Chapter Eight
If his nerves hadn’t been so tangled, if the need hadn’t been so acute, he might have been able to show her tenderness.
If his blood hadn’t been so hot, desire so greedy, he would have tried to give her some romance.
But he was certain if he didn’t possess now, possess quickly, he would shatter into hundreds of jagged shards of desperation.
So his mouth was fevered with impatience, his hands rough with urgency. At the first potent taste he understood she was already his. But it wasn’t enough. Maybe it could never be enough.
She didn’t tremble or hesitate. The vulnerability was cloaked inside a generosity that urged him to take his fill. As her hands roamed restlessly over his back he felt only her hunger and none of her doubt.
He pushed the cap from her hair then yanked the band from it so that his hands could take fistfuls of honey-colored silk. And the hands that gripped were unsteady, even as his mouth ruthlessly devoured hers.
She opened for him, releasing a soft and sultry moan of pleasure as his tongue plunged to duel with hers.
He wanted so badly, and that want vibrating from him aroused her own.
She had risen on her toes, unaware that she was fighting to meet him flare for flare.
Her body was quaking with passions long suppressed.
And there was fear in that, fear in not knowing what would become of her if she lost that last toehold on control.
She had to show him that she could give pleasure, make him enjoy and continue to want.
If she fumbled now, lessened her grip on proving herself a woman, might he not find her less than his fantasy?
Yet she had never been wanted like this. Not like this with the violence of desire pulsing in the air so that every breath was like breathing temptation. She strained against him, hoping what she had to give would be enough while her system jolted along the battering tide of sensations.
His mouth raced over her face, down her throat where his teeth and the rough stubble of beard scraped. And his hands—Lord, his hands were fast and lethal.
She had to keep her head, but her knees were watery and her mind was spinning from the onslaught. Desperately she dug her nails into his back as she struggled away from the edge and tried to remember what a man would like.
She was quivering like a plucked bow, so tensed and wired he thought she might snap in two in his hands. She was holding back. The knowledge that she could do so when he was half crazed brought on a kind of virulent fury. He tore the blouse aside as he pushed her onto the bed.
“Damn you, I want it all.” Breath heaving, he encircled her wrists and dragged her arms over her head. “I’ll have it all.” When his mouth swooped down to capture hers, her hands strained under his grip, her pulse jittering in quick rabbit jumps under his fingers.
His body was like a furnace, hot damp flesh fusing with hers in a way that made her shudder from the sheer wonder of it.
Like iron, his fingers clamped hers still while his free hand raked over her in a merciless assault.
She could feel the anger, taste the frustrated and furious desire.
Desperate, she tried to pull in a breath to beg him to wait, to give her a moment, but all she could manage were jagged moans.
The wind kicked the curtains aside, letting dusk pour through. The first drops of rain hit the roof, sounding to her sensitized ears like gunshots that echoed the war he was waging on her. Again thunder rumbled, closer now, warning of a reckless power.
When his mouth found her breast, he let out a hot groan of pleasure. Here she was as soft as a summer breeze and as potent as whiskey. As she writhed beneath him, he dampened and tugged on the taut nipple, losing himself in the taste and texture while her heartbeat hammered against his mouth.
And she wanted as he wanted. He could feel the urgent excitement raging through her, hear it in her quick, sobbing breaths. Her hips arched and plunged against his until he was senseless. He ranged lower, his teeth nipping at her rib cage, his tongue laying a line of wet heat over her belly.
Her hands were free now and her fingers gripped his hair then tore at the bedspread. She couldn’t breathe. She needed to tell him. Her body was too full of aches and heat. She needed...
She needed.
Someone cried out. Suzanna heard the quick desperate sound, felt it tear from her own throat as her body arched up. Whole worlds exploded inside of her with a roar louder than the thunder that stalked just overhead. Stunned, she lay shuddering under him as he lifted his head to stare at her.
Her eyes were dark, her face flushed with fresh fever. Beneath his, her body shook with aftershocks even as her hands slipped limply from his back to the ravaged bed. He hadn’t guessed what it would do to him to see that kind of dazed pleasure on her face.
