All About Passion (Cynster 7)

Waiting.

She wasn’t capable of thinking, yet she knew. Knew there was more, that she wanted still more.

She wanted him. Not just inside her but with her.

He’d stilled, quieted; now he drew her upright and against him once more, holding her there, his hands moving over her, molding her to him.

Then his hands closed over her hips and he lifted her from him.

She made some sound-a whimper of disapproval. He answered with a harsh, very gravelly laugh.

“I want you beneath me.”

He wanted to feel her supple and pliant under him as he took her. Wanted to hear every little gasp, every moan. Wanted to know she was open and willing, her ripe body his to fill. A primitive, elemental want. A driving, almost-desperate desire. Gyles laid her down on the emerald satin, following her down, spreading her thighs wide and settling between. He filled her with a single powerful thrust, watched her body rock, watched her arch as he pressed deeper still, and she tilted her hips to take him in.

She reached for him, drawing him down to her. He went readily, hungry for the sensation of her body under his. He moved within her, upon her, and she clutched, and drew his face to hers. He met her lips, met the fire still glowing within her and stoked it back to flame.

Into an inferno.

The blaze cindered every last veil, every last vestige of his civilized facade. He plunged into her, into her mouth, into her body, with a greedy, ravenous need. He wanted, he took, and she gave. He knew when she yielded, when she surrendered completely to the moment, to the flames, to the glory, and he exulted in his victory. She opened to him, wrapped him in her arms and welcomed him in, not just into her body but into that citadel he had wanted, needed, to claim.

He was poised on the crest of delirium when the depth of that need hit him like a blow. Understanding-of himself, of that urgent fundamental want-came in a blinding revelation. But nothing, not even his deepest fears, could stop him from seizing that which he’d thought for so long he’d never seek.

She climaxed beneath him and he was with her, drinking in her cry, fleetingly glorying in her completion before following her into the void.

His victory, or hers?

Sunk beside his sleeping wife in the satin sheets of her bed, Gyles wasn’t sure. And wasn’t sure he cared. If he could have his cake and eat it, too, why should he complain?

Despite her unexpected knowledge, despite all that had occurred, only he knew what had happened. Only he knew that she was the only woman to ever touch his barbarian core, the only woman whose surrender could sate, satisfy, and fulfill his true self.

The only woman his true self wanted.

She couldn’t know, not unless he told her. Not unless he admitted the vulnerability out loud, in words.

Pigs would fly before he did.

Lifting one lid, he looked across the rumpled bed, now lit only by moonlight. She was slumped on her side, facing him. He could make out the wild tangle of her black curls, the paler band of her forehead, the small hand nestled on the pillow between them. Under the covers, he had one arm slung possessively over her waist. He left it there.

He couldn’t, in all conscience, wake her and have her again. He’d already done that once-bad form, of course, but what did a barbarian care? The memory of the way she’d turned to him, her eyes searching his in the night, then focusing on his lips, the way she’d met his kisses, then focused on him, on them, on what they would do, sent a shiver down his spine.

Closing his eye, he slumped deeper into the bed, trying to block out the scent of sated lust that hung heavily about them. Trying to ignore his arousal.

In the morning. Just because he’d surrendered on one front, didn’t mean he had to let lust rule him.

Chapter 8

It was full light when he awoke and reached for her.

And realized she no longer lay beside him.

Gyles opened his eyes and stared, then groggily glared at the rumpled space where his eager new wife should have lain, warm and soft and ready to be aroused…

He bit back a groan, turned onto his back, and slung one arm across his eyes. Damn the woman!

Half a minute later, he lifted his arm, lifted his head, and looked about the room.

He sat up, then thrust back the covers and stalked to the door to her sitting room. He flung the door open. The room was empty. Not even a maid to send into hysterics.