Chapter Eighty Four
'Now your clothes,' he said, his voice gruff with unaccustomed emotion.
'Yes,' she whispered, a soft breathy agreement that tingled in his ears as he moved around behind her, stepping close enough to effect what he wanted without pressing any physical contact.
He parted her long rippling hair and moved it forward, over her shoulders, baring the nape of her neck and the elegant slope of her upper back, no angular bones, just satin-smooth skin leading down tothe strapless red dress.
He unhooked the top fastening of the snugly fitted bodice and slowly drew the zipper clown to her waist, exposing the highly feminine indentation of her spine. There was no interruption to it. She wore no bra. And Collins was tempted into stroking his fingers down the intriguing little valley, smiling as the caress raised a convulsive little shiver.
She was as sensitised to his touch as he was to hers. Which was only right and immensely satisfying.
The dress gaped further open as he lowered the zipper to its full length, revealing the thin strips of a black G-string circling her fantastically small waist and erotically bisecting the luscious twin globes of her bottom. He'd never seen a sexier sight. It trapped thebreath in his lungs and shot stabs of urgency to his groin.
Impatient for a full view of her, he quickly peeled the dress from her hips and it fell to her feet, leaving his hands free to trace every delectable curve, to cupthe lush roundness that jutted so provocatively, he had to fight the urge to move forward.
Not yet. Not yet.
He hooked his thumbs under the waistline of her G-string and watched it slide over the soft mounds, down the long lissome thighs. The silky crotch of it caught at her knees. He slid his hand between her legs torelease it, the flimsy fabric warm and moist from her inner excitement, bringing his arousal to flashpoint again.
Barely controlling himself, he raked the incredibly sexy garment downthe taut curves of her calves and lifted her feet, one by one, sliding off her high-heeled sandals at the same time—all black straps trailing over dark red toenails, another exotic touch that stirred the raging heat in his blood.
The blinding need for action had him hooking an arm under her knees and hoisting her up against his chest as he came upright. He whirled her away from the fishbowl table, his gaze darting, seeking the door to her bedroom, finding it, his legs surging towards it with powerful purpose. It stood ajar, only needing a shove to open it wide enough to let them through to the bed—a double bed covered by a leopard-skin rug with the sheen of velvet, gold satin pillows.
The sheer animal sensuality of it tugged deeply at the most primal instincts in Collins. This was the place. This was the time. This was the woman. And he would not leave until he'd had his fill of her. But he wanted more light, needed to see all of her before plunging into the dark jungle of total intimacy where the beat of their bodies would consume his awareness of anything else.
He spotted a switch by the door, turned it on. Two lamps on either side of her bed—black and gold-spread a warm glow around the room. It looked right, felt right White light was too harsh. It would have been better with a host of flickering candles—fire burning without and within—but this was a fleeting thought, overtaken by the desire to feast his eyes on all the female lustiness now pressed so close to his chest.
He stood her on the bed. The lamplight gleamed on the living curtain of her hair swishing softly over the voluptuous fullness of her breasts, rose-red nipples peeking through the seductive veil, hard and pointed, provoking him into closing his mouth around them, lashing them with his tongue, loving the taste of her arousal, wanting more
.
She'd wrapped her arms around his head, holding him to her, but hewouldn't be held. Not yet. He pulled back to take in this incredibly beautiful frontal view of her, to glide his hands over every inch of her, the smoothly fleshed midriff, the narrowness over her waist, the widecradle of her hips.
His gaze locked onto the neatly trimmed arrow of dark hair, pointing to the cleft between her thighs. Her skin quivered underneath his fingertips as he traced it down and stroked around the apex. He stooped, pressing his face to the tight springy curls, breathing in the musky scent of her desire for him.
It wasn't enough. He scooped her legs out on either side of his andlowered her to the bed, dipping his mouth into the soft lips of her sex, tasting her hot wetness, laving the hidden centre of excitement, a sweetly intimate fondling that arched her body in wild and want on invitation.
She writhed to the rhythm of his stroking, cried out in frantic pleading, snatched at his hair, fingers scrabbling, curling, tugging, and he exulted in her need for him, pushing it to the edge of shattering before he lifted himself over her.
Instantly her legs locked around him, her hips rocking, urging him forward. Her hands grabbed and plucked at his shoulders, fingernails digging in, dragging. Her hair spilled over the bedcover in a tumultuous tangle and her eyes blazed at him with the animal ferocity of a leopard about to bring down its prey and devour it.
The long-suppressed violence of his own desire burst into action. He seized her hands and slammed them down above her head, determined on being the possessor, not the possessed. He surged into the slick passage to her innermost being and dropped his head to plunder her mouth in a passionate drive to complete his invasion, to glory in his dominant power to take as he wished.
Yet she met him with such a feverish fusion of heat, he lost any sense of separate goals, separate identities, separate lives with separate needs. They were immersed in each other, wildly hungering for every fantastic nuance of being joined. Their mouths clung, feeding on the explosion of sensations that savaged any possible denial of togetherness.
Her breasts pressed into his chest, their hardened nipples rubbing his taut muscles with tantalising sweeps.
He automatically released her hands, craving every possible touch, uncaring what she did or how she did it, wanting an absolute twining.