But he knew he wanted more.
He was driving her up again before she could recover.
Now she could only embrace the speed and the thrill of danger.
As the rain began to pound, she rolled with him, too giddy to be shocked by her own greed.
Her hands were as rough and ready as his now, her mouth as merciless.
When he dragged the slacks down her legs, her quick gasp was one of triumph.
Her fingers were equally impatient as they yanked the denim over his hips, as they streaked and pressed over slick, heated flesh.
She wanted to touch as urgently as she needed to be touched. To possess even as she was possessed. She craved the madness, the turbulent hunger she hadn’t known she could feel, and this tempestuous desire that reared up like a wild wolf to consume.
There was no thought of control now, not from either of them.
When he sent her racing up again, then again, she rode each slashing crest only frantic for more.
More was what he wanted to give her, and what he wanted to take.
As the blood fired through his veins, he drove himself into her, claiming possession in a frenzy of speed and heat.
She matched him, beat for wild beat, the long, nurturing fingers digging into his hips.
They were alone again, but this time the sea was violently churning and the air was flaming hot.
Here at last was the power and the freedom.
The speed was reckless, the journey a glorious risk.
She felt him shudder, bury his face in her hair as he reached the end.
Suzanna locked tight around him and followed.
He’d wondered what it would be like for fifteen years.
From boy to man he had dreamed about her, imagined her, wanted her.
None of his fantasies had come close. She had been like a volcano, smoldering and shuddering then erupting hot.
Now she lay like warm wax beneath him, her body meltingly soft with passions spent.
Her hair smelled of sun and sea. He thought he could stay just so for eternity, molded against her with the rain drumming on the roof and the wind blowing the curtains.
But he wanted to see her.
When he shifted, she made a small sound of protest and reached out. He said nothing, only kissed her until she relaxed again. Her eyes were drifting shut when he turned the lamp beside the bed on low.
Lord, she was beautiful, with her hair fanned out on the pillows, her skin glowing, her mouth soft and full. She tensed, but he ignored her discomfort as he took a long, silent study of the rest of her.
“Like I said,” he murmured when his eyes came back to hers. “The Calhoun women are all lookers.”
She didn’t know what she was supposed to say or how she was expected to act.
She knew that he had taken her to a new place, an extraordinary place, but she had no idea if he had experienced the same mind-spinning ride.
Then he frowned and her stomach twisted.
With his eyes narrowed, he traced a finger down her throat, over the swell of her breasts.
“I should have shaved,” he said abruptly, hating the fact that he’d scraped and reddened her skin. “You could have told me I was hurting you.”
“I guess I didn’t notice.”
“Sorry.” He touched his lips gently to her throat. Her look of dazed surprise made him feel like an idiot. When he rolled away, she reached out tentatively for his hand.
“You didn’t hurt me,” she said softly. “It was wonderful.” And she waited, hopeful that he would tell her the same.
“I’ve got to let the dog in.” His voice was rough, but he gave her fingers a quick squeeze before he left the room.
Suzanna heard it now, the whining howls, the scratching at the screen.
She told herself it wasn’t a rejection. It only meant that he could go from passion to practicality more quickly than she.
They had shared something, something vital.
She could cling to that. She sat up, more than a little amazed to see the state of the bed.
The spread was a heap on the floor, the sheets a tangled knot at the foot.
Her clothes—what was left of them—were scattered with his.
She rose and, uncomfortable naked, tugged on his shirt before she lifted her own.
One button out of five remained, hanging by a thread.
Laughing, she hugged it to herself. To have been wanted like that.
With a little sigh, she bent down to search for her buttons.
Maybe now he could be cool and collected, maybe his life hadn’t been changed as hers had, but she had been wanted, desperately. She would never forget it.
“What are you doing?”
She looked up to see him standing in the doorway. Obviously walking around buck naked didn’t concern him in the least, she thought and felt her steady pulse jerk and dance again. He looked angry. She wished she understood what she had done, or hadn’t done, to put that scowl on his face.