The Serpent in the Stone - By Nicki Greenwood Page 0,58

he undid the remaining buttons and drew the shirt off her shoulder, planting still more kisses on her satiny skin.

She straightened her arms. Her shirt fell to the floor. Her hazel eyes glowed in the lantern light. Separated from him only by her bra and pants, she was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her in any form.

His control slipped. He molded his hands to her and she arched against him, her body molten with desire, but her eyes...

Cold as gemstones.

No, he thought fiercely. Answer me. Answer this. He reached up to grapple with the hooks of her bra and it fell away, leaving her bare under his hands. When he cupped her breast, skin to heated skin, she moaned and pressed closer.

With an inward hiss of triumph, he crushed his body against her, reveling in the feel of her skin on his. He urged her to the cot with fervent kisses. She went, willing under his touch. He lay beside her and drew his fingertips along a taut nipple, teasing it with his thumb.

She inhaled, sharp and surprised. Ian lowered his head and took the nipple in his mouth, drawing hard on it, grazing the edges with his teeth. She whimpered, and he wrestled for restraint. He pushed aside the amulet at her throat to touch his lips to the hollow between her breasts. Her heartbeat thudded against his mouth. When her nails grazed the skin of his back, he sucked in a breath and looked up at her. “Are you sure you want this?”

She answered by cupping the back of his head and drawing him down to her. He kissed her again, groaning when her tongue swept into his mouth to imitate the strokes he made with his own. His erection strained against his pants. Ian broke away and took another breath, trying to cool his raging blood. Slow down, he told himself.

Hell, no, demanded another, more primal part of him. He wanted all of her. Here, now, before another second went by. He stroked the burning skin of her belly and she sighed, lifting her chin. He bent his head to her throat and savored her with gentle nips. Her nails dug into his shoulders.

Ian blasted apart. With a possessive snarl, he unzipped her pants and almost tore them off. He stretched out over her with triumph scorching through his body. The feel of her skin, hot and satin-smooth, tore another snarl from him.

Sara dug her nails into his skin again, pinning him there, though he’d have died before leaving her. Naked, she lay beneath him, watching him with eyes that blazed now with the need echoing in her body. Ian memorized every curve and hollow, then swept his hands along each contour, lingering with kiss and touch.

He stroked a hand along one slender thigh to the curls between her legs and found her center hot and moist. When he slid a finger into her, she moaned. His thumb found the sensitive bud between her folds, and he stroked her. She arched off the cot with a soft cry. “Ian!”

He drank in her reaction to his touch with ferocious greed. His senses reeled with the sweet musk of her arousal. Every time she gasped, his tenuous control unraveled faster.

Her fingertips brushed along the top of his pants. His belly clenched. He felt her reach for the button and realized she was following his example. She wrestled, and he closed his hands over hers to help her. He pushed his pants off and lay naked beside her, letting her look at him, hardly able to keep his patience when his entire body ached to be touching her.

She gave him the same thorough appraisal he’d given her, then glanced up at him. At last he saw her come back from that distant place—no longer unreachable, but somehow both intense and shy. He reined in his need and took her hand, pressing it to his chest. “Touch me.”

She did. Her hands swept along his skin, searing him wherever they landed. He trembled under her questing fingers as he’d never done with any other woman. Her hands closed around his rigid manhood, stroking feather-light along its length. “Sara,” he ground out, teetering on the brink.

“Now,” she whispered. “Now, Ian, please.”

The rest of his self-control shattered. She urged him down and opened herself to him. He pressed his hips into hers, and eased home in a long, slow, blissful stroke.

And then she was his. Completely, finally. No more secrets. No painful pasts.