Claimed by the Wolf Prince

Author:Marguerite Kaye
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2011-06-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

She was on her back, Struan beside her, his lithe body pressed against hers. She panted for air, little gasps, but still he kissed her, and still she kissed him back.

He rolled on top of her. Skin. Heat. Man. She arched up against him. Softness yielding to hardness. Her stomach clenched. Still kissing her, he moulded her breast with his hand, his thumb grazing the nipple through the silk sark, making her moan with pleasure.

The claiming gown was rucked up around her knees and one of her legs was jammed between his. She could feel the rough, masculine skin rasp on the smooth feminine skin of her calf. She was feverish. His thumb on her nipple was too much and yet not enough. She resented the barrier, however flimsy, of the fine silk garment between them.

Struan’s hand tightened on her breast. Impatient now, for the taste of her, he ripped the sark from the neck to the hem and laid her bare, catching his breath at her utter perfection. Her breasts were small but full. Dark pink nipples thrusting for his attention. He suckled one and stroked the other, relishing the way she writhed beneath him. His tongue flicked over and round, circling. He nipped her playfully with his teeth, first one nipple then the other.

A rush of shocking pleasure, like a dousing in an icy mountain stream, made Iona cry out. She was shaking with delight, aching with anticipation. A yearning, a longing, gripped her. Her body thrust itself shamelessly at him, her hands roamed feverishly over his skin, his sinewy arms, the tensely knotted muscles of his back.

“Struan,” she gasped, as his mouth tugged, warm and supple, on her nipple, and another rush of pleasure shivered through her. A trail of kisses down her body, lingering on the soft skin on the inside of her thighs. She cried out when his mouth finally sank into the damp heat between her legs.

He parted the soft folds. She was wet for him, and he was hard for her. He licked her, growling with satisfaction as she arched under his ministrations, teasing her by avoiding that most sensitive part, swollen, ripe, ready for his caress. She tasted as exotic as she smelled. He suspected he would be her first. The realisation thrilled him.

He licked her again, a long, languorous stroke of his tongue that made her squirm with pleasure. He slipped his finger inside and found her as tight and welcoming as he had imagined. He was just as ready as she. His shaft was pulsing. He licked again, and thrust a little higher inside her. Again, touching the swollen nub of her at the same time, and again.

She came with a force which ripped an animal-like cry from her throat. Panting hard, she was tossed up into some sort of crimsoning sky of rapture, which cocooned her pulsing, throbbing body, until he stroked her again, and she was thrust higher still, so high that she thought she would tear apart.

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