Page 116 of Sanctuary of the Shadow
He nearly died at the sight.
Fisting a hand in those lively curls, he pulled her in to kiss him again, pressing her lips apart with his own to conquer her mouth with his tongue. The way she moaned and writhed against him set his lust ablaze.
Releasing her hair, he bent his head to suck her perfect nipples. She threw her head back, her spine a sensuous arch, her fingers clutching the muscles of his shoulders. He palmed the breast not in his mouth but froze suddenly, lifting his head to study the contrast between their bodies.
Her skin was tanned, like the color of sand. His was…shadow itself, absent of all color. The sun’s glow shining through the windows didn’t reflect but seemed to be absorbed into it. Nothing else in their surroundings reacted similarly to light, and it struck him as strange. He straightened abruptly, holding his arm out and staring at it.
“Raith?”
“What am I? Why do I look like this?”
Harrow’s grip tightened on his shoulders. “You look perfect to me. The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. And I, for one, have my memories.”
He tilted his head, meeting her gaze. “Does anyone else look like me?”
“You can change your appearance if it bothers you. But don’t do it on my account.”
He noticed she’d avoided answering the question, but he was too intrigued by what she’d said to care. He stared at her earthy, tanned skin and then willed his own to match it.
And…it did. Amazing.
Harrow gasped and then laughed. “That’s a neat trick, but I think you should change back.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to always remember that I love every part of you, exactly as you are. And I don’t want you to feel you ever have to change yourself for me.”
He leaned in to kiss her again in response and then quickly forgot what he’d been so worried about in the first place. Being with her made him feel like he belonged. Who cared about anything else?
He promptly engaged in his prior task—sucking on her nipples. They hardened to peaks amid her soft moans as he held her at the curve of her waist, his hands nearly meeting in the middle. Encouraged by his ministrations, she began rocking her hips again, and a growl rumbled from his throat when her soft core, already wet from arousal, stroked against his shaft.
“Raith—”
He lifted his eyes to hers in question.
“Change back.” Her words were breathy.
“Why?”
“Want you…as you are.”
He shrugged, not understanding why this was important, but obliged her. His skin reverted to shadow, and then he pulled her in again for a kiss.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close, and continued rocking herself against him, the movement of her hips driving him mad. Her arousal coated his shaft where they pressed together, and the sound of her soft moans flooded him with a sense of desperation. He needed this. He needed to see her come undone.
Tightening his fingers around her waist, he pulled her even closer. His erection, aching and hard, stood up between their bodies, as Harrow worked herself faster and faster against him, riding along his length without taking it inside her.
If he only tilted his hips, he would penetrate her, but he didn’t. He wanted to see her climax like this, to watch her pleasure herself with his body. She was as desperate as he was, and he loved it.
He loved her.
Was that ridiculous for a man whose entire memory spanned the length of several hours? Maybe. Did he care? At that moment, not in the least.
Faster, she moved against him, bracing her arms against his shoulders for leverage, her thighs trembling from the force she exerted. The way she reveled in her sensuality, unashamed to take what she needed to achieve her pleasure, was beyond the most intoxicating thing he could have dreamed of. She was a goddess, and he worshipped her.
Again, that feeling of familiarity seized him. He knew she was nearing orgasm by the way her breath raced and her moans escalated in volume. He knew how she would respond if he grasped her hair and demonstrated his strength. Full of anticipation, he did just that, pulling her head back so he could feast on the column of her throat.
She cried out and writhed faster, grinding furiously against him. When her cry turned to one of frustration, as though she hovered on the brink but couldn’t quite reach the peak by herself, he knew just what to do to push her over the edge. He met her thrusts with his own, syncing the pace of their movements, tightening the hand in her hair to show his dominance.
