Page 3 of A Storm of Fire and Ice

The feel of his rough stubble against my tender skin sent a bolt of pleasure straight to my core. I writhed against him, my hands clutching his shoulders as I tried to pull him in tighter.

The hand that wasn’t busy tormenting my breast trailed down my body, his fingers following the curve of my abdomen until he reached the juncture between my hip and thigh. My breath hitched when his fingers danced along the edge of my panties, pressing down against the aching flesh between my thighs.

Molten waves of pleasure pulsed through me, settling in my core as his fingers dipped into the wet heat between my thighs. I cried out when his fingers stroked over my swollen, sensitive nub, his thumb sliding over it in a slow, maddening circle.

My body soaked for him as need coiled hot and tight within me, an aching void only Brontes could fill. I fumbled with the laces of his pajama pants, shoving the offending garment down his hips. His arousal sprang free, hard and ready.

I took him in my hand, delighting in the strangled groan that escaped him. He pushed into my fist, and I mewed as he continued to pleasure me.

“Tell me what you want, Princess,” he commanded in my ear, his breath hot and heavy against my skin.

“I want all of you, my king,” I whispered breathlessly.

“That’s it,” he growled, stilling my movements. “I’m going to bury myself deep inside you.”

I gasped softly, and my heart stuttered at his words.

Brontes swept me off my feet and cradled me in his taut arms. He carried me to the large round daybed on the terrace, gently setting me down on the plush pillows and soft blankets that adorned it. As he lowered himself over me, I lost myself in the lustful glint in his dark eyes. The warmth of his skin against mine sent sparks of electricity cascading through my very being, only making me long for more of him.

I wanted to feel him everywhere. I wanted him inside me so that I could be a part of him . . . be one with him.

He was my soulmate. He was my everything.

I wanted to be his queen.

I wanted to be his wife.

I wanted to be the mother of his children.

“I love you, Gwyneira,” he whispered, as if he could read my thoughts.

“I love you, Brontes.” I smiled at him lovingly.

His hands dipped under my gown again, pushing the sheer fabric up around my waist and sliding my panties off. His eyes burned red hot as they traveled across my nakedness.

He nudged my legs apart, settling himself between them, and my breath hitched as his tip brushed my entrance. With one vigorous thrust, he drove into me, filling me so deliciously that I cried out, certain I would shatter.

“Gwyneira,” he groaned and stilled to rain kisses down my neck, my throat, my chest.

“Brontes,” I begged, my voice breathless.

“You want more?” he asked huskily.

“Yes,” I whimpered.

He abruptly pulled out and thrusted into me again. “Like that?”

“Yes . . . please . . .” I gasped.

His firm, broad chest caressed my breasts as he leaned over, thrusting into me again and again. My body began to quake as the delightful fire in my core threatened to claim me.

“I’m so close.” I arched my back into him. “Give me all of you.”

With one final powerful thrust and a loud groan, he pulsated against my walls, releasing his essence into me. The waves of ecstasy crashed over me, sending me over the edge. I cried out. My nails dug into his scarred back as I clung to him, shuddering as the most incredible, most intense sensation ripped through me.

He held himself there for a moment, buried deep inside me as he had promised. Finally, he collapsed on top of me, his strong body relaxing as he tucked his head into my neck.

“Gwyneira,” he whispered as he kissed my neck. “My beautiful snowflake.”

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