His hot mouth caressed the side of her face and she turned her mouth into his, unable to resist.
He muffled a groan and she felt his chest swell. She wondered if it meant he was feeling what she was: heart exploding into faster pounds, nerve endings snapping to life with a pulse of acute need.
She closed her fist to begin bunching his thobe behind his shoulders and he lifted to peel her sheet down. Then he reared back on his knees to shed his tunic. His sculpted form was barely visible in the dull purple light inside the tent, a vague silhouette that was undeniably masculine in its size. Powerful. Weakeningly beautiful.
Fern did something she never imagined herself able to do. She shimmied her nightgown up and over her head, tossing it away, then slid her own knickers off and kicked them to the floor as she opened her arms to him.
He fell on her and they kissed and clung like drowning victims. She knew it was bad to wrap her legs around him, but oh, it felt good to feel his aggressive sex rubbing against hers. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, telling her what he wanted to do to her, and she couldn’t help releasing a moan of encouragement.
“Shh, albi. We have to be quiet.” He nibbled down her neck, sending prickles of excitement through her chest, making her nipples stand taut and sensitive to the friction of his chest hair.
“I know, but it’s so hard,” she gasped, seeking with her hands for the shape of him. So hard.
He muffled a curse against her skin and slid lower, away from her reach as he captured her nipple in his mouth and teased her mercilessly.
“Zafir,” she protested, knee coming up in reaction to the jab of sensation his erotic suckling drove into her center.
He only skimmed his hand along her inner thigh, his teeth sinking in lightly around her nipple as his touch slid easily against her ready flesh. She arched in blinded reaction to his caress and he deepened his exploration, pressing a finger into her.
She threw her arm across her mouth to stifle her cry of joy, so aroused she could barely stand it.
He stoked her desire with tender ruthlessness, refusing to do more than let a few light touches of his thumb pad stroke her where she ached for pressure most. He switched to her other breast, making her want to beg as he continued to tease with those light thrusts of his finger and the not-quite-there caress.
“Zafir, please,” she finally pleaded, fisting her hand in his hair to make him stop.
He dragged her hand from the back of his head and bit the heel of her palm before he slid even lower and pressed her knees open. Then he gave her what she’d been anticipating, but with his tongue.
It was too much. She pushed her hand beneath her pillow and folded it across her face, releasing her sobs of ecstasy as orgasm took her. It was intense and scandalous and so powerful her eyes dampened with emotion while her body continued to tremor with aftershocks.
How could this be sinful? How?
When he rose over her and stole her pillow, she only thought, yes. Whatever he wanted, yes. If he pushed his length into her, she’d welcome him. Revel in his claiming of her.
He rolled her over and brought her hips up, then pinned his steely shaft between her slippery thighs, trapping her knees in place with his own on either side. Covering her the way every other species mated, he slid a hand to where they touched and pressed his shaft against flesh still tingling with postclimax sensitivity. He started to move.
She fisted her hands into her bedroll and held still for his lovemaking, wishing he was inside her. She wanted him to feel the same pleasure he’d given her and—