Page 102 of Desire's Ransom
More.
In fact, now that she knew what ecstasy awaited her, she was even more eager to dash down the path of seduction to that final destination. Common sense and propriety deserted her as she acted on impulse and began raking at his clothes.
He helped her, unbuckling his belt, unlacing hischausses. She helped him as well, kicking off herbrogs, loosening herléine.
They half-staggered, half-dragged themselves to the pallet, discarding garments as they went.
In the filtered light of day, Ryland was even more magnificent. Her heart thrummed as she ran fervent hands over the sculpted contours of his chest and shoulders, the flat expanse of his stomach, the solid bones of his hips.
She sighed as he aroused her with feather-light touches of his fingertips, grazing her ears, her throat, her nipples.
The rest of the world disappeared as she writhed in sensual need. He pressed her back gently onto the pallet, holding himself above her, and she arched up against him, her impatience clear.
“Slowly,” he murmured with a rueful chuckle, “or ’twill be o’er too quick.”
She frowned. She had no patience for his patience. She reached between them and stroked him with a brazen hand.
He groaned, but he caught her wrist and dragged it up, securing her hand beside her head. “Slowly,” he repeated.
With a glimmer of mischief in her eyes, she used her other hand to capture him.
Again, he growled with pleasure. “Witch,” he accused, shaking his head. Then he snared that hand as well, anchoring her by the wrists to the mattress. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” she breathed.“Ye’rethe one with all thebatabruises.”
“Your vengeance?” he murmured.
“Aye.”
To her dismay, he forced her to endure his leisure. As she lay helpless, he licked the delicate flesh of her eyelids, tugged her lower lip carefully between his teeth, explored the sensitive crevices of her ear with his tongue until she was squirming in sensuous torture.
Even when he released one of her wrists, she couldn’t summon the strength to move it. And when his hand glided down her abdomen to nestle in her curls, she sobbed and rocked her hips upward.
He shivered as her motion brushed against that part of him that craved her most, and she suddenly realized, though she was pinned beneath him, she was far from powerless. She arced up again, grinding against him, and he inhaled sharply.
“You play a dangerous game, m’lady,” he muttered.
“I like dangerous games.”
“So I’ve noticed.” He lowered his head, giving her ear a swipe of his tongue and then blowing gently across it, making her quiver. At the same time, his fingers slipped over the sensitive, vulnerable spot between her legs, creating an instant shock of lust. He whispered, “But you want to win this one, aye?”
“Aye,” she begged.
His fingers worked magic upon her, sliding over her wet flesh, pulsing, pulling, drawing, inciting her until she could bear no more. Just as she thought she might scream, every muscle in her body stiffened while the sharpened point of her desire continued to rise. Then, when she thought she could endure no more, she cracked apart like a clay pot struck by abata.
He pressed his palm against her as she cried out, bucking and trembling with relief. And then, even before she’d completely regained her senses, he pushed into her, making her moan with pleasure this time instead of pain and giving her a divine feeling of completion.
When she dared to crack her eyes open, the expression of tormented restraint on Ryland’s face thrilled her. It seemed he was fighting his own desires. And as she’d discovered, it was a losing battle.
Intoxicated with wonder and power, she curved one leg around his buttocks, holding him deeply inside her. Then she pushed against his shoulder until he yielded, rolling onto his back.
With a grin of triumph, she sat astride him, seizing his wrists and pinning him to the pallet. “I win.”
“I surrender.”
