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He pulled away for a moment even as his stare stayed locked on her, and he yanked off his coat and waistcoat and then dragged his lawn shirt over his head.
Her breath left her.
His bare chest—a sight like she’d never seen. The strands of muscles rolling upward to his wide shoulders. The white ridges of scars dotting his skin—far too many. Scars she despised for how they must have made him suffer. The angle of his torso as it narrowed into a sleek line down to the waistband of his trousers. The way his skin shifted over muscles—a layer of silk slipping over iron rods.
His half-naked body took all attention away from the fact that she was standing in front of him in the nude except for her stockings and boots.
Her gaze moved upward and she found his face. His lips were slightly ajar, his breath shallow as though he was beyond thirst. The brown in his eyes had darkened, his look moving along her body, devouring her just with his gaze.
Just before embarrassment reared and her hands moved to shield herself, he cut forward, grabbing her about the waist and lifting her as his lips locked onto hers.
Carrying her across the room with his left arm long across her back, his right hand captured the side of her face, tilting her head for better access to her mouth. Deeper into her he searched, drawing raw moans from deep in her lungs.
He set her onto the bed, her legs draping over the edge, and he hovered above her, his lips not leaving hers. She grabbed the sides of him, his skin hot, like always, under her touch. Moving along the cords of his muscles, feeling them twitch under her touch.
Fascinating—it wasn’t just her that felt indescribable spikes with every brush of a finger across skin.
He shifted above her, and his mouth left hers. Downward, swipes of his tongue sizzling against her skin. His mouth met her left breast and he attacked. Pulling, teasing the bud into a hard point and then his teeth took over, raking the nub ever so slightly, testing the pressure. What made her arch into him. What made her gasp.
He rolled her nipple between his teeth a touch harder and she both arched and gasped, her reaction exasperated by the fact that he’d just slid two fingers into her—the pressure deep inside of her giving answer to the wanton spikes that spread down from her breast.
He chuckled into her chest as his thumb found her nubbin hidden within her folds and he started slow circles around it.
Circles that drew everything he was doing to her breast into a boiling cauldron between her legs.
He shifted his body downward and before she could react, his tongue had parted her folds, slicking along the nubbin. Around and around his tongue and finger played, pulling—teasing—the pressure in her core building higher and higher until she feared she might shatter.
For as much as her body reacted to him—for as much as her body demand he continue what he was doing—she was sure death was next.
Death was the only thing that could quell the torture consuming her body. Her body which she could no longer control.
With her hands gripping the coverlet on either side of her, a scream left her mouth and a sudden semblance of sanity entered her mind. She looked down. Her left leg draped over his shoulder, the heel of her boot dug into his back. Her right leg bent upward. She couldn’t be more open to him—more vulnerable.
His eyes. His hooded eyes staring up at her, haunting her even as he tortured her with his finger, his tongue.
Terrifying. What he was doing to her. How her body was reacting to him. What the core of her was so desperate for.
As he lifted his head from her, his fingers kept a steady pace along her nubbin, slipping down and into her, then withdrawing and circling again. “I can see you’re there, Pen. Your body wants it but is fighting it.”
She reached down and grabbed his forearms, attempting to pull him upward along her body. “Strider, I don’t—I can’t.”
His arms were rock solid against her, his fingers increasing the pace as he moved up her body, his shins straddling her on the bed as he hovered above her. To her own mortification, her left leg slipped downward and stayed locked around his back.
“You can do this, just let it go, Pen. Let your body go.”
“Strider—I—”
“You said you trust me. This is when you need to prove it.”
Hell.She did trust him. She’d always trusted him above all others. Even if at this very second she was rethinking a lifetime of trusting him.
She nodded.
The deep rumble of his words floated down to her ears. “Then let your body go. Give it over to me.”
“Yes.” The one word left her breathless, giving him permission to drag her so far into the darkness—or light—she would never recover. And she didn’t care. This was Strider. He would protect her. Protect her from hell itself, if necessary.
His hand between her legs stroked her slowly for one minute—torture beyond comprehension—and his mouth dipped, capturing her right breast. His teeth clamped onto her nipple, tugging at it as his fingers slid into her, his thumb frenzied along her nubbin. Each one of her gasps spurred him faster—the nonsensical words that begged him with every breath to finish this. To give her whatever it was her body craved—needed.
