All The Ways To Ruin A Rogue(45)
His mouth scorched hers, his tongue colliding with hers, licking and stroking until a hungry fire burned in her belly. She whimpered as he tore his mouth off hers. His gray eyes glittered brightly down at her.
His hands eased where they gripped her shoulders. “Did I—” His voice sounded dark and strained. “—hurt you?”
“Don’t stop,” she growled, pulling him back with one hand around his neck, letting that suffice for her response.
The kiss burned hotter, feverish and hard. Teeth clanged, but she didn’t care. She had waited too long for this. He feasted on her lips, slanting his mouth one way and then the next. She caught on fast, mimicking his movements and quickly forgetting all about the kiss she had suffered long ago at the mercy of Archibald Lewis.
Lust sizzled through her veins. It wasn’t enough. Her palm glided across his chest, sliding inside the open V of his shirt so that she could touch and feel his warm, firm skin. So much softer than she imagined he would feel. And yet hard. Muscle, sinew, and bone beneath taut skin.
Still not enough.
He returned the favor, his palm finding her breast. Stabbing pleasure shot straight to her core from the contact and she moaned anew. He drank in the sound, squeezing her breast, his fingers unerringly finding her nipple through the fabric of her bodice and pinching down. A needle of pleasure so sharp it bordered pain grayed the edges of her vision.
She cried out into his kiss, but thankfully his mouth swallowed that sound, too. Ripples of pleasure eddied over her. Her legs shook. If not for the pressure of him at her front and the wall at her back, she would have slid to the ground in a quivering mass. The tension coiled tighter and tighter in her belly.
His fingers gentled, rolling her nipple softly, teasing until she was gasping again, shaking in his arms, desperate and throbbing. She surged against his hand, wanting more, dying for a firmer touch again, for the release to the building pressure.
He positioned his hardness where she most ached and ground down against her, one hand cupping her bottom to lift her higher for him. Her eyes flew wide. He felt huge. Even through layers of clothing, she felt the enormous ridge of his manhood. Tortured little sounds escaped her mouth and nose as he rubbed himself against her, building and stoking that pressure until she felt ready to explode.
And he never stopped kissing her. His mouth and tongue continued tasting her, fierce and consuming, ravaging her lips.
Her fingers smarted where she clutched his shoulders, pulling and tugging him closer. It was madness, but she didn’t want it to stop. He could take her right against the wall of overgrown ivy and nary a protest would pass her lips.
She lifted her mouth from his. “Please,” she begged, needing an end to the ache.
She’d brought herself to release before. She knew she was close. She knew it would not take much more from him. He looked down at her with cobalt-dark eyes . . . a stranger, as new to her as this experience was. He watched her intently, his jaw locked and hard, his eyes penetrating and dark as he thrust his manhood once more against her and then pinched down sharply on her nipple.
She shattered in his arms, her body jerking against his. He claimed her mouth again, swallowing her cry. Her hands drifted from his shoulders, her arms sliding around him so she didn’t melt into a puddle at his feet.
“That . . .” she gasped, her chest heaving as though she had just run a great distance.
That had been nothing like the pleasure she gave herself in the darkness of her bedchamber.
And she had not even removed her garments. Her mind reeled, thinking about what it might be like to truly be with him. The two of them with all the time in the world and not a stitch of clothing between them.
She dropped her head back against the wall, ignoring a pointy twig of ivy poking her in the temple. Max stared at her, his expression unreadable but no less penetrating, no less thorough. He stared at her long and hard, as though seeing her for the first time.