Page 69 of Shadow's Edge (Night Prowler 1)
He dipped his tongue into her belly button, pressed his teeth into the flesh of her hip, slid one hand slowly down her body and found her center, damp and hot. She gasped and sunk her fingers into his shoulders as he pushed a finger inside her. He touched her and stroked her until his fingers were slick, until she moaned and slid her fingers into his hair.
Her eyes blinked open at the sound of something heavy slithering onto the floor with a muted rustle. Leander straightened, then captured her lips again as he pulled another plush overcoat from its hanger to fall at their feet, then another.
After four more, he gently pushed her down to the floor by her shoulders and watched as she lay back into the bed he’d made, a deep pool of wool and cashmere and silk to cushion her body.
He knelt beside her and pushed the wool overcoat away, leaving her naked and exposed on the floor before him, only her outflung arms still hidden by fabric. The light was nothing but indigo shad
ows and pale glimmering grays that melted to velvet black, yet she clearly saw his fevered gaze drinking her in, devouring her.
He brought his gaze back to her face and she saw the hunger raging through him, the same hunger that made it feel as if she was conducting fire through her veins.
“All I think about is you,” he said, husky, staring straight into her eyes. “All I’ve wanted is you, since the first second I saw you. I’ve never wanted anything else so much in my life.”
Jenna knew he saw the blood rise in her cheeks even in the spare, silvered light of the room. But now she didn’t care. Now she wanted him to see everything.
She sat up and shrugged out of his coat, letting it fall behind her, another warm blanket to pillow her body, to cushion his weight above her. She lay back again against the floor, spread her hair out in a fan behind her head, her body cocooned in luxury and filled with an aching that bit down deep into her core.
“Leander.” Her gaze never left his. She held her arms out. “Come here.”
Leander saw himself in her eyes. His thoughts, his moods, the unbridled need that tore through his blood, barely checked. Like him, she was vapor and fire, passion and smoke, headstrong and willful and bold. Like him, she was alone and accustomed to it, though not suited for loneliness. She needed a mate as much as he did, a strong and loyal partner to share a life with, to dream with, to love.
Mine, he thought again as he stared in hunger at the glory of her naked body spread out before him.
He needed to taste her. He needed to feel her and claim her and hear her moans form the shape of his name. He felt hot and alive and inflamed, her eagerness for him tipping him over the edge of reason to a place where he would lose himself, a place where the urgency that raged through his blood would block out the rest of the world and leave only the two of them, joined at last.
But he made himself wait.
He restrained himself as the fire rose to boil his blood and simply put one hand out and skimmed it slowly over the velvet perfection of her skin. His fingers traced the curve of her breast, the shape of her ribcage, the dip of her waist, the creamy plush flesh of her thigh. Her lips parted as he stroked her, her eyes fluttered closed. Her back arched to meet his touch. Her arms dropped to the floor behind her head.
He lowered himself over her, balanced his weight carefully on his elbows. She cradled him with knees and arms, turned her face toward his. He brushed a kiss over her cheekbone, her eyelids, the perfect arch of her brows.
Her palms stroked up his bare back to his arms, restless. She sighed, the smallest exhalation, her breath warm against his cheek, and his heart leapt at the sound. “Love,” he whispered again, everything he felt for her contained in that one word.
He bent his head to her neck; she tipped her jaw to allow him better access. He took it, stroking his tongue up the heated column of her neck, tasting her flowery skin and the barest hint of salt. He felt her move beneath him, her chest arching to meet his.
He lowered his head to her chest, to the satiny flesh of her breasts, the exquisite puckering of her nipples, dusky pink against her gleaming pale skin. His teeth bit her gently, and she breathed his name with a catch in her throat.
Leander smiled, his head lowered, his teeth bared against her skin. A fierce, savage joy scorched through him.
Mine.
He drew his tongue down her body, between her breasts, over her belly, down to her thighs. He bit her there too, heard her make a small, restless moan as his teeth tested her succulent flesh.
He found her center, the slick ruby between her legs hot and wet under his tongue.
She gasped and stilled, her breath ragged. He dug his fingers into her bottom and reveled in her. Her musky-sweet taste like maple syrup, the muscles of her legs smooth and flexed and feminine against his shoulders, her hips and bottom so round and soft in his hands.
He kissed her and stroked her with his tongue until she writhed beneath him, her hands twisting in his hair.
“Leander,” she gasped, her voice broken, breathless. He didn’t stop. He wanted—he needed to hear her say it again. Another lap of his tongue with his fingers stroking her now, teasing, probing inside her heat and tight wetness. She moaned, her back arched.
He pushed his fingers deeper, and she gave him what he wanted with a sharp intake of breath.
“Leander!”
In one swift motion, he drew himself up her body and sank deep into her.
She shattered around him.
