Wild Midnight Page 7

  Then, quite terrifyingly, her response answered his tense, powerful body, so sharply and unexpectedly that she moaned. She was wildly aware of the opened front of his jeans, the sharp edges of the metal zipper and the fabric of his cotton briefs pressing against her bare skin where the terry cloth robe gaped open. His lean strength and the hard band of his arms surrounding her were as remorselessly sexual as his tongue’s thrusting invasion.

  He had torn off his shirt when she fell. Now his silky skin, smelling faintly of sweat, was in hard contact with the yielding swell of her naked breasts. He tightened his hold, making her bend her head back so that she would take the full force of his sensuous assault. She dug her fingers and nails into the hard curve of his biceps and clung to him, wave after mind-darkening wave of her treacherous body’s reaction sweeping through her.

  This was actually happening! Her conscious mind grappled to believe it. This was her house. The glare from the living-room light fixture beat down around them and on familiar surroundings with a harsh reality. She, Rachel Brinton, was here. In that moment it was suddenly real—as real as the pain from her bruised mouth when yet another of his savage caresses tore through her. A sound strangled in her throat, and he crushed her to him.

  Even more terrifyingly real was the hard, rebellious ache that flared quickly between her shivering thighs as blood rushed into them, the tips of her breasts tightening unbearably. She was responding to a man who could arouse a woman almost without trying, she thought wildly. He was punishing her, satisfying his anger while everything about him—the way he pinned her, the way his mouth ravished her—showed that women had always surrendered to him, that no matter how much she tried to fight it, he would make her surrender too. He plunged into her mouth repeatedly with his hard, smooth tongue, deliberately stoking his own desire.

  When he pulled away from her the wide, curve of his lips was wet with her taste. “God, you’re so soft and sexy,” his murmur told her.

  She felt his lean, powerful body tighten, his hips circling back and forth to press the stiff bulge of his erection against her through the open front of his jeans. What had begun in the rain in the lawyer’s parking lot, was now a certainty, with, no escape.

  A last pinpoint of frantic thought told Rachel that it would be madness to try to fight him. But she couldn’t choke back a frightened whimper.

  He heard it and the hard smile widened. “That’s it, honey, squeak for me, I want you to feel it—what I’m doing to you.” His voice was thick like dark honey. “But I want more than your sexy little bunny rabbit squeaks. I’m going to make you scream for me, just like I said.” The steely fingers pressed the back of her head. “Open your mouth.”

  The hard, sensual caress that had gone before was nothing compared to the hungry plundering that burst from him now. She let him inside her mouth, let him caress her, let his teeth and lips plunge into every corner as his hands gripped her yielding bottom and ground her against, him. Under her clutching fingertips the muscles of his bare shoulders coiled and quivered reflexively; he gave a growl, raw and primitive. Then quickly his hands tore at her robe, getting it out of his way. He stepped back a fraction to look at her, and she heard his indrawn breath.

  “Oh, God, that beautiful body.” His voice actually shook. “That damned incredible body, just like I remember down at the pool.”

  When her hands jerked to cover her breasts he flung them away. His eyes followed the white heavy curves with their fragile, shiny pink points, the span of her narrow waist and the sweep of her taut white skin ending in a triangle of russet pubic hair, her long legs pressed tightly together. His look flared into yellow flames.

  He had been there in the woods. That it was Beau Tillson down at the tidal pool was yet another shock. “Please let me go.” The hoarse sound of her voice, pleading and uncertain, shocked her even more. “Please—I won’t tell anyone!” But she could see from the sudden, fierce look on his face that something had happened.

  “I want you,”’ he said, looking at her oddly. “Damned if I don’t.” Very deliberately he ran a forefinger down the white valley between her breasts. He watched the slow movement of his hand against her silky, shivering flesh. And then he lifted dazzled eyes to stare into the deep velvet depths of hers. “I want you like hell,” he said almost to himself. “I really do.”

  His long hand lifted to the still-damp curtain of her hair spread over her bare shoulders, and his roughened fingers tangled in it, pulling the parted strands softly over her arms and down to her pouting white breasts. He was playing with her, prolonging the moment.

