Page 37 of Vows of Revenge

She felt the mattress give as he came down beside her and heard a low laugh come from him. He leant over her and she opened her eyes again, to look into his. They were looking down at her with a glint in them which was half humour and half something quite, quite different...

‘Oh, Kassia—so shy?’

She gazed up at him wide-eyed. Her heart was beating tumultuously, the blood was singing in her ears, and she was filled with wonder...a dazed, almost disbelieving state of bliss. And yet...

She gave a crooked smile.

‘I... I think I am,’ she answered.

His mouth dropped to hers. Gently, softly. Briefly.

‘Leave it to me,’ he told her, his voice warm.

Kassia did just that...

And Damos took her to paradise.

Took her there with a slow, seductive touch.

He explored her body with lips and palms and the exquisite expertise of the tips of his fingers, which found every most sensitive, erotic point of her body...

Slowly, sensuously, he ensured she felt every moment for its maximum pleasure. He eased from her the silky camisole, exposing the sweet mounds of her breasts, their peaks cresting as he circled them lazily, arousingly...oh, so exquisitely arousingly... He was teasing, and lingering, and then... Oh, how could it feel so good, so exquisitely delicious, as his mouth lowered first to one ripened breast and then the other and his tongue flicked at her straining, hard-crested nipples until she wanted to cry out with it.

Then, still holding one engorged breast beneath the soft kneading of his palm, he lowered his attentions. His mouth glided down from the shallow vee between her breasts to the flat plane of her abdomen, fastening his other hand around one hip. His mouth glided lower...and lower yet...

The hand at her hip moved to the wisp of her panties, easing along their waistband, gliding them from her body, then returned to where his mouth now was...

A moan broke from her, and she felt her thighs slacken of their own volition. He eased his hand between them, returning his mouth to her bared breast. And from breast to vee a flame started, running through every vein in her body. A flame that was in the tips of his exploring fingers as he reached to find the delicate tissues at the heart of her femininity.

A gasp sounded in her throat and her hands moved to close over his shoulders, to splay out across the nape of his neck. At her breast, at her feminine core, his ministrations drew from her such sensual delight, such an intensity of pleasure, such a deliciously, achingly mounting arousal as she had never known was even possible...

She moaned again, thighs slackening yet more, head turning on the pillow. An ache was building in her—a yearning, a craving—and the incredible, unbelievable sensations he was drawing from her were impossible to endure. It was impossible not to want more...and more, yet more...

Her blood was surging, engorging, swelling and ripening, exciting and arousing, quickening and intensifying. Her vision was dimming, blurring... The world was dimming, blurring...

Because nothing existed...

Nothing at all except...

This.

This, this, this...

This moment, this now, this absolute, totalnow, was sweeping through her, dissolving her, making her molten, liquid, sweeping through her, pouring into every cell of her body, lifting her, lifting her...

Oh, sweet heaven...

Impossible that she should be feeling what she was feeling. Impossible that such pleasure, such bliss, such gorgeous, gorgeous melting, such heat and sweet, sweet fire should be burning through her... Sweeping on and on...endless and consuming...

And then, before she could even become aware of anything else at all except what was possessing her, what she was possessed by, Damos was lifting away from her, lifting away his mouth and his palm and his gliding fingertips. Instead he was lowering himself over her, one hand cradling her beneath her hips, raising her to him as her whole body flamed yet more blazingly. His body fused with hers, filling her, engorging her, melding with her, and around him her body, completed now by his possession, pulsed and melted.

She clung to him, her hands around his shoulders, bowing up towards him as she cried out. He did too—a hoarse tearing of sound—and she knew with the scything knowledge that was in her thighs, tightening against his, to hold him, keep him there, just there, where her body was pulsing against his, drawing him deeper and deeper yet, making her cry out again and again...

She knew that for him, too, it was as it was for her...

Possession and passion...slaking and sating and never, never letting go...not her of him or him of her...

She held him within her, holding him in the cradle of her arms, wrapping his strong, hard body in hers, holding him and holding him even as their bodies cooled and stilled...

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