In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,105

on reality. He had intended to kiss her just long enough and purposefully enough to frighten her into understanding this was no game they were playing. He had not expected it to go beyond a stern lesson against challenging him to any more tests. He most definitely had not expected to end up on his knees before her, his body fevered with needs.

But he was on his knees, drowning in the clean, womanly scent of her flesh. There were no more laces to unfasten, but the temptation was there, just below the gentle curve of her belly—another shadow beneath the pale cloth, outlining the triangle of fiery red down that cushioned his lips and teased his senses with images of delicate pink folds and sleek, mother-of-pearl surfaces.

Eduard pressed another groan into the juncture of her thighs and felt his noble intentions shudder away beneath his lips. He could feel the tension in her limbs and in the trembling tips of her fingers as they pushed into his hair, too shocked to know what he was doing, but telling him she did not want him to stop.

A curse sent his hands stroking down to the hem of her tunic, lifting it as he dragged his palms up the lithe, supple length of her calves and thighs. He lightly feathered the velvety flesh of her inner thighs, still expecting—hoping?—she would jerk away in alarm or maidenly decency, but he had taught the lesson too well and she had not the strength or the will to defy him.

Ariel’s hand clutched at his shoulders. Waves of shame, hot and fierce, swept through her only to be chastened by the hotter, wilder urges he had promised, and she moved with the sliding pressure of his fingertips; she strained into their deft, sure explorations and she melted around the slow, deep incursions that brought her shivering, trembling down onto the hearth beside him. She clung to his shoulders, his mouth. She panted against his husky, whispered assurances that in no way prepared her for the rush of brilliant, searing ecstasy that flared through her body.

Eduard knew, and it was both his torment and his pleasure to watch her, to hold her as her body stiffened and writhed in his arms. He kissed her almost breathless, covering her mouth with his and swallowing her cries. He kept his fingers buried deep inside her, his strokes slowing only when her tremors started to fade and the drenching heat of her threatened to strip him of the last shreds of control. He had no choice then but to withdraw everything—his hands, his lips, his body. Especially his body, for it could not be trusted with any further contact, not unless that contact was full and complete in every way.

He stood, lifting her with him, but when she would have leaned forward into his embrace, he backed away, steeling himself against the wide, dark incomprehension in her eyes. Dazed by what she had just experienced, Ariel started to take an unsteady step after him, but he held out a hand to stop her —a hand that shook visibly with the effort it was taking to deny her.

“Eduard—?”

She had never called him by his Christian name before and the sound of it only made the fist clench tighter in his groin. Making matters worse, her tunic gaped open from throat to waist, revealing flesh as pale as moonlight save for the two pinkened buds of her breasts. Her hair was tumbled and wild, framing the beauty of a face that would probably haunt him now until he drew his last breath.

“Eduard … what is it? Is it something I have done?”

“No,” he rasped. “No, it is nothing you have done.”

“Then what—?”

“Cover yourself,” he pleaded in a whisper, turning his face into the safety of the shadows. “For the love of God, cover yourself.”

Ariel’s body still burned, still throbbed with a tense, tight feeling she did not understand. She did not understand his anger either, for had she not reacted just the way he had said she would react? Had he not discovered and unleashed more womanly urges than she had even known she possessed? The slick proof of them was on the hand he still held out to keep her at arm’s length. It was in the wetness that streaked her thighs and in the shifting, slithering ribbons of heat that continued to curl through her flesh as if he was still there, pleasuring her. As if she wanted even more