Page 50 of Dark Embrace
Reaching down, he closed his fists in her chemise and tore it open, baring her to his gaze, his touch. His features were hard, hungry, and the way he looked at her made an answering hunger rearinsideher.
He let his weight down full upon her, wonderfully heavy, holding her and freeing her, the hard ridge of his arousal between her thighs. She had never felt anything more breathtaking, more sensual. Longing burgeoned and swelled, and she cried out as he closed his mouth again on her nipple, the erotic tug making her body squirm. Then he offered sweet kisses and gentle bites until she was panting and writhingbeneathhim.
Running her hands along his shoulders and down the hard planes of his chest, she explored the feel of his smooth skin, taut over lean layers of muscle. He was wonderfully masculine, wonderfullyappealing.
His mouth moved again to her throat, his hands skimming her waist, and lower, dipping between her thighs to touch her sex. She felt swollen and tender and pliant and wet and when he touched her there, all those things combined into a tight, restless coil. She ached for his touch there, but his touch made her feel as though she needed to squirm and writhe. She moaned, lost insensation.
She had never imagined this. Never. It was like a tempest inside her own body, a magnificent tempest that lured her to fling herself into the storm with untrammeledabandon.
Her body stirred, her hips rolling in a way she did not deliberately intend. But the movement felt so good, so right. She felt as though he led her to a place she had always known and never even thought to look for. Hot and quivering, sensation poured through her. She was alive, soalive.
Between her thighs, his arousal was thick and heavy, pressing against her sex. Again, her hips rocked up, and she felt a slick pressure, there, between her folds. The pressure became a burn, and the burn became pain. But before she could protest, he slid his hand between them and his fingers—those clever fingers—made her crave the burn, the pressure, the invasion. She opened to him, sliding her heels along the smooth, soft sheets, shifting to an angle that increased the incredible feelings hestirred.
Cupping her breast, he stroked her and rocked his hips to bring himself tighter against her. There was a tautness, a pressure as he pushed inside her a little more, and she gave a shocked cry at the intrusion, the foreign sensation of being stretched andentered.
He held himself back. She could feel that in the leashed tension of his body. A press; a release. Just a little of his erection easing in to fill and stretch. It was alien and frightening and beguiling all at once, and she could not help but catch his rhythm and move with him. Again and again until she was panting, half in apprehension, half in wildabandon.
What a mad slurry of feelings. She wanted him, ached for him, but could not help but be a little afraid of theunknown.
And then it was unknown no longer. He pushed harder, the stretching so powerful and strange, she cried out. A sharp instant of discomfort, a burning, an ache, and then he was inside her, deep inside her, fullysheathed.
She lay there panting, a littledismayed.
As though he knew everything she felt, he simply stayed as he was, allowed her to understand the feeling of his body joined with hers, and then he began to move, a shallow thrust, a retreat. She didn’t dislike it, notprecisely,but…
He slid his hand down her belly to her soft curls, to her slick folds and the place so sensitive it made her moan. He caressed her there with lazy swirls of his fingers until she gasped and arched up to meet each shallow thrust. Wanting more. Needing more. He moved faster now, and deeper, and while the pain was not completely gone, it wasn’t precisely pain anymore. And as his fingers pressed harder and slid faster, she arched and dug her heels against the sheets, striving and failing to find that which shecraved.
With a little cry, she reached down and locked her fingers around his wrist, holding his hand exactly where it was, aching for something she couldnotname.
Too much. It was all too much. She could not bear it, could not hold fast to the spiraling pieces ofherself.
She twined her fingers through his hair as he thrust deep and hard, his breath ragged as he turned his face into the crook of herelbow.
Hot and sharp, she felt his bite, there on the soft skin at the inside of herelbow.
“Killian—” She cried out, and tried to make him understand, but it was too late. The sensation of his fingers sliding along her wet sex, and the feel of his penis moving inside her...She was flying apart, a thousand shining bits of her all flyingapart.
And he was with her, flying with her, his release coming an instant after her own as he thrust deep one last time, throbbing inside her, spilling himselfinsideher.
She clung to him, floating, and finally drifting back toherself.
Panting, bewildered, wonderfully replete, she lay there and stared up at the gilded ceiling, one arm draped across Killian’s broad back, the other flung free across thesheets.
He kissed her neck, her cheek, and finally roused himself to lift his weight from her and roll to the side. She missed it immediately. The weight of him.Theheat.
She snuggled against him and smiled as he slid his arm around her and drew her close. Slowly, she lifted her lids, and languidly eased her arm across hischest.
Frowning, she stared at the golden expanse of his skin, and it took her a moment to understand whatshesaw.
Blood. She had left a smear of blood when she moved her arm overhisskin.
She jerked to a sitting position and stared at the crook of her elbow. Her veins traced blue beneath her skin, and there were two small punctures there and a small smear of herblood.
He had bitten her. Tasted her. The thought was both appalling andfascinating.
Her gaze jerked to his, and she found him watching her, his lips drawn taut, his eyespinched.
“Killian,” she whispered, a question,aplea.