Page 47 of Enticing the Devil
Anger and hurt were still present somewhere inside her—quietly seething. But the need rolling through her blood, sparking in her soul, was far too powerful to ignore. She willfully allowed herself to be consumed by it. She didn’t want to feel pain and rejection. She wanted—craved—this heat and hunger. As long as she focused on the undeniable passion, everything else became irrelevant.
Somehow, he managed to shed his coat and tossed it aside without breaking from the kiss. Her hands roamed frantically over the toned heat of his chest and shoulders, loving the strength and power so evident in his form, while he urgently explored her mouth with plunging strokes and fiery licks. But that wasn’t all he explored.
He’d lowered one large palm to grip firmly at the curve of her rear while he wrapped his other hand high around her rib cage. When he shifted his hold to boldly brush his thumb over the swell of her breast, she turned her head to drag in a ragged, panting breath. The second brush of his thumb found the aching point of her nipple and he paused there, circling the sensitive peak through the thin material of her evening gown. The caress sent shockwaves through her system, triggering a deep swirling low in her belly.
She dropped her head back and deepened the curve of her spine, a weak attempt at pressing herself more fully into his hand. She wanted him to cover her completely. Claim her. Mold her flesh with the warmth of his palm and the strength of his fingers.
Every time she didn’t think she could feel any wilder, any more unbridled, he urged her to a new level of desperation. With an almost savage growl, he lowered his mouth to the side of her throat, sucking her sensitive flesh against the edge of his teeth as he grasped a handful of her skirts and lifted them to her waist. His movements were impatient and coarse as he delved beneath the gathered material to grip her rear in both hands. Before she could even think to protest, her feet were off the ground and her legs were wrapped around his narrow waist.
And then, as he pressed her more firmly to the door at her back, protesting was the last thing on her mind.
Shock and the maddest passion claimed her when the hard, hot length of his erection lodged in that hollow between her thighs. Molten desire pooled there. She rolled her hips, hoping to ease the sweet aching, and for a bare moment, she almost found the perfect ease to her torment as a delicate part of her rubbed against his hardness. She moaned from the pure pleasure of it. But it was far too fleeting and frustration followed swiftly in its wake.
With his mouth roaming over the top curve of one heaving breast, he muttered something roughly in Welsh. She couldn’t understand the words, but they felt undeniably erotic sliding over her skin.
And then he rocked against her.
It was a strong, subtle movement that caused the thick ridge of his erection to grind with aching perfection against her heated, swollen core.
She gasped and met his next rolling thrust with a purposeful tilt of her pelvis.
Yes. This was what she needed. This bold pressure. This wonderful friction.
The guttural sound he made while he dipped his tongue into the shallow crevice between her breasts shattered whatever tenuous vessel contained the last bit of reticence she’d been holding on to.
She wanted all of him in that moment. Every inch, every gravelly moan, every harsh grip of his hands. She wanted nothing between them. She wanted to take him into herself and claim him as he claimed her with every pull of his mouth and short, heavenly thrust between her legs.
He lifted his head and his lips found hers. He delved his tongue past her teeth and claimed her breath with every harsh inhale. As she lost herself in the kiss, she vaguely felt him shift his hold before he reached between them.
The first touch of his fingertips—long and broad and slightly rough, sliding along her sex—stole her breath. Her drawers had been soaked by her body’s reaction and clung to her like a second skin, allowing her to feel every nudge of his thumb against her swollen bud. The erotic caress was heavenly wicked and she never wanted it to stop. But then he found the open seam, and a second later, his finger slid more intimately along her opening.
The exhilaration she experienced in allowing him such liberty with her person—in craving his touch so acutely—was utterly unexpected.
And when his finger pressed past her entrance to slowly claim space inside her, she lost her breath to the sensation. Every thought, every second, every thud of her heart was intently focused on the experience. Somehow, his touch managed to be unrelenting but gentle at the same time as he filled her, softening her inner flesh and bringing more sensations to life. The pleasure he awakened with every deliberate, demanding stroke of first one finger then two started to tumble over itself as it expanded through her body—reaching to her fingers and toes, snaking up her spine, tingling across her scalp.
Anne moaned and arched against the door. Her thighs squeezed tightly around his hips. She felt reckless and out of control. She loved it.
Thrusting his fingers in and out of her body in a rhythm she began to crave like her next breath, he spread open-mouthed kisses along her throat and the curve of her shoulder. All the while, murmuring rich, gravelly words she couldn’t understand.
When he brought his mouth back to hers, she grasped his head in her hands and dove into the heat of his mouth with an urgency she couldn’t quite explain.
He answered her with deep strokes of his tongue and harsh scrapes of his teeth. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. Nothing calm or sweet or tentative. It was primitive and savage and it consumed her.
So much that she nearly cried out when his fingers left her.
The knuckles of his hand bumped and rubbed against that tightening bud at the apex of her sex as he seemed to fumble with something between them. She gasped at the sensitivity and intensity of the brief contact and twisted her tongue more wildly with his.
And then it wasn’t his knuckles nudging against her, but something smoother, hotter, and far broader than his fingers. She knew what it was—of course she knew—and oddly, the realization brought a deep sigh of contentment followed quickly by a sharp inhale as he slowly pushed into her body.
He bowed his head beside hers, resting his forehead to the door. His heavy, panting breaths spread hot air against her neck and his hands gripped hard to her buttocks as he held her in place to accept the pressure of his body claiming space inside hers.
With her heart in her throat, she clung to him. Her legs locked around his hips and her arms tight around his neck. Tucking her face into that hollow beneath his jaw, she breathed deeply through her nose as he filled her.
She expected a bit of pain or discomfort, but all she felt was a delicious stretching and the wonderful hard heat of him. Once fully sheathed, he immediately began to withdraw. A slow, lovely glide, then another slow, claiming thrust. But as he continued, each pump of his hips became more urgent, more forceful, and more spine-tingling than the one before.
Something began to build strength inside her. Something stronger and more demanding than desperation. Fiercer than hunger. It was a heaviness...and a pleasure that went deeper than what she’d experienced so far. It made her teeth clench and her heart pound so furiously her chest ached. She couldn’t speak—could barely breathe beyond a quick, shallow panting—and though she wanted to beg him to ease the unbelievable torment clawing through her, she wanted him to never stop the lush, deep thrusts that were slowly driving her mad. Surely, she wouldn’t survive much more.
When he released a heavy groan that reverberated through her body, she wondered if he could possibly be feeling the same. Goodness, she hoped so! And then he tightened his grip on her hips and tilted her pelvis. The sudden, subtle shift caused a breath-stealing new sensation as his thrusts reached something inside that made her inner muscles clench around him.