Was she seducing him? Or was he seducing her? She couldn’t tell and didn’t care. All that mattered was that he couldn’t take his eyes from her. His body was hard and tight, the bulge in the front of his jeans impressive. Heat rolled off him in waves. And his touch was sheer magic, the pads of his fingers teasing at some wild creature inside of her, one that demanded to be free—one that physically responded to everything about him.
“I waited several lifetimes for you,” he confided, his gaze hot as he bent his head to her neck. His tongue teased her earlobe, swirled over her pulse. “I thought of you. What I would do with you. How many ways I would give you pleasure.”
Manolito inhaled the ripe scent of her. All woman. His woman. He ached for her, his erection so hard, so thick, he knew he would never find peace until he buried himself deep inside of her. It mattered little to him that dawn was approaching and he had been unable for some time to even tolerate the early morning sunlight. He would risk everything to stay with her, to be inside of her, to claim her for his own. Her breath quickened, drawing attention to the rise and fall of her full, firm breasts. His. He was going to take every second he had with her and live it to the fullest.
He forced himself to let his hand slide from her arm. Walking to the bed beside the fireplace he dropped onto the thick mattress. “I want to look at you.”
She stood for a moment, her hand on her hip, her hair streaming down her back, her beauty robbing him of breath. She took a single step in the sexy red heels, and desire hit him with a brutal blow, a fist of need that might have driven him to his knees had he been standing. He drew in his breath and let the intensity of lust take him. His body felt hot, too tight, bursting with the need to drive into her. Images ran through his head of her spread out before him like a feast.
With each step she took, the hunger increased, until his blood pounded in his body and every cell raged for her. The sheer pleasure of wanting her shook him to the very foundations of his existence. He had never wanted anything the way he wanted her. He had never needed anything, but suddenly her body was everything. The shape and texture. Her skin, gleaming with invitation. Every soft inch of it waiting to be explored, to be touched. Every secret hollow and shadow. His. All for him. When nothing in his long centuries of existence had ever been for him, the sight of her was almost too much to be believed. Looking wasn’t good enough. He would have to touch her—possess her—or none of this would be real.
For the first time in her life, MaryAnn felt absolutely, totally sensual, without inhibition, moving around the room in her high heels, knowing every step she took brought Manolito De La Cruz closer to the edge of his control. It was exhilarating to see him draw in a harsh breath, to see his eyes go smoky and dark, to see the dark need in him etched deep into his face. He was so handsome she couldn’t breathe for looking at him. And he wanted her. Oh, yeah, he wanted her. Lust was carved deep. Hunger lit his dark eyes, the intensity feeding her own needs.
Her body was alive with sensation, her breath coming in gasps. She was aware of the aching tingle in her breasts, the way her nipples were tight and hard. The damp heat gathering at the junction between her legs. All because he looked at her with that fierce possessive need. She wanted to rub her body along his, stroke him, please him, do whatever it took to satisfy those leaping flames of hunger in the depths of his eyes.
He crooked his finger at her. “Come here.” He patted the bed beside him.
She licked her lips. If he touched her, when she wanted him this much, what would happen? She threw back her mane of rich, dark hair and sauntered over, watching with satisfaction the way heat flared in his eyes as his gaze drifted over her body.
“You really are beautiful, MaryAnn.”
His voice was that blend of rasping velvet, but this time, a small rumbling growl was added. The note seemed to play over her skin, stroking like fingers. Her womb clenched, triggering tiny like quakes. His foot hooked the inside of her leg, ran up and down her calf and then tugged gently until she stood with her legs spread for him.
He shifted, leaning forward to circle her bare ankle with his fingers. Very slowly he ran his palm up her leg. When she would have moved, his grip tightened in warning. “Don’t.”
She tried to stay very still, but his touch sent electric currents slicing through her bloodstream and she couldn’t stop shaking. His palm traced the shape of her leg, moved up to her knee, caressing, stroking, sending tiny flames licking along her calf and up her thigh as he moved higher, his fingers pressing into her body, imprinting the shape and texture of her into his mind.