  He took a long red strand of her hair and drew it softly over his lips, eyes narrowed, watching her. “I want to feel you, honey.” Each low, sensuous word stroked her. “When I get through with you you’ll have felt so much you won’t want to think about anything else for a long, long time.”

  Rachel quivered, mesmerized by the insinuating murmur of his voice and the sheer masculine beauty of his face and powerful, half-naked body. She sagged against him, a low sob rolling from her throat, her fingers clutching his corded forearm.

  “Shh.” His arms supported her. The cat and mouse game relented. “I’m not going to hurt you, lovely Miz Brinton.” The husky words were followed by the brush of his fingers across the straining silk of her breasts. “I just want to touch all that white skin so thick and smooth like flower petals, and those little pink buds just waiting for me to taste them. I just want that beautiful pale body, ripe and ready, sweet as your mouth, for a little bit. Is it true about widow ladies,” he murmured, “how hungry they get? Or has somebody already been keeping you happy?”

  Rachel gasped. She hardly heard the mocking words. She had not expected a brutal rush of feeling as her breasts engorged painfully under that light touch, or the searing jolts of electricity that sparked out from them. In that instant the fire plummeted and centered in the moist flesh between her legs. A hard, racking shudder convulsed her.

  His narrowed look had followed every shock, every startled reaction in her face. “Ah, baby,” he whispered, “I haven’t even put my mouth on you and already you’re on fire. Come on, scream for me.” His thumb pressed her nipple seductively, fingers curled around her breast, the rubbing, circling caress raising the tight point to a stinging ache. When Rachel writhed, throwing her head back in helpless abandon, he quickly buried his face in the satiny valley between her breasts, nuzzling her softly, his tongue tracing burning kisses around her fullness. His head turned and his mouth opened wide to take her creamy breast into it. A low cry burst from Rachel’s lips, and his triumphant grunt answered her. The vise of his hand held her head while his other hand cupped her, pulling and caressing her flesh, the hard thumb pressing and releasing her nipple as she jerked in liquid, mindless shivers.

  “God, yes, be on fire for me,” his hoarse whisper urged her, “that’s it.” The long muscles of his naked back bunched and worked under her fingers as he mouthed her eagerly, drawing her breast between his lips, twisting his tongue in fiery circling. “Now scream for me, sweetheart, scream like I know you want to. Beg for me.”

  Rachel sobbed helplessly. She was a passive prisoner—a willing captive betrayed by exactly what he knew she would feel. Her body had surrendered, overwhelmed by blind desire. There was no power on earth that would make her fight the hot black forgetfulness that had claimed her, its center her own burning need. She gasped out something incoherent even as his hands skimmed down her back and along the curve of her bottom, pulling her to him.

  “Ah, yeah, baby.” His rough excitement was matching her own frenzy. She grabbed his hair as he lowered himself to his knees in front of her, his arm tight around her waist. “Shh, don’t be afraid.”

  He placed his hands on her trembling hips as though to gentle her. As Rachel watched, heavy-limbed and unresisting, his fingers moved between her thighs and gently opened them. Then his face pressed into her, both hands sliding against the soft full curves of her bottom to hold her to him. She s
creamed softly as his probing kiss invaded her, explored the yielding, warm folds of flesh with sure mastery.

  He felt her wild clutch on his shoulders as her body jerked in a wrenching shudder and another shriek tore from her. Lips parted, Rachel stared wild-eyed down at the top of his gilded, rain-wet head. Fountains of fire leaped from his mouth into her flesh with the glitter of storm lightning, and she couldn’t stop it. In some dimmed and uncaring part of her mind she knew he was using her now not only to vent his anger, but also because he desired her. His breath was ragged as she squirmed in his gripping hands, her hips reaching for him unconsciously. His triumphant mouth forced jolt after tormenting jolt from her as she mounted another peak of sensation that laved her in flames and ripped another shriek from her, leaving her dizzy. She was at that moment completely his, just as he’d promised. And she wanted him; she was going mad with it. She wailed as his relentless mouth forced her to start another shuddering climb.

