The Soul Collector - By Tamela Quijas Page 0,62
inhaled her scent as profoundly as possible. Before him, an unseen cloud of light showered off her flesh, dusting his shirtfront and bathing him in luminescence.
He breathed in, again, dragging the bright star light deep into his lungs. She had become a forbidden drug to him and he drew each glistening fragment of her essence into his body, the most delicious tingling assailing him. He hungered for more of her taste and the air surrounding her, more of the warmth radiating from her ripe figure.
Lucien pulsated with an all-encompassing need that seared his loins, and he slid a trembling hand to her curvaceous hips. Her reaction was immediate and she leaned forward, lifting her mouth to reach the insistent touch of his lips. The ever-tightening pressure of his fingertips anchored her to his side while he unerringly sought the luxury of her delicious mouth. A moan developed deep in his chest as he savored the simple action and the excited chill rising over her.
She pulled away from the onslaught, her breathing a ragged and shuddering echo. The soft groan of his name fell from her and her trembling fingertips brushed his neck. His thoughts scattered to the wind, vanishing into nothingness, save for a desperately mortal need gnawing at him.
He arched in sheer agony, his fingers digging into her waist before moving across her back and tangling into her hair. The solid warmth of her generous breasts came into hard contact with his chest, whisking him further into an ever-spiraling chasm of desire.
He groaned her name as another unbidden tremor shot through him. Soft words fell from his lips, in a language he hadn’t used in centuries, regaling her with the sensations exploding from his heart. She mewed as his heated breath brushed her neck, the flurry of words indecipherable, but fluidly erotic. He fell silent while he sought the delicate flesh of her ear, his teeth nipping at the tender skin.
“I feel so wicked,” she gasped, straining against him. Her breathless words were an understatement, for she wanted to do things to his body that defied thought and reason.
“Angels aren't wicked.” His words sounded distant, even to his ears. He moved a hand from the curve of her spine and tenderly caressed the softness of her pliant body beneath the thin material of her shirt.
Ah, but she was so deliciously wicked, a distant part of Lucien's dazed mind whispered. She was undeniably sinful, arousing, and temptation indefinable. Only she enticed him beyond practical reason, drawing his soul and his thoughts deep into the enticing warmth of her sensuous body.
Eva's head fell limply back, her neck exposed to his fervent lips. She groaned deep in her throat, shuddering against him. Her delicate fingers plucked at the fine material of his silk shirt, pleading for him to relinquish the offending bit of cloth.
Lucien's mouth hungrily sought hers, craving the satiny pleasures hidden beyond the delicate petals of flesh. The kiss was poignant and filled with an aching pain and need. He was drowning in her taste, savoring the caress of her sensitive flesh, and his aroused body throbbed.
“I don’t repulse you?” He managed with a shuddering breath. Eva slowly opened her eyes, the pupils dilated, and her expression dazed.
“Repulse me?” She repeated in a stupor, his words barely registering to her desire clouded thoughts. Lucien felt the weight of the world returning, his expression intensely troubled. Dawning comprehension filled her as she pressed her cheek into his scarred palm, placing her lips to the mutilated flesh. The slight flush of longing flooded her face and his carefully constructed willpower quickly crumbled beneath her touch. “You’ll never repulse me, Lucien.”
“My glorious angel, abounding with fire and light, save me.” He managed to say. Stinging warmth filled his eyes, and he bit his lower lip. The bitter taste of copper became apparent, the forgotten flavor of blood redolent on his tongue.
“The last thing I want to be is your angel.” The delicate pressure of her fingertips scanned the front of his shirt, releasing each button and revealing flushed skin. As the material fell away, she released a slow whistle of appreciation. Her hungry eyes examined the lean and tightly honed muscles rippling beneath the heat of his skin. A groan escaped as she ran tentative fingers over the well-defined planes of his quivering stomach, causing him to quiver in response.
“Mon ange promis,” he gasped and captured her fingers, drawing the soft flesh to his mouth. Ecstatically, Eva closed her eyes while he laved