Wild Rain
Page 80
His mouth, hot and insistent with demands, went lower still, closed over her breast and suckled strongly. She cried out, unable to contain the blaze sweeping through her body. She thrust against his mouth, her fingers finding his hair, closing in two fists, dragging him closer. She didn’t want him gentle and considerate, she wanted him exactly the way he was, wild, untamed, driven beyond control, on fire with urgent need and ravenous hunger. For her. For her body.
His mouth took away sanity and replaced it with feeling. Abruptly he lifted his head, eyes glittering as he dragged the pillows and blankets beneath her hips. She could see his body, hard and perfect, every muscle defined as if carved from rock. His face was etched with dark hunger. His gaze dropped to the triangle of black tiny curls and her heart pounded wildly. There was an unspoken command in his look.
A demand.
A wave of heat swept over her. She felt her body go liquid in her deepest core. Very slowly she obeyed that silent command, shifting her legs, opening them for him. The air on her slick, wet entrance inflamed her more. His fingers circled her good ankle. He bent her leg at the knee. There was a proprietary feel to his hand on her leg. He was much more gentle helping her with her injured leg. His hands went to her thighs, gripping, opening her wider, one knee on the bed between her legs. Not once did he raise his gaze to her face. He seemed fascinated with her glistening body.
She waited, hardly daring to breathe, her heart pounding in anticipation. She wanted to plead with him, weep with the dark passion riding her so hard. There wasn’t an inch on her body that didn’t ache for his touch. His tongue moistened his lower lip and she writhed with pleasure. He hadn’t touched her, but the force of his gaze had. And it left her needing—craving.
His thumbs bit into her thighs as he wedged his shoulders between her legs, opened her completely to him. She knew what he was doing. Claiming her. Branding her. Making her his so that no one else would ever do. He breathed warmth into the seething pool of fire. She cried out, would have jumped away but he held her still, without mercy, for his invasion. His tongue stabbed deep, a weapon of wicked pleasure, lapping and licking and stroking while she screamed in a wild, endless orgasm.
“More,” he growled ruthlessly. “I want more.”
He pushed his finger deep inside of her, pressed deep while she thrust against his palm, while her body clamped around him, gripped in the throes of passion. He put his finger to his mouth, surged over the top of her, bracing his body with his arms. He ducked his head, leaned forward to suckle at her breast.
Her body near ly exploded. She clung to his arms, tr ying to hold on when the world seemed to be spinning out of control.
Lying as he was, her hips cradling his, the head of his penis was against her wet, throbbing entrance.
She tried to take him inside of her, but he held her still, waiting, pushing up her need, the sense of urgency consuming them both. Then he thrust hard, buried himself deep, driving into her velvet sheath so that her folds parted like the soft petals of a flower and she opened to him. He tilted her hips, urging her to take all of him, every inch, welding them together in a frenzy of fury and dark passion.
He whispered to her in the ancient tongue of his people, admitting he loved her, that he needed her, but the words beat more in his head than in his throat. He drove her up higher and higher, pushing them both to their limits, a wild, tumultuous ride. He clenched his teeth against the waves of sensations, against the jackhammers tripping in his head, against the tightness sweeping through his body and the inevitable explosion that started in his toes and burst upward.
A tidal wave swept through Rachael, carried her up and up until there was no where to go and she was free-falling, imploding, fragmenting. Until there was no part of her that wasn’t consumed by fiery pleasure. It licked over her skin and behind her eyelids. Flames rolled in her stomach and burned in her deepest core. Her body rocked with quakes, a riptide of sensations that went on and on. If she moved, if he moved, the rippling effect started all over again.
Rio lay over her, his head resting on hers, breathing deeply, fighting for control. Most of his fury was spent in her arms. Rachael. Only Rachael would have accepted such a joining. Only Rachael would look at him with her heart in her eyes. No matter how tight he clung to her, she never pushed him away.
Never said enough. There were questions in her eyes, but she didn’t ask them, not even when he separated them. She simply wrapped her arms around him, turning a bit on her side to give him room, his head against the soft pillow of her breasts.
“You need sleep, Rio. You’re exhausted.”
He didn’t say anything, just lay next to her, taking in their combined scents, listening to the endless rain. He found it soothing. The forest had stirred to life, animals calling out, insects humming, birds singing. The background music, always present.
Rio lay awake long after Rachael had gone to sleep. Fear choked him, nearly suffocated him. When had she become so damned essential to breathing? How had she managed to invade his life and wrap herself around his heart? He couldn’t imagine his life without her. She was so warm and soft and perfect. He had memories of warm and soft and perfect and those memories turned into nightmares of blood and death and rage.
He wanted this to be his life. Rachael—her laughter, her courage, her moods and shifts of temper.
Lovemaking as sweet and tender as he could make it or a fierce need that could only be assuaged with a wild mating.
Her breast was a temptation he couldn’t ignore. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, then sucked the creamy mound into his mouth. It seemed a miracle to be able to lie with her, suckling her breast when he wanted, sliding his hand over her body to dip his finger deep inside of her. Even in her sleep she was responsive. Clenching her muscles around him, shifting to arch into his mouth deeper. She smiled, murmured something incoherent and tunneled her fingers in his hair. She slept like that, her body wet with wanting him, his mouth on her breast and his hand cupping her tight curls possessively, while her fingers were buried in his hair.