  She pleaded with him to stop, but he only answered with a growling sound. He wasn’t going to release her; he wanted her spent with screaming, whimpering mindlessly. When at last Rachel collapsed against him, his rough shaking fingers quickly replaced his mouth. And he began again.

  “What are you doing to me?” She was almost hysterical. The torment that he wrung from her couldn’t go on; the racking pleasure exhausted her. This was his bizarre revenge, a sensual assault she turned against herself, in which her own body assailed and betrayed her.

  She saw his hard, virile face lifted to her as his fingers stroked deeply. He held his tongue clamped between white teeth in an intent grimace as he forced her to slide up and down in his grip, writhing, while he watched with slitted eyes. Rachel’s ragged, aching moans filled the air.

  “That’s right, give in to it, honey.” The sweat on the smooth skin of his shoulders glistened as he rocked her. His golden body shook with hard tremors that answered hers. “Damn, damn—you’re so beautiful.” His voice cracked. “And so hot for me. You’re driving me crazy, do you know that?”

  As another blazing convulsion of her body carried her into blackness, Rachel gave a loud cry. Her body was pale and damp with perspiration, her unbound hair trailing raggedly between them, touching the top of his bare shoulders and arms. She fell against him again, her legs giving way, racked with dry gasps.

  She knew nothing of what she was doing now. She was a sobbing, maddened entity seeking release, seeking only to evade that ruthless manipulation that drove her without rest to a depleted shaking. “No more.” Her throat was parched. “Please.” She threw back her head at the feel of his hands, the cruel open mouth seeking her again.

  He laughed softly. “Please what?” His wet tongue trailed softly against the shivering surface of her inner thigh. “Please you, honey?” His teeth nibbled softly at the swollen, aching folds of her flesh. “Please me? Ah, believe me, you are, you are!” He buried his face against her, mouth and chin probing the connecting nerve wires that rendered her totally witless. “And I’m going to please you more, precious. Right now.”

  With unexpected gentleness he drew her down into his arms and she fell bonelessly, sliding under him to the floor.

  “Damn, I can’t wait,” he muttered. His hard, shivering mouth clamped on hers as he pulled his weight over her, opening his clothes to free hot rigid flesh that sprang against her skin. Then with a hard thrust of his hips he crowded into her with one heavy stroke. Rachel cried out, going rigid under him to the tips of her toes.

  “Ah, sweetheart, don’t tense up!” His voice was a wild rasp. “I don’t want to hurt you, just be still for a minute.”

  He lowered his head with the stiffness of rigid control and his warm tongue thrust into her mouth with surprising softness, exploring so sweetly and deeply that Rachel went from sudden pain to a return of slowly building, pleasurable aching. As she stared wide-eyed into the depths of his glittering look at her, she became breathlessly aware of the gift of tenderness in his leashed, heavy clasp.

  When he felt her go soft and unresisting, he sighed into her mouth, his head bent, jeweled eyes hidden by a fall of thick dark lashes. “Oh, God.” It was as though the groan was dragged out of him. She felt the long hardness of his sweat-slick body contract against her slowly. “You feel so good I can’t believe it.” In a grating voice he added, “I want to make this good for you, honey.” Sheathed tightly in her, he began to move with trembling care, one hand tangled in her hair in a fist of hard control. Then his mouth kissed her face lightly, her eyes, her lips, and the shell curve of her ear. “Do you feel me? Is it all right?”

  She was drowning. She was in a dark place of fiery pleasure encompassed by this man’s beautiful, desiring body and his rigid fullness inside her, the excitement building in a wave so intense Rachel felt faint. What had begun in his hateful tormenting of her was completely changed. The center of her body, where he moved in hard rhythm, was in flames; trembling, she lifted her hands to his thick, tousled hair. She saw that beautiful chiseled face close above hers, expressing a desire she had never expected to see. And suddenly some unexpected, unknown thing deep in her mind answered with a lightning bolt of startled revelation. She wanted him too. She had responded to him, but only because she desired it!

  “Say that it’s good.” He gasped. He eased himself into her more deeply, watching the quivering reaction in her widening eyes. “Just say it, sweetheart.”

