The Knight(8)

Despite the cool February day, sweat spread over his skin as the force of his desire grew hotter and harder to control. He felt as if he were about to explode. When her hips started to lift, he let her find him.

Christ. He groaned at the contact. Nestling the throbbing column in the sweet juncture between her legs, he cupped her bottom, holding himself firmly against her as she started to grind against him with frantic little lifts and circles of her hips.

Her breath was coming faster now, a mix of soft cries and moans. He could feel her body quickening underneath him. The cries turned more insistent, the grip of her fingers into his shoulders more demanding. He could feel the sweet tension claim her. Feel as she began to dissolve.

Oh God, she was going to come just from rubbing against him. He gritted his teeth against his own urge to do the same and let her ride it out. Let her discover how to find her pleasure and take it.

He held himself very still, trying not to think about how good it felt. Or how responsive she was. Or how damned lucky he was to find a woman with such unbridled passion. Christ, it felt as if they were swiving, even though they still had their clothes on.

A moment later her body seized. He broke the kiss to watch her face as she broke apart.

Her eyes flew to his in wonder. “James!”

Something jammed in his chest. A hard, hot stab of pure emotion. She was so beautiful. “It’s all right, love,” he said huskily. “I’ve got you.”

And he did. They were so connected he could feel the spasms and shuddering of her release reverberating through her—and around him, pulling and gripping. So tight. So warm. So good.

God, he needed to be inside her.





Stunned by the power of the sensations that wracked her body, Joanna was barely aware of James’s jerky movements as he tore off his cotun and worked the ties of his braies.

The sharp spasms had just begun to ebb when she felt a cool blast of air wash over her legs as he tossed up her skirts. Looping his arms under her legs, he lifted her hips to where he was positioned on his knees between her legs.

The blunt tip of his manhood nudged against her for a moment, and with one purposeful thrust he sheathed himself inside her.

His head fell back with a deep cry that was somewhere between agony and ecstasy.

She gasped—more with shock than with pain, although his size still elicited a twinge of the latter. It was the thoroughness of his possession, the fierce primitiveness of his claim, and the incredible fullness of him inside her.

He held himself still for a minute, as if giving his body a chance to get used to the sensations, before drawing himself in and out—slowly.

She’d wondered at their position until then, but suddenly it became clear. Unlike the first time when he’d been on top of her, with him on his knees and her hips tilted to him, he had a perfect vantage of what they were doing. He could watch himself moving in and out of her.

And so could she. Her eyes widened as her body stretched to take him in, and inch-by-inch he disappeared inside her.

She knew she should be shocked. Should be ashamed. Should turn her gaze. But instead, she flushed with arousal at the erotic display. At the intimacy and the carnality. Heat spread through her limbs.

Their eyes met, and a flush rose up her cheeks.

His face was a tight mask of pleasure, all hard lines and dark shadows. His jaw was clenched, his mouth was thinned, and his eyes were slitted with passion. He looked fierce and dangerous, and so attractive it sent a fresh wave of heat right to the place they were joined.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said as if he could read her thoughts. “Your passion arouses me. I like to feel your eyes on me.”

As though on command, her eyes fell to his manhood, poised at the precipice of another stroke. “You do?” she asked.

He groaned in response, sinking in and out again. His voice was tight, as if every movement was torture. “God, you have no idea. Watch me, Jo. Watch me love you.”

She did. She wondered at the size of him. At his thickness. At the bulging vein that ran down the long length. At the ability of her body to fit him inside. She watched as the slow, wicked strokes quickened, as his hips beat faster, as the heat and dampness of her arousal coated him in a thin sheen, easing his path.

She gasped as the beat intensified. Her heart started to pound, and the restless sensation started to build in her again.

The exquisite friction.

The sinful fullness.

The perfect rhythm.

Heat spread over her limbs as every hard slam of his body into hers brought her closer to that quicksilver peak.

She could feel the fury of his passion unleashing, feel the storm that he’d held at bay the first time begin to break free. It was wild and primitive and raw.