Page 13 of Which Witch is Willing?
He had her trapped in his embrace, his leg swung over hers, keeping her in place, as he ravished her mouth. She couldn’t push him away with her back to his front and his hand holding her head immoveable as he plundered her depths, showing her with his lips, his tongue and teeth how much he needed her.
She whimpered, and in his muddled mind he couldn’t differentiate if the sound matched his desire or if it was a plea for him to stop.
Goddess help him, he couldn’t stop.
Desire and need roared inside for him to take, to mark, to master. She washis. No other woman had ever infuriated him or raised him to such heights of passion that he lost all concept of consensus.
He lifted her skirt and tore off her panties, his fingers diving deep and finding her wet. Oh, so fucking wet for him.
That was all he needed. He continued kissing her, not wanting her able to utter one word. Lately everything that had come out of her mouth set his blood to boil.
It was boiling now with a completely different emotion, one that consumed him. He found the bud at the top of her sex and stroked it, glorifying in the jerk and shudder of her body against his.
He freed his cock from his trousers, his fingers never stopping in their deliberate and desperate ministrations. She tensed in his arms, mewling sounds transferring from her mouth to his, the smothered vibrations adding more heat and hunger to the kiss.
He felt her orgasm build and entered her from behind as it peaked. Only then did he break the kiss to bite her neck, sending her soaring into the stratosphere on a strangled scream of ecstasy.
The carnal contractions of her pleasure, sent him rocketing off with her.
8
Tierra lay there stunned, pleasure still quaking her body while anger twisted inside her like ivy choking a tree.
How dare he? Not only had he insisted she rest, then he basically decided to treat her body like his own private playground. Once again, he’d given her no choice.
The man was dead.
Just as soon as she could control her limp limbs, she’d send him back to Hell and let that she-devil have him. They were perfect for each other.
“Stop,” Killian said, the breath of his command caressing the back of her neck, followed by a gentle brush of his lips over where he’d bitten her.
She shivered. The back of her neck was incredibly sensitive, making her body a traitor to her thoughts. “You forced yourself on me.”
“You wanted me,” he growled. “Don’t deny it.”
His jerked inside her, causing her to gasp as banked sensations awakened. He was still hard even though she knew he’d found his release. Everyone currently in Châteaux Morte probably knew it too—as well as any neighboring villages—by the guttural roar that had escaped him.
“Let me go,” she whispered, praying that he would before her body completely betrayed her again. Holy Mother of Earth, how could she be this mad at him and still crave him with a hunger that never seemed to be sated?
“Never.” His teeth bit down on the cord of her neck again and she couldn’t contain the gasp or the arching of her body into his, taking him deeper inside her.
An answering sound more beast than man rumbled up his throat, and he cupped her breasts, molding them in his large hands. Her breasts ached all the time, and having him knead them, pressing them against her sternum, altered her anger into an altogether different type of fever.
A fever with fangs.
“Use me, Tierra. Takemethis time. Have your revenge upon me.” He released her, slipping free of her body. She instantly missed his heat and the promise of pleasure his body always called forth from hers. He lay on his back, his arms splayed wide, a challenging glint in his ebony eyes for her to do with him as she wished.
Did she dare do as he urged?
He’d always controlled their love making, and she had doubts that he could turn the reins over to her. At some point, he’d take them back, of that she was sure. But the thought of dominating him, for even a little while, was a carrot she couldn’t refuse.
Dear Goddess, save her, but she wanted him.
She sat up on the bed, her eyes drinking him in. He was still dressed even though his cock pointed skyward from the opening of his trousers. “Take off your clothes.”
His eyes heated with triumph, but he didn’t say anything, he just slid from the bed and slowly stripped.
She gulped at seeing the muscles roping over his flesh. His shoulders were broader than any linebacker, his torso more chiseled than a body builder’s, and his legs as powerful as Hercules.
