Page 18 of Cursed
It was the same for her. She dared to let joy leap inside her.
He squeezed her hand, kissed her cheek, his lips soft and gentle. When he turned her to him, she let him gather her into his arms, let him run his tongue along the line of her closed lips. She should keep them closed. But she couldn’t. She opened for him, glorying in the sensation of his tongue caressing the inside of her lips, her teeth, then engaging her own tongue in a slow, erotic tryst that made her blood heat and her pulse pound.
While he kissed her, he stroked his hands along her ribs as he had done before, then slowly slid them inward, teasing the sides of her breasts, before finally cupping them in his hands through the fabric of her bodice and chemise.
She should stop him. He shouldn’t touch her like that. But she was helpless to say the word “no.”
Instead, she turned more fully toward him, a small sound rising in her throat as he caressed her there. Then he did something new, his fingers brushing over her hardened nipples, making heat leap inside her. Helplessly, she felt a pleading sound rise in her throat.
“Andre. Oh Lord, Andre.”
“You like that?”
“Oh, yes. I didn’t know anything could feel that good.”
“There’s more, love.” He gathered her close, then lay back on the coverlet, taking her with him, holding her in his arms, pulling her body against his, her skirts tangling around their legs as he rocked with her.
Flames lapped at her. The flames of hell, she thought. But she didn’t care. There was only this moment, this man, and the desperation they shared.
He rolled to his back, pulling her on top of him, stroking his hands down her length so that every aching inch of her body was pressed to his.
They were both shaking with strong emotions. All she could think was that the clothing they wore was in the way. And she knew at that moment she would have let him do anything he wanted with her.
“Andre, I need …” she gasped, not even sure how to finish the sentence.
“I know, love. I know.” He adjusted her body, so that her aching center was pressed to the hard rod of flesh at the front of his body. It felt so good there. No—wonderful.
“Oh!” Unable to stop herself, she moved against him, her desperation rising as his hands pressed her to him, then played with her breasts through the fabric covering them.
She heard herself moan. She knew she had turned into a total wanton as her movements became frantic, as she strove for something she couldn’t name. And then a burst of pleasure grabbed her, making her call out with the wonder of it.
She was left limp and panting, her head pressed to his shoulder as he stroked her back and tangled his fingers in her hair.
“What did you do to me?”
“Gave you …”
Before he could finish his answer, a sound intruded into the dream. A woman’s voice, chanting—pulling Morgan away from Andre as surely as if strong fingers were tangled in her hair, yanking painfully. Yanking her back to reality.
CHAPTER FOUR
Morgan woke, breathing hard and disoriented. Her body was flush with the aftermath of sexual release—a sensation she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
In the dark she felt her face heat as wisps of the erotic dream drifted through her mind.
Where was she? In a bed. She had been sleeping. Now she was awake.
Something had snapped her out of the dream. A sound.
It filtered into her consciousness—making the hairs on the backs of her arms stand up and tingle. It was a woman’s voice—chanting to the sound of a drum.
Out in the humid night.
Morgan strained her ears, trying to figure out the words. But she couldn’t make any sense of them, and finally she came to the conclusion that they were in some language that she didn’t understand. An ancient language that sounded rough and primitive and evil.
She shivered. Evil. Yes, the chant sounded like pure evil. Meant to do harm.
To her? Or to Andre Gascon?
