He shaped her waist then slid his hands upward to cup her breasts. Anya gasped. They seemed to swell into his palms, heavy and aching as he squeezed them gently through the silk. He brushed his fingers over the sensitive peaks, and she moaned in delight at the strange, wonderful abrasion.
She turned in his arms and ran her hands greedily over his skin, exploring the contours of his chest. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her fingertips, and he sucked in a breath as she skated her fingers over his flat male nipples. Filled with a devilish impulse, she leaned into him and flicked her tongue over one. His fingers tightened in her hair.
“Wicked girl.” He peppered hot kisses over her face—her cheek, the corner of her eye, then found her mouth again and kissed her long and deep. “Two can play at that game.”
In a lightning move, he lifted her chemise over her head and lowered her to the bed. Anya gasped at the feel of his chest bare against hers. He kissed his way down her throat then rubbed his lightly stubbled jaw over the soft skin of her breasts, creating a shiver-inducing friction that had her squirming in delight.
He trailed his tongue in a lazy, ever-decreasing circle around one rosy peak, and when he captured it between his lips, she gave a soft, startled cry of wonder. All sensible thoughts fled. His hand slid over her hip, bunching the silk of her drawers, and despite her excitement, she stiffened.
He lifted his head and caught her gaze. “Relax. Let yourself get accustomed to my touch.”
His voice, deepened by desire, made her shiver. Still holding her gaze, he stroked his palm over her stomach, then lower still, between her legs, petting her through the silk. To her mortification, she felt dampness there, the evidence of her desire. She put her hand down to try to shield herself, but his impassioned groan made her pause.
“No, sweetheart, it’s all right. It’s perfect. You’re perfect. God, please let me.”
He slid down her body and used his broad shouldersto nudge her knees apart. Anya’s eyes grew wide as he slid one hand beneath her bottom to lift her hips and pressed a kiss there, right at the hot center of her body. She sucked in a slow scandalized breath.
His chuckle was a wicked sound. “Nice? Tell me what you want, Miss Brown.”
She caught his hair and pushed him back down. “More. More of that.”
“My pleasure.Yourpleasure.”
His breath warmed her, then his tongue pressed against her, soaking through the thin layer of silk, smoothing the fabric over the soft folds. Hot, like dragon’s breath.
She could scarcely catch a breath. He found the little bud and the narrow parting beneath, his clever tongue flicking and teasing until she was a writhing mass, entirely his. He was a master, building a fever by slow degrees, and she was dissolving into a puddle, disappearing in a puff of hot steam. She didn’t care. Such joy was worth disintegration. She clutched his hair and urged him on.
She barely noticed when he drew down her drawers and discarded them. She was simply naked, and he was there, between her thighs. She arched as his fingers and mouth joined forces to drive her insane. He lapped at her hungrily, as if he wanted to devour her and ease her at the same time, to satisfy her every wicked craving.
He worshipped her. She twisted and writhed as he found the entrance to her body and entered her slowly with his finger. She gasped, then relaxed, trusting him completely. He did it again, and again, his fingers moving in tandem with his tongue. Hot delight and spiraling darkness. The tension built and built until it was almost unbearable, but before she could do more than gasp, her entire body simply… exploded.
She let out a shuddering sob, a cry of incredulous wonder. Her inner muscles squeezed his finger, clenching and releasing with beats of glorious sensation.
Anya fell back against the bedspread with a sigh of utter contentment, dimly aware of him rising from the bed. She heard the rustle of clothing as he stepped out of his breeches, but by the time she opened her eyes, he was lying next to her, and the feel of his lean, muscled frame, completely naked, was the most incredible sensation.
Her heart was thundering against her ribs, and she was panting with exertion. He cupped her jaw and pressed a reverent kiss to her mouth then pulled back and gazed deep into her eyes.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
It was impossible to ignore the hard evidence of his desire. It pressed against her thigh, hot and insistent, and with a start, Anya realized he was ready for more despite what she’d done to him in the chair.
He raised his brows at her in laughing question. “Feeling relaxed now, Miss Brown?”
“I am indeed, Mr. Wolff.”
“Think you can take more?”
She held his gaze. “Yes. I want everything.”
He made a sound of pleasure and moved over her. She reveled in the glorious weight of him pressing her into the bed. She’d never felt more cherished, more protected.
He propped himself up on his forearms to relieve her of some of his weight, and his hair-roughened thighs slid against hers as he settled between her hips. With a shudder, she felt him, slick and solid at the entrance to her body. He took her hands, laced his fingers through hers, and spread them wide against the bed. It should have been alarming, a position of utter submission, but instead, Anya felt powerful, beautiful, like some glorioussacrifice to the pagan gods. She’d chosen this, desired it above all else.
“Yes.”
He pressed into her, just a fraction. Anya arched up in instinctive reaction to the strange, stretching sensation. He was bigger than his fingers. It felt odd, a little uncomfortable, but not painful. She released her breath and relaxed, and he slid in deeper. He buried his face in her neck, and she could feel the shudders racking his body as he fought to slow his pace.
“God, you’re so tight,” he groaned. “So good. Feels so good.”
