INTO THE FLAME by Christina Dodd

Author:Christina Dodd
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-04-03T09:56:05+00:00

Lifting her arms, Firebird wrapped them around Doug’s shoulders and pulled him close, and when his chest rested against hers and his heart beat with the same rhythm, he relaxed for the first time in his life.

‘‘Are you hungry?’’ He strove to sound casual.

She shook her head.

‘‘Thirsty? Tired? Do you need to use the facilities?’’

She continued to shake her head.

‘‘Then I would very much like to make love to you.’’ He held his breath, waiting for the most important confirmation of his life.

She smiled that grand and glorious smile, the one that spread to her eyes into the depths of her soul . . . the one that had first seduced him. ‘‘I’d very much like that, myself.’’

Blood left his brain and rushed straight for his dick, and he suspected—he feared—he had enough to run only one of them at a time.

Reaching over, he touched the switches on the bedside table.

The fireplace sprang to life. Low, sexy, jazzy music began to play.

‘‘Is that supposed to impress me?’’ she asked.

‘‘Did it?’’

Taking his outstretched hand, she brought it back to her face and kissed the fingers while saying, ‘‘Clever planning. Hand steady as a rock. Smooth move. Suave. All in all, a good job.’’

Did she know that with each kiss, he grew less suave and more savage?

He stroked her face, spread her hair across her pillow, touched the shorn side, murmured, ‘‘I’m sorry.’’

She smiled at him. ‘‘We’ll fix it.’’

Every night since she’d fled, he’d dreamed of holding her beneath him, and every night he had subjected her to wild debaucheries of the kind he would never have tried with the sweet, shy virgin Firebird had been. Every time he had imagined finding her, she was alone and just happened to be clothed in a lace teddy with a garter belt, or a leather bustier, or, best of all, a simple housedress with nothing underneath. But no matter what he did to her—and in his dreams he had been violently, gloriously sexual—she always cried out and climaxed and held him afterward and wept, and begged his forgiveness and gone down on him. . . .

‘‘Shit.’’ Desire slammed him like a million volts of electricity.

She lifted her head off the pillow. ‘‘What’s wrong?’’

‘‘Nothing,’’ he croaked.

He couldn’t do any of the things he’d dreamed and imagined, because it was his fault she’d run away. Yet those scenarios crowded his mind, challenging his control, making him want to take her swiftly, take her again, taste her between the legs, and take her again. No matter that she was innocent of wrongdoing; the demon of desire whispered in his mind to keep her prisoner and sate himself.

Even dressed in Mrs. Burchett’s flannel nightgown, she tried his control.

‘‘Are you shy?’’ She pushed him over onto his back and sprawled across his chest, a warm, squirming armful of fantasy. ‘‘Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten the basics? Here, let me start things off.’’ She unfastened the first four buttons of her nightgown.

He didn’t move, transfixed by the hollow of her throat, by the smooth skin of her chest.

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