Chapter 10 #2
“Actually, I think I rather enjoy the cool feel of stone at my back.”
“You are kind and courteous. You say that only now because you have so suddenly determined to be generous with the bed.”
“I don’t mind the floor.”
“I simply cannot throw you there. I’m afraid you’ve betrayed your true feelings on the matter.”
The green in his eyes remained wickedly glinting.
Dangerous.
Still afraid to move, she vowed to keep control of her temper. She was not going to allow the whirlwind of sensations ripping through her to overrule her pride, dignity, or courage. “Would you be going there, then?” she asked hopefully.
“I would not.”
“Then?” she inquired, the word scarcely a whisper.
“We will both sleep in comfort.”
“Here, together?”
“Ah, my lady, you are indeed blessed with keen powers of observation and comprehension.”
So much for carefully maintaining her temper and control.
She had to escape him. With sudden, wild impetus, she attempted to leap free of his hold.
Yet she could not, for he was as swift as a tiger, and apparently, he had been awaiting her attempted departure.
In one smooth motion he seized her, drawing her against him hard, her back and derriere flush to his chest and loins, her right arm caught beneath her own weight, her left wrist captured firmly in his grasp.
“This seems comfortable enough,” he commented.
For him. He had the benefit of clothing.
Her gown had risen surely with every twist and movement.
She could feel the fabric of his linen shirt brushing her flesh through the thin material of her nightgown…
and the coarser fabric of his form-hugging breeches lower against her where the gown had risen.
She swallowed hard, remaining still as a statue.
She could feel the moist heat of his breath against her nape, touching her earlobe.
He held her wrist just below her breasts, and it seemed she could feel his fingers brushing against her flesh, though surely, she could not.
To her incredible dismay, she became aware that her nipples had hardened and strained against her gown, that a sweeping rush of fevered heat raced through her veins.
She was so very afraid that he would touch her further.
And so terribly agonized that he might not.
“I—I really would enjoy the floor,” she stammered.
“I wouldn’t hear of it,” he insisted.
She held still. Then burst out with, “I’ve got to sleep on the floor!” And again, she desperately tried to pull free from his hold.
“I think not!”
And she found herself slammed back down into the softness of the bed, this time, with him atop her. She was imprisoned by the force of his body.
For brief seconds she met his eyes, and she tried not to breathe.
Then despite herself she inhaled and twisted.
Her movement caused his fingers to brush against her breasts, knuckles riding softly against their swollen crests.
She gasped at that contact and twisted further against it, only to realize that she had turned right into his touch, turned against him, into his body.
His clothing did not feel like such a barrier then.
His arousal was quite hard against her abdomen despite it, the muscled expanse of his chest and arms beneath linen seemed to be on fire.
His eyes remained hard, green gems burning in the night as well.
She opened her mouth to speak but never found words.
He covered her lips with a hungry, bruising kiss.
And she quickly realized just how high her gown had risen for his hand was upon the dark triangle of her mound, fingers deftly delving within it, parting, stroking, thrusting.
She wanted to push him away. Somewhere within her, she knew full well that sex could have very little to do with emotion.
He had told her to find a husband and bear children, his suggestion surely being that the husband should be some man other than himself.
Yet within her own heart and soul, loving David, Laird Douglas, and wanting him had been one and the same for most of her lifetime.
Losing him had shattered her dreams and her desires.
And though she halfway hated him for his accusations against her and her family…
She wanted him still.
She was dimly aware that his mouth had left hers and had moved to kiss her throat, pausing at the thundering pulse there. She tried to speak, yet he continued to touch her, his fingers stroking within her.
“No” formed on her lips but found no substance.
And yet…
She wanted, oh god, she wanted, the scent of him was filling her, the feel of him…
She should have attempted a true protest. She should have stopped him.
Fought him, wildly, determinedly. She should have stopped this.
She should have bitterly decried so intimate a touch as that with which he so easily stroked her.
He had come seeking vengeance, nothing more.
Revenge. Was part of this revenge to seduce her into the flames…
As she had done with him?
Her gown was open. All slim barriers she might have possessed were gone now.
His hands were cupping her breasts. His tongue bathed one and then the other.
His body moved against hers. The wetness of his caress moved erotically over her abdomen, rising, falling, rising…
wetting, licking, touching her while he stroked within her…
“Is this revenge?” she managed to whisper.
He groaned softly in turn, rising against her.
His green eyes captured hers with passion, and he told her, “From hell I dreamed of you, Shawna, longing for revenge. Longing to see you again, and you are here, and I am newly seduced by the perfection of your face and form, even knowing that your beauty can be as deadly as the captivating brilliance of a fire!”
“I tell you—”
“Tell me nothing!” he charged her. “For revenge, my love, can indeed be sweet.”
The heat of his body seemed to be a fire, and that fire burned from the green of his eyes and into her.
His lips fell upon hers again with fierce demand, bruising first in their passion and ardor, suddenly gentle, then demanding once again, seeking, delving, into the heart of her.
Revenge, perhaps. But he was right, for it seemed that the violence of his kiss was unbearably sweet.
His hands, oh god, they were rough upon her, yet so strong, holding her. They moved with trembling strength into her hair, then against the soft flesh of her cheeks, stroking her shoulders, drawing her tighter against him, running the length of her body.
Seducing…
Pressing her against his body, against the fever that burned in him now like an inferno, consuming, taking her with him into a conflagration.
She felt the strength of his muscled power, the erotic hardness of his arousal.
She could scarcely breathe. The pressure of his mouth demanded and ravaged, his tongue brought liquid sweeps of searing heat that seemed to awaken and arouse the length of her.
She could not do this.
She pressed her hands against his chest. He didn’t seem to feel them. She tried then to find words to protest, yet the force of his mouth against hers gave her no chance to speak, no breath with which to do so.
In time she realized that his mouth had left her lips again to travel an erotic trail down her throat.
Her gown was shoved to her waist, and the rough, calloused touch of his hands was against the bareness of her flesh, caressing her breasts, thumbs teasing and rubbing her nipples, sending exotic shafts of fire and light to sear throughout her like the rays of the sun.
His lips, his hands, were everywhere. Ever more intimate.
Whispered words escaped her at last, yet she could not comprehend them herself, and he did not hear or heed them.
His thumb created a line down her abdomen from her navel, intimately invaded once again, thrust deeply within her.
Again, some cry tore from her lips, and whether a cry of pure sensation or the dying gasp of a struggle she could no longer seek to wage, she did not know.
She felt the gentle pressure of his teeth teasing against her upper thigh, the stroke of his tongue, a liquid fire that circled the center of her desire until she thought she would die, then stroking directly upon it until the sweeping sensations rose in a wicked explosion within her and a cry erupted from her lips.
He was atop her then, fumbling briefly with the buttons of his black pants.
His mouth seized hold of hers once again, capturing her lips, her tongue, and her breath with whatever whispers might have escaped her.
A deep, trembling shudder swept into her at his next invasion, for he thrust within her with the burning shaft of his sex, blunt, hard, bold.
She might have shrieked aloud again at the deep, knifing sensation that filled her, but she could not, for his kiss continued to absorb all sound.
To seduce and arouse anew.
God help her, she was swept into his demand.
And then, she discovered, she demanded in return, she was seeking herself.
She wanted him so urgently. Forgetting him, forgetting herself, time, place, past, present, and all reason.
She hungered, she ached, arching and writhing to meet his every thrust, to feel his every touch.