A Rogues Proposal (Cynster 4)

Then she leaned over him-she couldn't reach his mouth-she did reach his flat nipples. When he jerked, she chuckled-when he moaned, she only licked harder. With gay abandon, she spread hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses across his chest, then nibbled her way dow

n, over his ridged abdomen.

He went rigid when she nuzzled along the trail of hair leading down from his navel-

And nearly died when she closed her hot mouth about his head.

He caught her, gripping her arms tight, fighting a desperate battle not to buck and push himself deeper. Dizzy, almost faint, he clenched his jaw, and hauled in three deep breaths, even while he gloried in the intimate caress.

Then he slid his hands further, gripped and lifted her.

Her eyes went wide as he held her briefly above him while he brought his legs inside hers.

"Didn't you like it?"

He met her gaze briefly. "Too much." He bit the words off-he wasn't up to talking. He set her down astride his hips. "I need to be inside you."

He was nudging into her as he spoke, muscles bunching, flickering, veins cording as he fought to be gentle. He should have readied her more, eased her more, but…

He glanced up-she met his gaze, studied his eyes fleetingly, then she smiled, gloriously wanton, and gave her wicked little chuckle. Setting her hands on his chest for balance, she leaned forward, just a little.

She flowered and opened for him. Before he could catch his breath and thrust upward, she sank down, not in a rush-he was too big for that-but slowly. Her lids fell; her breath caught. Frowning in concentration, her lower lip caught between her teeth, she eased herself down on him, inch by steady inch, even tucking her rear deeper to take him all. She enveloped him in hot, wet silk, slick with her own passion; when she was fully impaled, she released the breath she'd held-and tightened firmly about him.

After that, he couldn't remember anything clearly-just startling moments of achingly sweet sensuality, a delight he'd never experienced before. As she rode him, loved him, used her body to pleasure him, he lay back, conquered-defeated-and surrendered and simply took. He let her set the pace, let her gallop, rush, or amble as she would. While she moved over him, rising and falling, he let his hands roam, refreshing his memory, learning more-feasting on the knowledge, reveling in the intimacy.

And when, flushed and panting, she convulsed about him, collapsing, sated, into his arms, he decided this had to be heaven. Only an angel could have given him so much.

He held her, soothed her, waited until she'd caught her breath before he rolled her beneath him. Pushing her thighs wide, he thrust heavily, deeply; she caught her breath and opened wide, then clung.

She stayed with him as he rode her, reaching up to stroke his chest. Briefly meeting his eyes, she smiled-a cat who'd savored a whole bowlful of cream. "I love you." Her eyes drifted shut on the whisper; her smile remained on her face.

"I know," he murmured, then closed his eyes and concentrated on loving her back.

A soft, smug smile flirted about her lips. Two minutes later, it died.

She blinked, and shot him a surprised look, immediately wiped from her face as she gasped and arched beneath him. He stifled a groan as she tensed, and tightened about him once more. He was fully engorged and so deeply inside her he was going to lose his mind.

She lost hers first, coming apart in a series of small explosions, a shatteringly long, rolling release.

He continued to ride her, hard and deep, waiting until she eased, until all tension leached from her limbs, until, open and possessed, she lay beneath him, her body accepting him with no resistance-in that instant just before she started drifting, just before he joined her in the void, he leaned down, and kissed her gently.

"I love you, too."

Chapter 21

The instincts of years hadn't died-Demon woke long before anyone else in the house. And instantly remembered his last words. He tensed, waiting for horror to engulf him-instead, all he felt was a warm peace, a subtle sense that all was right in his world. For long moments, he simply lay there, luxuriating in that feeling.

A ticking inner clock finally prompted him to move. It wasn't yet dawn, but he had to leave soon. Turning on his side, he studied the angel snuggled beside him. He'd fallen asleep still inside her; during the night, he'd woken and disengaged, then gently settled her to sleep by his side.

How she woke was one of the delights already imprinted-etched-on his mind. Smiling, he gently tugged the sheet from her slack grasp and lifted it.

Flick woke to the sensation of him parting her thighs, to the sweet stroking of his finger in the soft flesh between. She never woke quickly-she simply couldn't do it. By the time her breathing had accelerated enough for her to lift her lids, she was hot and wet, aching and empty. In the instant before she would have tensed to move, he shifted over her, one hand pressing beneath her bottom to tilt her up, his hard thighs pressing hers wide.

He entered her-solid and hard and hot. He pushed in, and stretched her, filled her until she gasped, clutched and clung. He rode her and she joined him, their bodies locked together, driven and driving, seeking, climbing, racing until their hearts almost burst and glory rained upon them.

Flat on her back, gasping in the aftermath, she felt him still high and hard inside her. He hung over her, on his elbows, head bowed, chest working like a bellows. They were both hot, skins slick. The hair on his chest abraded her nipples-in her sensitized state, she could feel his hair elsewhere-on his forearms and calves, on his stomach, at his groin. Their limbs touched-everywhere; they were as intimately joined as it was possible to be. She had never been more physically aware of him-or herself.

His heart, thudding against her breast, slowed. Raising his head, he looked at her. "Have I convinced you?"