“I’m not certain I can stand for much longer.” Was that her voice, a thick sensuality coating every note? Why was this so sexy, to stand completely naked while he was fully dressed? To have every inch of her explored by his wandering hands while she stood still. “I’m not a toy, Manolito.” But it felt like it. His toy. His woman. His body to touch and tease and worship with his large, warm hands. And why did that turn her on? Why did she like being on display for him, seeing his body’s reaction to her and feeling more empowered with every passing moment?
“Of course you are. Your body is a beautiful playground and I want to know every inch of it. I want to know exactly what makes you respond and what gives you the most pleasure.” He rubbed his thumb over her slick, wet entrance and watched her eyes glaze over. “I want to know what makes you scream, what makes you beg.” His hands made circles along her inner thighs, moved up and over the flare of her hips and then down to caress her buttocks. “I want to eat you alive, listen to you moan and whimper for more. And that’s exactly what I intend to do, MaryAnn, feast on the taste of you.”
He bent forward, and his tongue swiped a long, slow tease along her cleft, wrenching a whimper from her.
“Much, much more.”
“More? Surely there isn’t more?” She was certain she couldn’t stand wanting him any more than she already did.
His hands shaped her bottom, fingers sliding skillfully down the center, feather-light, caressing, stroking small streaks of fire through her body.
“There is always more, MaryAnn, and all of it will bring you more pleasure than you ever imagined.”
Right at that moment she could imagine a lot. She drew in her breath, shocked at the things she wanted from him, shocked that all that mattered to her was that he touch and taste her. The wildness in her was growing, and all her normal inhibitions seemed to be disappearing rapidly.
Manolito had to resist throwing her to the ground and taking her the way his body demanded, hard and fast, pounding into her over and over until he felt sated. His cock throbbed and burned, stretched beyond limits, but he was not rushing this. She was so beautiful, with her lush body and her soft doe eyes glittering with a mixture of fear and excitement. She was a woman who liked at least the illusion of control. He wanted to drive her past her comfort zone and take her to a place of pure sensation.
He drew her down, into his arms, onto his lap, so that her body fit tight against his. The soft linen of his trousers rubbed against her skin as he locked her to him, tilting her chin up so her eyes met his. He inhaled her, drawing her feminine scent deep into his lungs, heard her heart thundering in his ears, felt the soft skin, the lush silken texture of it, and had to resist the urge to thrust her beneath him. The need to blanket her, dominate, sink his teeth into her was growing stronger with each passing moment.
She relaxed into him, her body trusting him. She felt small and soft, little shivers running up and down, so that she burrowed closer to him. Her eyes looked dark and filled with the mystery of woman.
He took her mouth, gentle at first, savoring the spicy tang of her as his tongue tangled with hers. She sighed, her body going pliant, moving against his in invitation.
“Such a temptation,” he whispered as he shifted her in his arms, laying her across his lap, her body stretched out, breasts thrust upward, thighs open and moisture glistening along her cleft. “You’re so wet for me, sivamet, so read
y.”
His teeth tugged at her lower lip, teased and nipped, loving the curve of it, memorizing the shape. “I love your mouth.” He loved everything about her. And that was the problem. The more he tried to find a way to hold her to him, to make certain she would never want to leave him, the more he wanted her. He would never get enough of her body. And her body would never be enough for him. He wanted her eyes to shine with more than lust and need.
Manolito kissed her again, a slow taking of her senses, wanting her heart and soul, knowing he could only have a small part of her. It made him more determined than ever to bind her to him sexually. She was unaware of her allure, of the fact that she was as sexy as hell; she thought it was all him. His kisses were long and drugging, shaking her deliberately, not giving her a chance to think, only to feel. Her moans were soft, and he swallowed each one, taking them into his body to hold forever.
He loved watching her arousal heighten, knowing it was for him. Knowing that he had put that dazed look of utter need in her eyes. She turned her face to his, nuzzling under his chin, her tongue sliding in a heated rasp over his skin before she whispered his name.