His mouth took away sanity and replaced it with feeling. Abruptly he lifted his head, eyes glittering as he dragged the pillows and blankets beneath her hips. She could see his body, hard and perfect, every muscle defined as if carved from rock. His face was etched with dark hunger. His gaze dropped to the triangle of black tiny curls and her heart pounded wildly. There was an unspoken command in his look.
A demand.
A wave of heat swept over her. She felt her body go liquid in her deepest core. Very slowly she obeyed that silent command, shifting her legs, opening them for him. The air on her slick, wet entrance inflamed her more. His fingers circled her good ankle. He bent her leg at the knee. There was a proprietary feel to his hand on her leg. He was much more gentle helping her with her injured leg. His hands went to her thighs, gripping, opening her wider, one knee on the bed between her legs. Not once did he raise his gaze to her face. He seemed fascinated with her glistening body.
She waited, hardly daring to breathe, her heart pounding in anticipation. She wanted to plead with him, weep with the dark passion riding her so hard. There wasn’t an inch on her body that didn’t ache for his touch. His tongue moistened his lower lip and she writhed with pleasure. He hadn’t touched her, but the force of his gaze had. And it left her needing—craving.
His thumbs bit into her thighs as he wedged his shoulders between her legs, opened her completely to him. She knew what he was doing. Claiming her. Branding her. Making her his so that no one else would ever do. He breathed warmth into the seething pool of fire. She cried out, would have jumped away but he held her still, without mercy, for his invasion. His tongue stabbed deep, a weapon of wicked pleasure, lapping and licking and stroking while she screamed in a wild, endless orgasm.
“More,” he growled ruthlessly. “I want more.”
He pushed his finger deep inside of her, pressed deep while she thrust against his palm, while her body clamped around him, gripped in the throes of passion. He put his finger to his mouth, surged over the top of her, bracing his body with his arms. He ducked his head, leaned forward to suckle at her breast.
Her body near ly exploded. She clung to his arms, tr ying to hold on when the world seemed to be spinning out of control.
Lying as he was, her hips cradling his, the head of his penis was against her wet, throbbing entrance.
She tried to take him inside of her, but he held her still, waiting, pushing up her need, the sense of urgency consuming them both. Then he thrust hard, buried himself deep, driving into her velvet sheath so that her folds parted like the soft petals of a flower and she opened to him. He tilted her hips, urging her to take all of him, every inch, welding them together in a frenzy of fury and dark passion.
He whispered to her in the ancient tongue of his people, admitting he loved her, that he needed her, but the words beat more in his head than in his throat. He drove her up higher and higher, pushing them both to their limits, a wild, tumultuous ride. He clenched his teeth against the waves of sensations, against the jackhammers tripping in his head, against the tightness sweeping through his body and the inevitable explosion that started in his toes and burst upward.
A tidal wave swept through Rachael, carried her up and up until there was no where to go and she was free-falling, imploding, fragmenting. Until there was no part of her that wasn’t consumed by fiery pleasure. It licked over her skin and behind her eyelids. Flames rolled in her stomach and burned in her deepest core. Her body rocked with quakes, a riptide of sensations that went on and on. If she moved, if he moved, the rippling effect started all over again.
Rio lay over her, his head resting on hers, breathing deeply, fighting for control. Most of his fury was spent in her arms. Rachael. Only Rachael would have accepted such a joining. Only Rachael would look at him with her heart in her eyes. No matter how tight he clung to her, she never pushed him away.
Never said enough. There were questions in her eyes, but she didn’t ask them, not even when he separated them. She simply wrapped her arms around him, turning a bit on her side to give him room, his head against the soft pillow of her breasts.
“You need sleep, Rio. You’re exhausted.”
He didn’t say anything, just lay next to her, taking in their combined scents, listening to the endless rain. He found it soothing. The forest had stirred to life, animals calling out, insects humming, birds singing. The background music, always present.
Rio lay awake long after Rachael had gone to sleep. Fear choked him, nearly suffocated him. When had she become so damned essential to breathing? How had she managed to invade his life and wrap herself around his heart? He couldn’t imagine his life without her. She was so warm and soft and perfect. He had memories of warm and soft and perfect and those memories turned into nightmares of blood and death and rage.
He wanted this to be his life. Rachael—her laughter, her courage, her moods and shifts of temper.
Lovemaking as sweet and tender as he could make it or a fierce need that could only be assuaged with a wild mating.
Her breast was a temptation he couldn’t ignore. He flicked her nipple with his tongue, then sucked the creamy mound into his mouth. It seemed a miracle to be able to lie with her, suckling her breast when he wanted, sliding his hand over her body to dip his finger deep inside of her. Even in her sleep she was responsive. Clenching her muscles around him, shifting to arch into his mouth deeper. She smiled, murmured something incoherent and tunneled her fingers in his hair. She slept like that, her body wet with wanting him, his mouth on her breast and his hand cupping her tight curls possessively, while her fingers were buried in his hair.
