The Tycoon's Rebel Bride - Maya Banks Page 0,44

tightly against him as his lips plundered hers.

This kiss…was different. She moaned softly, a sound of surrender? Honestly, she didn’t care. Maybe it was a sound of need. Or want.

He took her. There was no other word for it. He took possession of her mouth as if he owned it, as if he had exclusive rights to her mouth and refused to share it. Ever.

Her body melted against his, and she loved the hardness of his chest, his thighs, shivered as his hands roamed up her body to her neck. He cupped her nape, holding her so that she couldn’t escape him. As if she wanted to.

She was a willing captive. This…this was what she’d dreamed about. Fantasized. Wanted so much. So desperately.

“I want to make love to you, Bella,” he said with breathless urgency, his lips barely separating from hers. “I’ve fought it. Theos, but I’ve fought, but if I don’t have you, I’m going to go mad.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I want you so much, Theron.”

His hands fumbled with the tie at her robe, his lips never leaving her mouth. It was as though he couldn’t bear to stop kissing her. He devoured her even as he yanked her robe open.

And then his hands pressed against her naked skin, and she moaned and trembled, going completely weak against him.

“Soft, so soft and beautiful. Like silk,” he murmured as his palms caressed her sides, moving up until he cupped her breasts.

Finally, he moved from her mouth, his lips brushing over her jaw and to her ear and then lower, down her neck. He nipped then sucked at the tender skin, eliciting shiver after shiver.

His mouth continued downward, and she caught her breath as he sank to his knees in front of her. He snaked his arms inside her robe and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her downward so that her knees bent.

His mouth was precariously close to her breasts, so much so that his breath beaded and puckered her nipples into tight knots. And then he slid his mouth over one, rolling his tongue gently over the peak.

Her robe fell to the floor at her feet, and she was naked in his arms. He sucked at her breast, his dark head flush against her body. How erotic it looked, this proud, strong man, on his knees, his arms wrapped tight around her—as though he’d never let go.

Before she allowed herself to become too entrenched in that fantasy, he released her nipple, and she groaned her protest.

He glanced up, his eyes glowing in the lamplight. “You’re beautiful, Bella,” he said in a low husky voice that was passion-laced.

His grip loosened just enough that he could rise to his feet, his shirt scraping along her bare skin. She reached out with her fingers to snag at his buttons, wanting them gone and to feel his bare skin against hers.

But he collected her hands in his and held them tightly together. “Oh, no, Bella mou. This is my seduction. And I intend to seduce you thoroughly.”

He swung her into his arms and walked slowly to the bedroom, his gaze locked with hers. She was afraid to speak. Afraid that he would hastily back away if the spell was broken.

He laid her on the bed then straightened to his full height over her. She felt strangely vulnerable beneath his intense gaze. Shy and a little uncertain.

Her hands crept upward in an attempt to shield herself.

“Do not hide such beauty from me,” he whispered.

Emboldened by the obvious approval in his eyes, she let her hands fall away. Lust flared over his face as his hands went to the buttons of his shirt. Halfway down, he lost patience and ripped the remaining buttons. He shrugged out of the sleeves and then tore impatiently at his pants.

She sucked in her breath and held it when his boxers, with his pants, slipped down and his turgid manhood came into view. Then it stuttered out, a silent staccato in the quiet as he moved closer.

He spread her knees and fit his body to hers, settling between her thighs as he came down onto the bed. Hot, silken and yet rough in a heady, masculine way, his skin clung to hers, burning her, making her move restlessly underneath him.

They kissed again, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, prolonging the mating of their tongues. Soft and wet, clinging and dueling, a precursor to the dance their bodies would yet perform.

“I’ve never felt so out of control,” he admitted.