  She couldn’t speak, but her flushed face, lips parted, told him her answer. His mouth was roughly tender, pressing urgent caresses against her lips, the wet hollows of her throat, the disordered damp veil of her hair trailing around them.

  “Put your arms around me, I want to feel you. I want all of you.” Not so practiced now, his voice was ragged. “Take me deeper, sweetheart.” His hands slid under her to pull her up to him. “I won’t hurt you ... yes, like that, ah—” He was shuddering in hard racking tremors of his own burning need. He smothered her in bruising demand, dragging her underlip into his mouth. “Lovely, God—”

  When she wound her legs around him and lifted herself to match his wild thrusting, his control broke completely. The very air around them seemed to explode.

  Rachel heard her own frantic cries as her arms clasped the sweaty column of his neck. The feel of him inside her body, shuddering with passion, choking out words of what this was doing to him, destroyed the last of her sanity. There had never been, could never be again for her this particularly mad sense of being drawn down into the core of the volcano. Her body was tightly imprisoned, heavily possessed, terrible burgeoning electricity pouring from his beautiful body into hers and enveloping her. She sobbed out that she wanted him, hearing his wild, fervent words gasped into her mouth and hair—she was lovely; he needed her; God, why was it so damned good? The roaring pleasure he built with his frantic lunging made her seek his mouth fiercely. He exploded at her kiss with a strangled cry. His wet, powerful body clenched in turbulent convulsions that pounded hers against the floor.

  Rachel felt her own passion tearing her apart as she invaded his mouth with her seeking tongue. He reacted to her bold need, his rhythm breaking as the first cataclysmic waves began; he went violently out of control, lost in her. As she shrieked he gave a low, tearing moan, arms wrapping around her, crushing her to him. Then as the firestorm wave peaked, a peace soft as gold, flowing honey sealed them, left them shuddering as he poured himself into her.

  Slowly the darkness of complete sensual exhaustion brought them back to the world. For long minutes the only movement was his fingers clenching and unclenching in her long tangled hair. Then he moved slightly, lowered his lips to her swollen mouth and ran his soft tongue against it.

  “Are you all right?” he muttered. When she didn’t answer he lifted his head to look down at her.

  The exhausted pleasure in Rachel’s aching body washed over her in dulling soft waves. Still with her eyes closed, she smiled. If there was something she should be doing now, some reaction she should have been having,
it was beyond her. The man who held her, his heavyweight pressing her against the floor, had awakened an unsuspected sensuality within her that had wrung her dry, left her body and mind so depleted there was nothing left with which to feel guilt, or even regret. Something stirred weakly within her, a helpless wonder that she, a grown woman, had never known such passion existed. She opened her eyes, not quite ready for sight.

  He held himself on one elbow, looking down at her. If anything showed in Beau Tillson’s strange tawny eyes, it was a shadow of wonder to match her own. His fingers followed the flushed curve of her ear and softly stroked the pink lobe between thumb and forefinger.

  “What do you want me to say?” she whispered, still smiling.

  For a long moment he stared down at her. He seemed to examine the openness of her look, the glowing brown eyes lifted to him, with a surprise that was quickly, almost reluctantly, covered by wariness.

  “Rachel?” His voice was husky. “That is your name, isn’t it?” The inanity of the question changed him even more. The handsome face turned into a hard mask.

  “Yes.” She put her hand tentatively against the smooth, sweaty silk of his bare shoulder, her sensuous smile fading too. Everything was shifting so rapidly, she felt uneasy. “What is it?”

  “You’re supposed to say something.” He bent his head suddenly to put his mouth in the wet curve between her throat and soft jawline. “That I’m a great stud, and that it was fantastic. And,” his words were muffled, “that you can’t wait for me to do it again.”

  Rachel was puzzled. She strained slightly, lifting her shoulders upward so that she could see his face; but only the back of his head against her shoulder was visible. The reluctance, the pain—was it pain?—in his voice confused her, but something extraordinary had happened, she knew; it was as though all her nerves, even her skin, were alive to him, every subtle nuance of feeling flowing from that sleek, heavy body into hers. It made her able to murmur, “What’s wrong?”