Princess in the Iron Mask - By Victoria Parker Page 0,53
then sinking back inside. So gentle, giving her time to adjust. ‘So perfect.’
In out, over and over, until all thought was banished and only pleasure remained. Until they found a glorious rhythm and he upped the pace, faster...faster...harder.
Kissing her possessively, he stroked every inch of her, his hand trailing down her thigh as he shifted slightly to deepen his thrust and grind against her where she needed him most.
The new angle spawned shockwaves of fresh sensations and then she was almost there, tightening, crying out, poised at the edge of paradise, reaching for the heights of bliss.
‘Claudia...’ His huge body stiffened above her and a keening moan seemed to rip from his throat. The exquisite sight of his face contorting with pleasure, tossed her over the edge until she was falling, falling, shattering, revelling in the sensations shooting through her like white-hot stars.
* * *
Face buried in the soft skin of her neck, Lucas bathed in her honeyed scent, luxuriating in the aftermath of pleasure such as he’d never known—sure he’d just tasted ecstasy.
Claudia clasped his head, holding him tight. ‘Don’t let go,’ she whispered.
But he would crush her, he knew. So he gathered her in his arms, rolled onto his back until she was sprawled over his chest, her dark tumble of curls a provocative feast.
His heart turned over, struggled to pump blood round his veins, and he closed his eyes while a torrent of conflicting emotions bombarded him. His head was waging an almighty war. More. Need more. Get up. Move away. He’d slept with a few women in his time but, Dios, nothing like this. This wild, insatiable, clamouring need—this craving to keep her close and never let go. It scared him half to death.
‘Lucas?’ she said, lifting her head and resting her chin on the back of her hand as she looked up at him. Her eyes were fired with enough anxiety to make his guts clench. ‘Was I...okay?’
He let go of the air locked in his chest and raked damp hair back from his brow. Never had he been asked that. But she was looking up at him, so damn trusting, her heart etched on her face, needing to know she’d been worth it. His stomach ached.
‘Listen to me, querida,’ he said, trailing the back of his finger over her temple, down her nose. ‘When you are stripped bare and no longer able to hide you are breathtaking.’
As her bruised lips parted he traced them, following the sexy dip of her top lip. Her pink tongue snaked out and flicked the tip and a fresh spurt of heat shot down his spine, thick as lava, as he remembered the way she’d tasted him. Such a ferocious mind. Always learning, always desirous to be the best.
‘You’re the most passionate woman I have ever met.’
She blinked. Smiled the sexiest of satisfied smiles and dropped a lush, moist kiss on his chest.
‘That’s good,’ she said, as she tiptoed her fingers down his abdomen, cruising over the ridges and down, down to where he was hard and ready for her touch.
Bolder now, she wrapped her fingers around his length and explored every inch of him, first with her hand and then with her eyes. Until the heat was a fiery ball and he was plunging past the point of no return. He grasped her wrist, flipped her over and pinned her to the bed, his hands holding hers above her head.
Her eyes blazed, glittering with shards of exquisite excitement.
‘Ah... You like that?’
What she liked, he realised, was to be wanted. She loved his weight on top of her. His strength turned her on, heated her blood. She felt protected. He made her feel safe. Dios. His heart turned over again. He should not revel in that—he really shouldn’t.
Licking her lips, she nodded, her breath quickening, her hips writhing in their own little way to drive him crazy with the need to be inside her.
Keeping her hands above her head with one hand, he trailed the other down the slope of her full lush breast. ‘Dios. You have the body of a goddess. Heavenly to look at. Sinful to touch. Makes me feel damn weak.’
He kissed the soft underside while his fingers trailed down her soft stomach, wanting to see if she was ready. ‘You are not sore?’
‘No,’ she breathed. ‘Need you.’
Her head tossed back and forth. Her dark curls fanned over his white pillow. His pillow. His bed. His.
Skating over the damp curls at the apex of her thighs,