Hot lava poured into her veins, and melted her insides. Her legs went weak. He angled her face, poured himself down her throat. Took her breath, gave her his own. He was sweet and gentle and then rough and demanding. Coaxing. Commanding. He kept her wanting more. Needing more. He allowed her to come up for air and then she didn’t know if she initiated another kiss, or if he did. She only knew she was lost in him. In pure feeling. So good. So perfect. Better than anything she’d ever imagined or dreamt.
His hands slid down her back to her bottom, shaping, kneading, pulling her up and into him. She wanted to be closer. Wanted to be skin to skin. He had no shirt, but she was fully clothed. Would it be so wrong to take this night? Flames burned through her body, settled low and sinful. She didn’t know him, yet she did. She recognized him. She saw him. Casimir Prakenskii. She probably saw him better than he saw himself.
She hoped he saw her. She was Lissa Piner now, and she thought of herself as Lissa, but she wanted him to see the woman she really was. Giacinta Abbracciabene. Passionate. Needy. Greedy even. For him. For his body. For recognition that that woman existed.
His hands moved on her, sliding up her spine, under her blouse, slipping the material up over her head, tossing it aside. “I have to touch you.”
She knew what that felt like, having to touch him. She had her hand back now that he’d moved her closer to him, imprinting her body onto his. She was free to explore, to run her hands over his chest, to feel the heavy muscles, ropes of them on his arms and shoulders, yet his body was still lean enough to have that amazing definition that allowed him to assume any build he chose.
She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t have tattoos. Those marks would be identifiable and he couldn’t afford to be identified. His fingers made short work of her bra, and he slid it from her body, tossing it aside with her blouse. His mouth took hers again, a little rougher, almost fierce. She could taste possession. She could taste the male in him demanding she surrender.
She could do that – surrender herself to him for this one night. Whatever happened after, she’d have this. She never expected to have it. Such a gift. He obviously knew what he was doing, and she was ready to follow wherever he led.
He tugged her lower lip between his teeth. Bit down gently, just enough that she felt the little bite of pain flashing through her, and then his tongue was there. Soft velvet fire, teasing and stroking. He nibbled his way down her chin to her jaw, using the edge of his teeth and then his tongue. She had never considered that anything like that would be hot, but it was. So hot, she knew in another minute he was going to have to hold her up.
His hands slid around her back to her sides, shaping her waist, then sliding up her rib cage to settle at the sides of her breasts as if memorizing the very shape of her. She had no idea she could be so sensitive, but she was aware of his every touch, like a fiery brand, burning into her skin. His mouth was even hotter as he kissed his way down to the upper swell of her breasts. His thumbs moved, brushing her nipples, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Cried out.
Chaos reigned in her mind. Pleasure ruled. She reached up to cradle his head in her arms, loving the way his spiky hair felt against her skin. Keeping her eyes open to watch as his mouth moved over her breasts, sucking at her very sensitive skin, scraping with his teeth, soothing with his tongue. She could see small strawberries left behind in his wake, but her body was on fire. It was all she could do to watch such an erotic sight and not scream for more.
She heard her own panting lungs, the ragged breathing she couldn’t control. Her body didn’t feel like her own, it belonged to him. She couldn’t take her eyes from the sight of him feasting on her breasts. Her nipples ached. Hurt. Needed. The hunger in her was so sharp, so terrible, she gripped his hair in her fist and thought to push him toward the straining twin peaks. She couldn’t. She could only cling. Her pulse pounded in her clit. Slick heat gathered so that her panties went damp. Her heart hammered. She moistened her lips with her tongue. Waiting. She thought she might die with the wait. His mouth kept moving, following the path she wanted him to take, but slow, far too slow.
Then he was there. His tongue lapped at her nipple and fire streaked. Raged. Flames rushed through her bloodstream, hitting her core like a fireball. She gasped. Cried out. His mouth closed over her breast, drew her nipple into the scalding, moist cavern, flattening the hard peak against the roof of his mouth. He suckled. Her knees buckled. She was forced to hang on to him or fall.
“I can’t stand up,” she admitted, gasping the truth when she wanted to scream with pleasure.