Mistress of the Storm by Brisbin Terri

Author:Brisbin, Terri [Brisbin, Terri]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance, General, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780758235206
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2011-01-15T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Isabel climbed from the water, refreshed and feeling more alive than she had in a long time. The cooler air chilled her body, raising gooseflesh as Duncan walked toward her. The heat in his gaze warmed her even as his actions in taking her there warmed a heart she’d thought long-dead. She gathered her hair together and twisted the water from it so she would not get him too wet.

He did not move, yet she could tell he wanted to come closer. The longing in his eyes and the way they glowed and sparkled called to something in her blood and she began to walk toward him. Isabel needed him. She needed him to wrap his arms around her and hold her as her past and her future threatened to collide in that place where she should have died and had not.

She stood a pace away from him and let the desire she’d always controlled and hidden rise in her blood. Her body ached for him. Reaching across the distance she undressed him. He said not a word as she stripped his garments from him. Shaking from the cold air and the frank need pulsing through her, she fumbled with the ties to his trousers. He brushed her hands away and finished removing his clothing, then he stood facing her, as naked and exposed as she.

When she reached out to touch his erect cock, he pulled her into his arms, just as she’d hoped he would. He possessed her mouth.

She took over and kissed him the way she wanted . . . to within an inch of his life. He fell to his knees and she followed his body down, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. He managed to sit without disturbing her and guided her onto his shaft, inhaling sharply as she slid inch by searing inch until he filled her with all of him.

The crisp hair on his chest tickled her breasts as she rubbed against him. Running her hands through his hair, she held his face to hers, never taking her tongue from his mouth, tasting, desiring, possessing him. He slid his hands down and lifted her up. She drew her inner walls tight until he moaned. She smiled against his mouth and did it again and again until she drove him as mad with wanting as she was.

She did not relinquish control—over what they did or how quickly or slowly she moved—drawing it out until they were breathless and hot, unable to wait another moment. When his hands became frantic, touching her and making her ache and throb, and when he urged her on with words whispered into her mouth, she relented and began to seek release. She rocked against him, rubbing his cock inside her cleft and against that tight bud of flesh that swelled, waiting for release.

“Let me?” he asked, his voice hoarse with need.

He moved his hand between their bodies, reaching to touch the spot that would trigger the release they sought.

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