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At the sound of his name, so drugged with passion, Killian felt himself swell with need. It was a sharp, driving pain in his groin. He drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked it hard.
His fingers moved against her mound, through the thick thatch of damp hair, against the velvet-soft core of her desire. With a groaning sigh, he slipped his finger inside, felt the slick moisture of her need and the tight grip of her body.
She let her legs fall open farther and arched against his hand. Her hips ground into his palm, matching the fast, circular motion of his hand. She writhed and moaned and twisted her hands in his hair.
Lainie had never felt anything like this in her life. Her whole body trembled, ached. Deep inside, deeper than she'd even known existed, a fire had started, slow at first, just leaping flames, but with each stroke of his hand it burned hotter, until now she was damp with perspiration and writhing with need. It seemed as if everything she was lay beneath his questing finger, as if she'd magically dwindled to a speck of throbbing, painful desire. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, floating, straining, reveling in the heat of his touch.
She wanted to reach for him, to hold him in her arms and tell him what she felt, but her arms felt heavy and drugged. She couldn't move, couldn't draw a breath. "Killian," she whispered, tossing her head and thrusting her hip against his hand. "What are you doing to me?"
He pulled back from her nipple. Cold air rushed across the hardened peak, made her shiver at the sudden chill. Straining toward her, he pressed hot, moist kisses along her throat. "Loving you," he drawled, kissing her again on the mouth.
The simple words exploded in her heart. She threw her arms around him and clung to his sweaty back, re-
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turning his kiss with an abandon she'd never experienced before, never even imagined. His huge body angled atop hers, pressed her deeper into the fleecy bedroll.
And still his hands worked their magic on her body, building her desire to a throbbing, aching crescendo. Her heart was pounding against her chest, drowning out every sound except for the ragged hiss of her breathing. It felt as if it would explode any second.
A frustrated sigh escaped her. "Now, Killian," she murmured. 'Wow ..."
In a sweeping motion, he wrenched off his pants and rolled on top of her completely, covering her body with his. The hot, hard length of him pressed into her, drove her deeper in the bedding. She moaned softly at the contact and tightened her hold on his back. His legs slid down along hers.
She felt the heat of him everywhere, scalding her flesh. His hardness pressed the sensitive, aching spot between her legs and made her breathing shatter into weighty gasps. She waited for him to push inside her, but he didn't.
It drove her crazy with need. She clutched him, said his name on a broken sob. He kissed her, teased her until she couldn't think for wanting him.
She arched up and kissed him, losing herself in the heady taste of him. No one had ever kissed her like this before, and she knew suddenly why. This was the taste of love, the feel of it, the smell of it. Love wasn't about wedding rings and fairy tales and knights in shining armor. It was sweet-tasting and smelled of sweat and hurt so badly sometimes, you wanted to die.
And it was about pleasure. She squeezed her eyes shut. Jesus, the pleasure. Never again would she mistake lust for something else. This was desire, this was
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passion. She felt it surging through her body like electrical current, singing and burning the forbidden corners of her body and soul.
He filled her with a scorching heat, a throbbing need that made it difficult to think about love or lifetimes or everlasting. Even about children in other times. For a heartbreakingly perfect moment, she felt suspended, poised in a darkness where nothing mattered except the sweet ache between her legs and the hardness pressed against her body.
Then he slipped inside her and she couldn't think of anything at all. He moved slowly forward, stretching her body until she thought she'd burst from the exquisite torture. She said his name in a shuddering, moaning little voice and clung to his damp back.
He squeezed his eyes shut and angled himself onto his elbows. His face, drawn and lined by restraint, loomed above her, filled her vision. Tiny, sparkling droplets of sweat clung to his forehead, dampened the silvery hair that stuck to his face.
He moved slowly, rocking in and out of her body in a timeless, ageless rhythm that brought her past pleasure to the aching, desperate precipice of pain.
"Oh, God," she whimpered, hooking her nails into his back and riding the motion of his body, matching it with desperate, bent-kneed thrusts of her own.
She responded with an abandon she'd never known before. Nothing mattered, nothing but the painful ache between her legs. She clung to him, arching, driving her hips up to meet his downward thrusts. Their bodies merged, melded together in a scalding coil of fire.
She arched against him, quivering, clutching him against her, grinding her hips against his. Suddenly it hurt to want him so much. She couldn't stand it, couldn't breathe. A low, throaty moan escaped her. She
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groaned, tossed her head from side to side. Her body was poised, straining toward release. She needed it, oh, Jesus, she needed it now. Panting, almost weeping, she arched toward him.
"Oh, Killian," she groaned. "Oh, God . .."
It exploded through her all at once, a violent, shuddering release that left her gasping. She screamed out, clung to him as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed through her body, leaving her weak and trembling.
Killian felt her release. It throbbed around his hardness in an erotic, pulsing tide that drove him mad with wanting her. He thrust into her one more time, deep and hard, burying himself in the hot, wet sheath of her, losing himself in her moist sweetness. His need erupted, spilled itself into her welcoming warmth with a force that made his body jerk. He closed his arms around her slick, trembling body and clung to her like a drowning man.
