The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,91

for her . . .

She bolted.

On a smothered laugh, she raced up the stairs.

He was on her heels before he’d thought.

Then he did. He let her reach the landing before looping an arm around her waist, spinning her into him as he turned. Setting her back to the side wall, he crushed her lips with his.

And devoured.

Mary sank her hands into his hair and hung on for dear life. Let her wits spin away and opened her senses wide. Gloried, for one long instant simply drank in his passion—then she flung her heart and soul into returning it.

Fingers clenching in his hair, she kissed him back, returning every rapacious foray with her own fire. Her own need. Her own burning brand of desire. She could feel it surging inside her, undeniable, all-powerful, a heated yearning to be together, to be naked and merged and totally lost in the flames.

The compulsion built, rose higher.

Urgency raced down her veins.

Lips melding, hungry, hot, and urgent, the kiss raged back and forth, first driven by him, then by her, their tongues dueling, seeking, searching—he for supremacy, she for equal strength.

She won. He didn’t.

She held her own and pressed him even harder.

Knew when he broke, when he accepted that he didn’t care how, just as long as he had her—and she had him.

She only had a split second to wonder what next before he hoisted her up against him. She responded immediately, adjusting the angle of the kiss, unwilling to allow the connection to break, to allow either of them a chance to think, even for a heartbeat. Then he turned from the wall and she raised her legs and wriggled and hitched and conquered her skirts enough to grip his hips with her thighs.

He grunted, but, like her, made no move to end the ravenous engagement of their mouths; sliding his palms beneath her hips, carrying her, he started up the stairs.

Giving thanks for his strength, she left it to him to get them to his bedroom and focused her will on the kiss, on keeping them both, he and she, so deeply immersed that the flames they’d already ignited didn’t wane.

She succeeded so well that, on reaching the corridor to his room, he sat her atop a wall table, clamped his hands to her face, took over the kiss, and poured fire down her veins.

On a gasp, she tipped her head back and broke the kiss—and he let her. One hand framing her jaw, angling her chin, he ducked his head and set his lips, burning, branding, to her throat. Followed the arching line down to the hollow where her pulse raced. He licked, laved, and she shuddered.

He made a sound, low and guttural, and then her bodice was loose and he was drawing it down; before she gathered her wits enough to react, he stripped bodice and chemise to her waist, and set his mouth to her bared breasts.

She cried out as he sucked one furled nipple deep; evocative and arousing, the sound echoed in the dark.

He chuckled, harsh and ragged; cupping her other breast, he kneaded and squeezed while with lips and tongue he claimed. One hand sliding to the back of her waist, holding and supporting her, he waited while she blindly freed her arms from her sleeves, then he tipped her backward until the back of her head rested against the wall and he bent to his task—apparently intending to reduce her to an utterly wanton state . . .

She was already there. Hands sunk in his hair, eyes closed, head back, she moaned, then arched, wanting more of all he lavished on her—the hot worship of his mouth on her sensitive flesh, the excruciatingly piercing sensations he sent streaking through her.

Driving passion was already a pounding thud in her veins; she wondered how much stronger it could get.

Shivered with anticipation at the certainty of finding out.

Despite the potent compulsions of desire, tonight she was more aware—more able to appreciate his sensual expertise. Previously, her senses had been swept away; tonight, they were riding the tide.

And she wanted, craved with a deep-seated need, the heat and the flames and the surging, swelling passion. More than anything else she craved the fusion they would lead to, the intense, intimate, physically powerful joining.

She’d been too distracted earlier to properly absorb every detail; tonight her senses were greedy and grasping, devouring every nuance.

Her gown and chemise lay crumpled about her waist. Standing as he was, his hips forced her knees wide; he