen flesh to trail kisses along the inside of her thighs, lifting them as he slid still lower, draping a knee over each shoulder.

Well-nigh mindless, Honoria felt his breath caress her throbbing flesh. Speech was beyond her; she was going to die. From excitement-from pleasure so intense it was frightening. Gripping the sheets convulsively, she hauled in a huge breath, and shook her head violently.

Devil took no notice. Deliberately, he set his lips to her soft flesh, hot and swollen, intimately caressing each soft fold; a strangled sound, neither shriek nor scream, was his reward. He found her throbbing nubbin, already swollen and tight; he laved it gently, swirling his tongue, first this way then that, about the sensitive spot. He wasn't surprised by the subsequent silence; he could hear her ragged breathing, could feel the tension that gripped her. As usual, she was rushing-he set himself to slow her down, bringing her to that plane where she could appreciate his expertise, savor all he could give her, rather than fly headlong to her fate.

He repeated his caresses, again and again, until she grew familiar with each new sensation. Her breathing slowed, deepened; her body softened beneath his hands. She moaned softly and twisted in his hold, but she no longer fought him; she floated, senses alive to each explicit caress, receptive to the pleasures he wished her to know.

Only then, deploying every ounce of his considerable expertise, did he open the door and introduce her to all that might be. With lips and tongue, he pressed on her caresses that sent her soaring, anchoring her with an intimacy that could not be denied. Again and again, she rose to the heavens; again and again, he drew her back. Only when she could take no more, when her breathing grew frantic and every muscle in her body quivered, begging for release, did he let her fly free, filling her with his tongue, feeling her hands clench tight in his hair-then relax as ecstasy washed through her. He savored her, taking pleasure in the warm piquancy that was her, letting her essence sink to his bones. When the last of her rippling shudders had died, he slowly rose over her.

Pressing her thighs wide, he settled between-with one slow, powerful thrust he filled her, feeling her softness, slick and hot, stretch to take him, feeling her body adjust to his invasion, to being his.

She was fully relaxed, fully open; he moved within her, powerfully plundering, unsurprised when, scant moments later, she stirred and, eyes glinting beneath weighted lids, joined him in the dance. He watched her until he was sure she was with him, then, closing his eyes, letting his head fall back, he lost himself in her.

The explosion that took them from the mortal plane was stronger than any he'd felt before-just as he had known it would be.

Hours later, he awoke. Honoria lay soft and warm by his side, her hair a tangled mass on his pillow. Devil allowed himself a smile-a conqueror's smile-then carefully edged from the bed.

In her room, the candles were still burning. Warmed by recent memory, he padded, naked, to the tantalus before the window. Watered wine had been left waiting, along with suitable sustenance. He poured a glass of wine and swallowed half, then lifted the lid of the serving dish, grimaced and replaced it. He was hungry, but not for food.

On the thought, he heard a sound behind him-turning, he watched Honoria emerge, blinking, from his room.

Wrapped in one of his robes, her hand shading her eyes, she squinted at him. "What are you doing?"

He held up the glass.

Lowering her hand, she came forward, holding the robe closed with one hand. "I'll have some, too."

*****

In the garden below all was silent and still. From the distant wilderness, six pairs of startled eyes fastened on the lit window of the duchess's bedchamber, screened by lacy gauze. Six men saw Devil turn and raise his glass in salute; all six lost their breaths when Honoria joined him. The idea of what was happening in that brilliantly lit chamber exercised all six minds.

They watched, breath bated, as Honoria, cloaked in a flowing robe, her hair an aureole about her head, took the glass from Devil and sipped. She handed the glass back; Devil drained it. Setting the glass down, he lowered his head as Honoria went into his arms.