“Manolito.”
The soft breathless entreaty hardened his body even more. He nibbled his way down her chin to her throat. Her skin was warm honey. He couldn’t resist a small bite, teeth scraping gently over her pulse, his tongue soothing the small sting with a gentle swirl. She reacted with another breathy moan, tilting her head to give him better access to her throat. Her hair fell like a waterfall around him, and he wanted the feel of it against his skin. Her breasts rose and fell as her breathing grew ragged.
“You like that, don’t you,” he whispered, his teeth nipping her skin again, his voice mesmerizing. He noted the elevated pulse, the scent of her calling to him, ripe and ready. Heat emanated from her. “Oh, yeah, baby, you definitely like that.”
His brow furrowed in concentration and his clothes dissolved in swirls of mist, leaving his body naked, so that he held her skin-to-skin. The cascade of her hair fell over him in a sensual slide, so that his erection, so thick and hard and aching was pressed tight against her soft body. MaryAnn stood between him and the monster he could become—the undead. She alone had the power to save him, and the miracle was, she was offering up her body to him. There was nothing more powerful or more erotic.
His mouth moved over her hungrily, her coffee-cream skin like hot silk. He could hear and feel her blood calling to him, surging in her veins with the ebb and flow of life. Her heart followed the rhythm of his, beat for beat, beneath the full mounds of her breasts. His lips traced a path along the rising swell and down into the valley, his tongue flicking over her pulse points, his teeth teasing as he moved his attention to the tight peaks of her nipples.
Her body arched as he blew warm air over the tightening buds. She tried to move, to bring up her arms, but he stopped, lifting his head, watching the arousal burning in her eyes. “Stay still, sivamet. Very still. I want you to feel every stroke of my tongue, every touch of my fingers.”
“I can’t,” she gasped. Her body was too edgy, too restless, the need growing fast and ferocious. She wasn’t certain she could take any more. She had never been like this, in a fever of need, craving his touch, his mouth, the small nips that seemed to tug at her womb so the fire inside built higher and higher. So high she felt on the edge of desperation, when she wasn’t a desperate woman. She needed him inside her more than she needed to breathe, but instead of giving her more, he kept up his slow, sensual assault until she thought she might die with need.
“Yes, you can. You will. Whatever I give you, you’ll take and more,” he said. “Let me make you scream, MaryAnn. Let me make you so mindless with pleasure you do not know any other name but mine.” He allowed his voice to be a seduction, caressing her skin the way his fingers did. He bent his head to her breast, his lips brushing her nipple as he spoke. “Give yourself to me completely.”
His hand cupped the firm ripeness of her breast and took the tip into the hot cavern of his mouth. His teeth tugged; he suckled, licked, nipped, assaulting her senses, back and forth between tiny bites of sensual pain and exquisite ecstasy. Need was on him, shaking his control as she writhed against his groin. He flattened his tongue to flick her nipple as his hand slid down to the gathering heat at the junction of her legs.
She cried out, a soft little tormented plea, twisting in his arms even as she tried to obey his command to stay still. Nerves in her thighs jumped and she opened her legs further, squirming against the thick erection. Fire raced through his body and his cock jerked. Another growl escaped his throat as his fingers glided to the vee of dark curls just above her moist cleft. He sent another heated, feather-light breath across her darkening nipple so that she arched into him again, thrusting toward his mouth in an agony of need.
Manolito gave her several slow, lingering licks, flicking his tongue, suddenly tugging gently with his teeth, deliberately sending flickering flames dancing through her body. He alternated between hard and gentle, slow and fast, a bite of sensual pain and a torturous swirl of his soothing tongue. All the while, his fingers teased just above that glistening cauldron of heat. Muscles rippled in her stomach, and her hips arched in desperation, striving for release he wouldn’t give her.
Her breath came in a little sob. “You have to do something.”
