Page 31 of Dark Seduction

“I don’t care!”

His gaze drifted again to her mouth and she knew he was finally about to kiss her. And she could no longer think of a single reason why he should not.

“Fire,” he said harshly, “an’ evil.”

CHAPTER SIX

MALCOLM BRUSHED his mouth against hers.

Claire did not move. She had wanted to kiss this man for so long, and the featherlight caress of his lips sent such desire through her. She had never been kissed by such a powerful man and she had never known such a gentle kiss, either. Claire moaned softly, reaching for his huge shoulders. Dear God, she wanted him to deepen the kiss.

He had a hand on each side of her, pressed into the bed, as he played her lips, slowly but insistently, kissing her again and again. The pressure steadily increased, his tongue beginning to flick at the seam of her lips. Claire could not stand it. She cried out.

He became still. Claire did not care. She clawed his shoulders, moaning shamelessly, thrusting her tongue at his lips, demanding more while urgently spreading her thighs. For one more instant, he didn’t move, not even to return the kiss, while she frantically tried to thrust her tongue past his strong, closed mouth. Why was he doing this?

And then he caught her head in his powerful hands. Claire went still and he kissed her hard and openmouthed, instantly reversing their roles. His kiss was so demanding that she felt the wall against her head through the pillows.

And Claire kissed him back, shocked that so much pleasure could be gained from a kiss. And damn it, a kiss was not enough!

As he sucked on her mouth, his tongue locking fiercely with hers, Claire ran her hands over his hard chest, wanting the damn tunic to disappear. She wanted to feel every inch of his hard, powerful body, but not through coarse linen. She wanted to touch his skin, explore his muscles, taste every inch of him. She found the slit at the neckline and slid her hand through, shoving aside the large cross he wore, gasping when she felt his bare, hot skin under her palm. This was so good….

He grunted. She tried to move her hand lower but it was impossible, the neckline wasn’t deep. She jerked her hand out and then frantically stroked down his rib cage and hard, tight abdomen, over the tunic, toward his navel. She cried out wildly when she felt the hot, huge, bulbous tip of his erection thrusting at her.

She was going to die if he did not take her with that hardness….

He jerked her hand away from his penis, his grip uncompromising, breaking the kiss as he did so. “Nay, lass,” he breathed hard, his eyes savagely bright.

“Damn you,” she wept, writhing in an urgency she could not bear. She managed to gaze at him through her tears, panting hard. Shocked, Claire realized he was standing firm to some dumb notion he had about not sleeping with her. Furious, desperate, she wanted to strike him, but he held both of her wrists now and there was no possible way to do so.

“I need t’ leave ye,” he said harshly, and he released her.

Claire reared up, fists flying, pummeling his chest. “Like hell!”

He used his forearm to brush the blows aside the way he might an annoying fly. Then he placed his hand abruptly on her bare knee, pressing her leg into the bed.

Claire went still, her heart almost exploding with comprehension, anticipation, more insane fire licking between her thighs. “Yes,” she whispered.

His face hard and tight, his eyes glittering, he slid his hand up her leg and beneath her skirt, all the way to the wet cleft there.

She gasped, sinking back against the pillows, arching shamelessly for him. “Hurry,” she said hoarsely.

His eyes flared brighter, and Claire blinked back hot tears when his knuckles brushed her silk-clad, throbbing sex. He moved his long blunt fingers beneath her thong, and held it suspended from her flesh. His knuckles lay deep where she was the most sensitive and distended.

“Oh, God,” Claire gasped.

“Aye,” he said thickly, and he jerked her skirt up to her waist, his gaze riveted on her. “Ye wear a string. A string with lace an’ beads.”

Claire whispered, “Please.”

He edged his thumb slowly over one distended lip, then down the other one. Claire bucked as his thumb traced the swollen outline of her clitoris. She gave in and came, bursting into a thousand pieces, crying out in anguish, pleasure, ecstasy.

And then she felt his tongue probing her there.

The delicious and agonizing pressure renewed itself with stunning force, as his strong tongue tasted her, stroked her, circling her. It had been so long—and never like this! She broke apart again, weeping, moaning, flayed by his tongue, again and again, crying out in part pleasure, part pain. He did not stop, testing her threshold, pressing into her again, causing an even greater, more violent orgasm. Claire sobbed and his tongue finally stilled. She panted and breathed and finally she floated back to the bed.

Claire lay back, incapable of any movement now. She wasn’t certain how long he had been performing oral sex on her, but she’d had so many orgasms she had lost count. Her body actually hurt now. And Malcolm hadn’t come.

What had just happened? How had she let this happen? And what about his pleasure? She was finally sane again. She no longer knew herself. Was this his idea of foreplay?