Page 73 of The Devil in Her Bed
Proud. Challenging. Perfect.
They collided like thunderclouds. All electricity and wild, chaotic abandon. Some would fear to watch it, of that he had no doubt. His fingers tangled in her braid and he couldn’t be sure if he trapped her or she’d ensnared him. Her hands scored at the rough stubble of his cheek as she pulled him in to kiss him as if she’d been born hungry for a taste.
As if she’d been waiting for twenty years.
Her hands scraped down his shirt and then tightened into fists, threatening to tear it from his body.
He did it for her.
The sound of buttons clattering to the floor was the perfect percussion to her purr of encouragement, the vibrations of which went all the way to his cock.
He filled his hands with her, his arms, pulling her in and crushing her lithe frame against his thick one. His fingers were bruising on her back, her shoulders, her waist; he knew that.
Neither of them would escape this encounter unmarked.
It was only that her frenzy matched his own. She clutched at him, digging her fingers into the cords and muscles of his back, pawing at him with identical ardor. Her tongue met his, matching him stroke for stroke and plunge for plunge.
Christ, if he was the devil… she was a fuckingdemon. A succubus. And he was quite suddenly her willing victim.
Chandler finally stopped fighting. He gave over to the hunger, surrendered to his own dark desires, and succumbed to her unspoken challenges.
But that didn’t mean he was dormant.
He used his teeth on her lips as he explored her every bare inch of skin with rough hands. He wanted to mark her. To show the world that she might own him now, but he’d claimed a bit of her, as well.
She was all smooth flesh over toned muscle. Not lush, but lovely. Her flares were subtle and her lines sleek. Her breasts small and pert, the nipples pink pebbles begging for his mouth.
All in good time.
Her fingers delved into his disheveled hair, and he growled as her nails scored his scalp. He pinned her to him, imprisoning with one arm as he filled the other hand with her ass covered with that emerald silk. The muscles of her bottom flexed and clenched beneath his touch, and she lifted a leg to wrap around his thigh. Gods, she was strong, and limber as well.
This was going to be as much a fight as it was fucking.
He couldn’t wait.
As impatient as he was, Chandler explored the parts of her mouth he’d missed before. Going deeper, thrusting stronger until he felt as though she stole his breath from his lungs and gave it back again.
Finally he tore away, needing to think. To breathe.
“No,” she panted. “More.”
It wasn’t a question, but a command.
And he could do nothing but oblige her. With arumble of victory that escaped from somewhere deep, deep inside of him, he reached down to lift her against him, splitting her other leg so they both wrapped around his waist.
In three powerful strides he drove her against the wall, hissing a breath in through his teeth as his sex rolled and flexed against hers, again frustrated by the layers of their clothing.
Yes, they’d been here before…
And now he’d get to finish what they’d started.
She wasn’t a patient prisoner. She climbed him like a rope, using her thighs as a vise as she hooked her heels around his buttocks and pulled him harder against her, riding him, after a fashion. Her movements were not those of a practiced seductress, but a primal, jolting roll of her body in shuddering successions.
No, he would take nothing from her tonight, but she would take whatever pleasure from him he could give.
And all he could do was be humbled. Grateful. Two emotions with which he was not well acquainted.
Her lips drove against his with such fervor that their teeth briefly met. She kissed like a woman denied too long. As if instead of doing this with regularity, she’d been waiting her entire life for it. Her hands were everywhere at once. His hair, his neck, the columns of muscle bracketing his spine.
