Vision in White (Bride Quartet #1)(57)

He let his free hand roam, over smooth skin, angles and curves, while he undid his own shirt. When they were skin to skin, her arm hooked around his neck, and her body began to move sinuously against him.

Not too fast, he reminded himself. He wanted to savor every moment, every touch, every breath. He had Mackensie in his arms.

Her heart hammered under his hand, and he thought that alone a miracle. She was with him, she felt him, wanted him. And tonight, at last, the dreams of the boy, the longings of the man would both be eclipsed by the reality of the woman.

He toed off his shoes, indulging himself with the taste and texture of the back of her neck. He caught the strap of her bra in his teeth, nudging it aside so he could free the lovely, lovely curve of her shoulders.

She arched back against him, shuddered.

Pleasure, he thought, so much here to give and to take. He wanted to please her, to saturate her with sensation, and to watch her rise and ride. While his own needs hammered inside him, he unhooked her bra as his hand all but floated over the narrow vee of her panties. He traced her inner thigh, teased, just barely teased a fingertip under the lace.



       
         
       
        

"Carter." Her hand pressed down on his, urging him on. But he retreated, and once again turned her to face him.

"Sorry. I'm not finished."

Those magic eyes were full of storms now, the porcelain skin flushed with passion. For him, he thought. Another miracle. She reached for him, and her mouth took his in a desperate kiss.

Wait, he thought, as his blood pounded. Wait, there's more.

He nudged her onto the bed, eased down with her.

"The boots," she began.

"I like them." And he lowered his head to take her breast.

Her body shuddered and shone, it ached and sighed. Her mind simply emptied of all else but him and what he brought to her.

Slow hands, skilled lips swamped her body with sensations, layer after gossamer layer until they lay so thick she couldn't find air through them.

"I can't. I can't."

"It's all right." He slid a finger down, gliding over her, into her.

The veils ripped away with a blast of release.

As her body quaked through it, he ran his lips down and used his mouth to destroy her. She rose and fell. So fast, so fast. So much, as sensation poured over sensation until all blurred into shadow and light and mad movement. A sea of feeling swamped her, with a storm rolling through, pitching her toward desperation until she broke over the next swell.

When at last he slipped inside her, they moaned together.

She bowed up, nearly snapping his thinning leash of control. He stared into her eyes, gone dark, gone glassy while he drove them both mad with long, slow strokes. He felt her climb, watched her climb, steeped himself in her.

"Mackensie," he said, just "Mackensie," as he let himself fall into her eyes, into her body, and drown.





SHE FELT DRUNK AND DRUGGED. EVEN HER TOES FELT HEAVY, Mac thought. Air went in and out of her lungs again, and that was good. She was pretty sure she'd stopped breathing a number of times while Carter had . . .

Annihilated her, she decided.

Even now, when he was splayed over her like a man suffering from blunt force trauma, and their heartbeats knocked together like a couple of manic tennis balls, he touched his lips gently to the side of her throat.

"Okay?" he asked.

Okay? Was he out of his mind? You were okay when you slipped on the ice and caught yourself before you fell and broke an ankle. You were okay when you sank into a nice warm bath after a tough day.

You were not okay when your system had been turned inside out and right side in again.

"Yeah." What could she say? "You?"

"Mmm. Mackensie's naked in bed with me. I'm really okay." 

"I'm still wearing my boots."

"Yeah. Even better. Sorry, I must be heavy." He rolled off to tuck her up against him.

"Carter, you're nearly as skinny as I am. You're not heavy."

"I know-about the skinny part, I mean. Nothing seems to change it. Cor-somebody talked me into working with a personal trainer once. But who has time for all that? Buff isn't in my DNA."

"You have an appealingly lanky body. Don't let anyone tell you different. Besides, you use it like a stevedore."

"I've been saving up." He grinned, studied her face. "You're so beautiful."

"I'm not. I know this because I'm a professional. I have an interesting face, and can play up its assets. I have a skinny build as well, which is reasonably toned from-well, thinking about working out as much as actually. It's like a coat hanger. Clothes look pretty good on it. Otherwise it's just wire."