The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,45

for you even when I’m unaware.”

A growl of possession started in his throat, roaring through him with such intensity he had to clench his teeth to keep from unleashing it. Instead, he moved his hands, moved over her curves to relearn every dip and hollow, to commit every lush swell to memory.

Her eyelids fluttered and fell shut, her finger stilling on his lower lip, then falling away as she gave herself over to him completely. He eyed her hungrily, her body a banquet of temptations. Through the linen of her under dress, her nipples were tight buds as her breasts strained against the fabric. Unwilling to let her go long enough to pull the garment over her head, he yanked at the neckline with a quick jerk, tearing it easily. She arched up even higher, offering herself to him.

Gladly, he feasted on first one taut peak and then the other. He worked her against his teeth and then smoothed those tender places with his tongue, making her squirm restlessly against his thigh.

She was so hot there, between her legs. He wanted her all around him, to feel that slick heat gripping him as she found her release. But he had to taste her first, had to remember the flavor of her before he lost himself inside her.

“Wulf.” She ran restless fingers over his chest and shoulders, reaching lower for more of him, but he eluded her grasp.

His own release was already there, poised and ready in the head of his shaft. He couldn’t risk letting her touch him yet. Grinding his teeth together, he fought back the fierce need and kissed his way down her belly, circling her hipbone with his tongue while he spanned the place between her hips with his hand.

The womanly scent of her filled his nostrils. She was all he saw. His whole world narrowed to her and what she wanted. Her need became his.

When he licked a path up the center of her slick folds, she raked her fingers through his hair and down to his shoulders, melting on his tongue. Release hit her so fast she simply clung to him. He didn’t let her go until she came, again and again, until he couldn’t put off his own need any longer.

She reached for the fastening of his braies, but he couldn’t allow her fingers too close to him or he would never make it inside her. He’d put off release so long, and he’d wanted her from the moment he’d seen her slim, pale body swimming away from him in the darkness. Possessing her had been a driving force stronger than he could have ever imagined.

He didn’t question it, then or now.

“Come,” he commanded, shifting her position so that she was centered on the remains of her torn undergarment. “This will keep the sand off you.”

Vaguely, she nodded, following where he moved her. Then her hips arched, demanding more.

He freed his shaft but kept his clothes on to keep the sand at bay. Planting his knees between hers, he entered her in one smooth stroke. She was so wet, so warm and ready, she welcomed every inch of him. Blood pounded in his head more insistently than the cursed drums playing out their war tunes on the other side of the island.

Fulfillment hovered near and he fought it for as long as he could. But then she pressed her soft breasts to his chest and held him against her, enveloping him with her sweetness.

When his release charged through him, he could not hold back his howl. Never had he wanted a woman so much. Never had he risked all to possess one.

Because no matter what they called one another or how they defined the connection between them, Gwendolyn of Wessex belonged to him as no woman ever had.

And no matter how rational his plan for returning her to safety, he now understood he could never let her go.

11

A DREAM HELD HER FAST.

Gwendolyn knew that what she saw was not real, but she could not seem to wake herself from disturbing visions that plagued her deep in the night.

“Don’t,” she murmured, clutching Wulf by the tunic to plead with him. “Don’t do it.”

She was desperate to stop him from something. The emotions felt so real she wondered if she was wrong and this wasn’t a dream at all. The passion had fled from Wulf’s expression. He was all warrior now—cold and unmoved by her pleas.

But what had she asked him for? To release her? To