(Bastion Club 06) To Distraction by Stephanie Laurens

Author:Stephanie Laurens [Laurens, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-02-22T05:00:00+00:00

He stripped the bodice from her arms, let it fall. Immeasurably grateful, she raised her arms, sank her hands into his hair, and clutched him to her as with lips and tongue he feasted—and gave her her fill.

Until she burned.

His hands had continued to knead her bottom, sending waves of sensation surging deep within her.

Building, growing, a burgeoning need.

Then his grip eased and he let her slide down until her feet touched the floor.

He raised his head, and she realized his breathing was ragged—nearly as ragged as hers. "Your skirt and petticoats—take them off."

As much a growled plea as an order; her fingers were at her waist, flicking the ties undone, before she'd thought.

Instinctively she understood. Her, naked, was something he wanted her to give him—to gift to him.

In return for the pleasure she knew awaited her in his arms, it was a gift she was more than willing to bestow.

Her skirts and petticoats hit the floor, and his hands were on her. His lips claimed hers again, and this time it was different—this time he wasn't anywhere near as in control; this time he tasted dangerous.

Wonderfully, powerfully alive—wholly male, wholly driven. By desire, for her, for her body, to take it, claim it, possess it. To make her, and it, his.

All his. Every inch, every nerve. Every leaping pulse. Every gasp, every moan he wrung from her. She clasped his face between her hands and kissed him back. As wanton as he was flagrant, as abandoned as he was masterful.

As giving as he was demanding. As yielding as he wished. As she wanted.

For oh, she wanted this—the fire, the passion, the heady desire, the uninhibited whirling of her senses.

The heat, the flames that licked, then roared, the molten fire in her veins.

And he was with her this time, not an observer of her pleasure but a wholy engaged participant—and she rejoiced. Exulted in the hard grip of his hands as he held her, the unslaked lust that edged every caress, the desire that burned and turned his body to hot iron, unforgiving and searing, the hunger— urgent and needful—that drove every ravenous kiss, every greedy, grasping touch.

It was she who abruptly caught her breath, broke the kiss and pushed back from him—so she could grasp the hem of her chemise and strip it off over her head.

His hands closed about her and he hauled her against him before the silk left her fingers. She gasped at the contact of bare skin to clothes, then his lips came down on hers and he drank her cry as his fingers squeezed tight about one furled nipple.

She arched in his arms, the movement shifting her sensitized skin against his clothing, abrading thousands of nerve endings alive and flickering beneath her flushed skin. His hand left her breast and possessively roamed, over her waist, her bel y, to her curls. He speared his fingers through them, then pressed one hard leg between her thighs, forcing them apart; his fingers slid between, found the flesh he sought already slick and swol en.

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