Dancing With Danger (Goode Girls #3) - Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,39

thought he knew about himself.

Made him yearn for things that were patently impossible.

Made his blood froth and churn with torrents of need, and his heart trip and kick with boyish, frivolous emotions.

Like hope, for example.

Or whatever this odd amalgamation of impossible softness and desperate intensity could be called.

Was there a word for it?

For yearning more insatiable than lust? Hunger more excruciating than deprivation?

Pain more insidious than the shattering of bone?

The three languages he spoke fluently offered up nothing. Though, the feel of the naked woman molded to him might have addled his brain somewhat.

Her response to the imprisonment of his arms was unfettered and open and fearless, just like her.

Pressing herself to him, she scored his scalp with her nails, rolled her body in sinuous undulations, as if the entire ravenous intensification of their encounter had been her bloody idea.

In fact, she tugged at him with surprising strength for such a delicate creature, pulling him back to the bed and nearly climbing him like a falling tree as he lay her back on the counterpane.

Her thighs fell open beneath his weight, her long legs locking around his waist.

The delicate heat of her sex singed him with need.

“I’m ready,” she sighed, her voice still husky from her climax and her lashes fanning long shadows against her flushed cheek.

He bloody wasn’t.

Or—rather—he was. Too ready. Too hungry. He wanted to shove into her like a brute. To rut like a stag and submit her like a stallion. If only he could crawl inside of her, somehow, to join with her in a way that would leave a part of him locked within her.

Christ, was this why people procreated?

Something about that thought sobered him a little. Enough to let him pull back and gaze down into her lovely face.

Her hair was a riot of precious metals in the lamplight. The strands at her nape a deep bronze, and those at her temple light as mercury. The tresses fanned out around her creamy shoulders in waves of corn silk and spun gold.

Eyes shining like brilliant sapphires, she flicked her little pink tongue across lips red and swollen from the abrasion of his kisses, as if savoring the taste of him there.

Or the flavor of her own desire.

The gesture nearly undid him.

Her pert nose flared with heavy gasps that fell against his face in sweet-scented puffs. Their shared breaths felt more intimate than the most immoral acts he’d ever committed.

Finally, he settled his hips into the cradle of hers, grunting as the crown of his cock slid against the wet cove of her body.

Her gaze showed no uncertainty and it lanced him all the way through. He’d done nothing in his entire benighted life to deserve such trust.

And yet. There it was.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he whispered, kissing her with a conciliatory tug of his lips.

“I forgive you,” she whispered, squirming her hips in gasp-inducing impatience. “But only if you hurry.”

If only all demands were so easy to satisfy.

If only all hurts were so easily forgiven.

Setting his jaw, Raphael nudged forward.

Initially her body gave, welcoming the plump crown of him with a slick kiss. When he encountered hindrance, he cursed viciously, stalling his progression.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, her features tight with concentration.

“No, mon chaton.” He dropped kisses onto her cheekbones, her eyelids, the wisps of curls at her temples. “No. I am sorry. Tell me to stop.” It would be a feat even Hercules might have failed, but he’d do it.

“You’re trembling,” she remarked, smoothing her palms over his shoulders shaking with the burden of his restraint.

“I—I can’t bring myself to hurt you.”

“I’m not in pain. Just...pressure.” She wriggled against him again, testing the barrier.

Jesus. Fuck.

He couldn’t do this. Not with her. Not to her.

When he made to withdraw, she gripped at him with sharp claws, her nails creating delicious little crescents of pain on his back.

“Do it,” she commanded, her features becoming a mask of determination before she buried her face against his neck. “Do it. Now.”

He could do nothing but obey.

With a surge of his hips, he impaled her.

Her teeth sank into the meat of his shoulder and she gave a whimper that gutted him.

Gathering her close, he curled around her as they each shuddered and surrendered to the feel of him seated inside to the hilt.

Their breaths synchronized, as the tight clutch of her molded around him. Eventually the pulsing muscles milked at his cock, seeming to pull him even deeper, like a fist of wet silk.

He could come like this.