Quiet Walks the Tiger - By Heather Graham Page 0,50

wrists, but only to allow his lips further exploration of her flesh. Freed, Sloan’s hands moved of their own volition, clinging to him, digging into him, seeking and desiring. And then, when she thought she would surely die of wonderful agony, Wesley’s hands moved to her buttocks and lifted her to him.

“Surrender?” He was gloating, but his demand was uttered in such a raw rasp that it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter anyway. He had driven her to an absolute frenzy.

“Surrender,” she croaked, parting her lips and hooking her arms desperately around the hard expanse of his shoulders. “No more games...”

Skyrockets of dizzying ecstasy exploded throughout her as Wesley completed his conquest, taking her with a rough urgency that matched the wild passion flaming hungrily between them. Wesley’s pulsating rhythm took them higher and higher to peak after peak, bringing them finally to a boundless precipice of sweet satiation that was so wonderful that Sloan could not move at its conclusion, could not disentangle her limbs from Wesley’s nor willingly draw away from his overwhelming heat.

It was he who finally moved, but only to shed the robe that still encased his shoulders. He tugged at the remnants of Sloan’s black gown. “Get rid of that,” he commanded softly.

There was no more fight left in Sloan, just loving, dazed obedience. She knew she had lost the upper hand—if she had ever had it! But she didn’t care. Her body still burned with the aftermath of pleasure; the memory of Wesley’s demanding possession still throbbed divinely where his virility had split her asunder. Filled with loving contentment, she dutifully cast aside the remainders of the black gauze and curled to his naked side, reveling in the feel of his lean, sinewed body. A sigh of sheer peace and satisfaction escaped her as her eyelids fluttered closed.

“Sleepy?” Wesley queried with a throaty chuckle, stroking her damp hair from her forehead.

“Ummm...”

“What? On your honeymoon?” he mocked. “My passionate little wildcat giving out already? Un-unh!”

“Wes,” Sloan protested drowsily. “I’m half-asleep...”

“I’ll wake you up,” he promised, and proceeded to prove he could do so. Slowly, more gently this time, with Sloan able to return every spark of arousal and explore him with equal intimacy. He demanded things of her, coaxing her with enticing whispers to tell him everything that pleased her most and exciting her to almost unendurable lengths by encouraging her own shy administrations with hoarse groans and guttural exclamations of her perfection.

“I think I married a sex maniac,” she told him euphorically as he swept her to his heights again.

“No, darling,” he muttered, his face taut with desire, “I did, little wildcat.”

“I never knew it could be this way...” Anything else she had to say became incomprehensible as moans obliterated her speech.

Later, countless eons later, she drifted off to sleep in the ageless, dreamlike satisfaction of one filled to the brim with enchanted satiation, held in the security of her lover’s arms. The night had been more than she had ever expected, even in her wildest imaginings. She had given herself to Wesley completely, and learned the superb sweetness of surrender. It was good, so wonderfully good, to be his and know that he was hers and that a man like Wesley slept beside her. She had been conquered, but the thought bothered her not at all. She didn’t need a superior edge anymore; she loved and trusted him totally.

She awoke in the middle of the night, keenly attuned to his touch. She was coiled against him, her back fitted into the curve of his stomach, sheltered by his arms. For a minute she was confused, wondering why she had woken. Then she realized that he was insistently fondling her breasts; the pressure of his powerful chest and his hot, probing masculinity telling her the rest.

“Wes!” she murmured with awe and surprise, a remnant of guile prompting her protest. A laugh escaped her. “We have tomorrow, you know.”

“Never put off till tomorrow,” he quoted as his teeth grazed her earlobe. Had she been more awake, she might have noticed the slight hesitance before his teasing statement. As it was, she merely mocked a sigh of resignation and succumbed to his advances, shocked by the vehemence of her response and the wild abandon with which she eagerly returned his lovemaking when by all rights she should have been exhausted, spent, and still sound asleep.

Wesley chuckled softly when she shuddered in his arms again. “Go back to sleep, darling,” he whispered. “I promise I won’t wake