Satisfaction lit his dark eyes with tiny amber pinpoints of light. He lifted his head to look down at her, his gaze hot and possessive as it drifted over what was his. Deliberately he shifted her again, laying her on the bed, his tongue and teeth gliding over her body, tasting sex, tasting lust, tasting fulfillment of his every fantasy. It was the display of a dominant male, one that slightly shocked him, but he needed to imprint his scent on her, needed her—and everyone else—to know whom she belonged to.
She trembled, her breasts heaving, her legs splayed wide as he traveled down her body, claiming every inch as his own. Her head tossed back and forth as he teased the ultrasensitive flesh of her breasts, traced each rib, moved over her quivering tummy, stopping to tease her intriguing belly button.
She murmured something hot and erotic, and his body jerked in answer. He was completely focused on her now, absorbing the feel of her, the sheer beauty of her, the silky glide over her skin. The scent of his mate enfolded him, called him and commanded, and his body throbbed and ached with the need to answer. Lust and love rose up together, one not separated from the other, this woman, this female, courageous enough to follow him into the land of mists and shadows, brave enough to walk into a rain forest when everything in her told her to run. His.
His rich hair slid over her flat belly and curved hips as he dipped lower still. He was at the very center of her heat, and she lay beneath him, fingernails raking the sheet, her body arched, her throat exposed as she flung her head back and lifted her hips. Her gaze met his, aroused, desperate. His smile was pure sin as he caught her thighs and spread her wider for him. His gaze grew hotter, much wickeder and all too sensual. He bent his head and drank.
The moment his tongue speared deep, she screamed and dug her nails into the mattress, trying to hold on as the world around her exploded. Her body seemed to fragment. The edges of her vision blurred as fire raced down her spine and the muscles in her tight channel pulsed. Her throat shut down so it seemed impossible to catch her breath as waves of pleasure rocked her.
He lapped at her, speared her, and scraped with his teeth, feasting like a man possessed. His hands held her down with a strength she hadn’t imagined he possessed, holding her helpless and open to his erotic assault. He licked and sucked, his tongue stabbing deep, drawing the hot cream from her center while she tossed and whimpered beneath him.
“I can’t stand it,” she gasped, digging her fingers into the mattress, trying desperately to find something to hold on to. “You have to stop.” Because there was no control left to her.
His tongue was pressing against her clit, and her body was in meltdown. Pleasure
burst through her with the force of an exploding volcano, spreading like white-hot lava, until her muscles clamped down viciously and her stomach tightened and spears of fire raced up her spine and around to her breasts. She bucked hard against his mouth, unable to stop herself when the mind-numbing pleasure had her spiraling completely out of control.
Before she could catch her breath, he was flipping her over, dragging her to her knees when her body shook with wave after wave of pleasure. He rose over the top of her, catching her hips and pulling her bottom back toward him, one hand pressing on her back to hold her in place. He pushed the broad head of his erection against her tight entrance.
“Is this what you need, sivamet?” he whispered hoarsely.
She realized she was chanting something, a keening plea. Lightning flashed through her body, streaks of it, as his body began to invade hers. He was thick, so hard, like a steel spear pushing through her soft folds, stretching and burning. “You’re too big,” she gasped, afraid for the first time that she couldn’t accommodate his body, not like this, not when he gripped her hips and pulled her bottom back toward him as he drove relentlessly, mercilessly through her tight channel. Yet even when she protested, she was arching her hips, wanting more, needing more, nearly crying with the pleasure spreading through her. Even the too-tight invasion, the burning that accompanied him taking her, couldn’t stop the waves of ecstasy, or maybe it added to it.
In the dominant position, Manolito held her completely under his control, taking his time as he thrust into that hot channel, soft as velvet, surrounding him with living walls of silk. “You’re so tight, MaryAnn.” His voice was rough, the growling rumbling in his throat. He bent over her further, deepening his invasion, filling and stretching her impossibly. “Don’t move, meu amor, don’t do that.”
Christine Feehan 5 CARPATHIAN NOVELS Page 168