[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

She con-t-rol-led her start of shock that he'd se-en thro-ugh her so easily.
"Do wha-te-ver you li-ke," she sa-id, her own vo-ice a husky bet-ra-yal. "I
can't stop you."
"You can't fo-ol me eit-her," he sa-id. "The-re are so-me ways you can't
con-t-rol yo-ur body." And he put his mo-uth on her bre-ast.
She jer-ked, her fin-gers clen-c-hing the she-ets be-ne-ath her, trying to
for-ce her-self to ke-ep still as ine-vi-tab-le stre-aks of de-si-re ra-ced
thro-ugh her. Des-pe-ra-tely she tri-ed to bring the dark, sa-fe pla-ce back,
but it was elu-si-ve. The-re was no pla-ce to es-ca-pe to; the-re was just the
dar-k-ness and Nic-ho-las's strong body pres-sing aga-inst hers, his mo-uth on
Page 126
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
her bre-asts, his long fin-gers run-ning down over her sto-mach, bet-we-en her
legs, so that she jer-ked aga-in, for-cing her-self not to fight him.
He lif-ted his he-ad, and her bre-ast was cold and damp in the night air. He
slid his long fin-gers in-to her, and she dug her he-els in-to the mat-tress
as well, bi-ting down hard on her lip. "Anot-her way yo-ur body can't lie," he
whis-pe-red, le-aning for-ward and to-uc-hing her tight lips with his ton-gue.
She co-uldn't, wo-uldn't ask him to stop. He was do-ing things to her no man
had ever do-ne, to-uc-hing her in ways that as-to-nis-hed and frig-h-te-ned
her, his fin-gers sli-ding de-ep in her damp, fi-ery he-at, his thumb rub-bing
aga-inst her, sen-ding ir-re-sis-tib-le ten-d-rils of lon-ging thre-ading
thro-ugh her.
And then he was lo-oming over her, bet-we-en her legs, and he'd
un-fas-te-ned his bre-ec-hes. She wo-uldn't watch him in the dar-k-ness as he
to-ok his re-ven-ge, to-ok her. She clo-sed her eyes, and tri-ed to call for
that co-co-on of sa-fety that had al-ways be-en the-re. She re-ac-hed for it,
and it va-nis-hed, li-ke mist, as he pres-sed aga-inst her, pus-hing bet-we-en
her legs, fil-ling her with a su-re de-ep thrust that sho-ved her back
aga-inst the bed.
For a mo-ment he lay still, co-ve-ring her with his lar-ger body, his open
shirt aro-und them both, and she shi-ve-red. This wasn't what she'd
re-mem-be-red. This in-va-si-on was mo-re de-vas-ta-ting, mo-re
over-w-hel-ming. This ti-me the-re was no es-ca-pe, as he be-gan to mo-ve,
pul-ling away from her and then thrus-ting in, de-ep, so that her hips
ar-c-hed up aga-inst him with age-old in-s-tinct.
She told her-self to pre-tend he was Por-cin, hun-c-hed and swe-ating over
her. She told her-self he was the old earl, stin-king of gar-lic. She
co-uldn't con-vin-ce her-self. Not when his hands stro-ked her bre-asts, his
mo-uth dan-ced aga-inst hers. Not when she co-uld fe-el the bet-ra-yal of her
own lon-ging bu-il-ding de-ep in-si-de her, whe-re the-ir bo-di-es jo-ined.
She told her-self to fight it, but when she
squ-ir-med aga-inst him it simply bro-ught him in de-eper, har-der; and her
tre-aso-no-us body re-ac-ted in min-d-less joy. Her self-con-t-rol was
shat-te-ring, and she wan-ted him, ne-eded him, ne-eded his body, ne-eded his
mo-uth aga-inst hers, ne-eded his hands on her bre-asts, ne-eded so-met-hing,
and she co-uldn't be-gin to know what it was.
She wo-uldn't gi-ve in to it. Her one re-ven-ge was her re-mo-te-ness, and
he was strip-ping it away from her. She sho-ok her he-ad, in ne-ga-ti-on of
his po-wer over her, but he was, as he sa-id, mer-ci-less. "Don't fight it, my
an-gel," he whis-pe-red, his vo-ice a moc-kery. "I'm not go-ing to fi-nish
with you un-til you co-me."
She whim-pe-red then, and ha-ted her-self for do-ing so. He co-ve-red her
mo-uth with his, and li-ke a fo-ol she kis-sed him back, as his ha-ir fell
aro-und them both, cur-ta-ining them in dar-k-ness. He re-ac-hed down and
ca-ught her hips, pul-ling her up aga-inst him, and then his body went ri-gid
in her arms, and she felt the flo-oding of a gre-at warmth, one that for the
first ti-me was an-s-we-red with her own warmth. And she wan-ted to cry, for
the fi-nal in-no-cen-ce that was truly lost.
She lay still be-ne-ath him, ha-ting him, ha-ting her-self. Her fa-ce was
wet with swe-at and so-met-hing she told her-self co-uld ne-ver be te-ars, as
she tri-ed to calm her po-un-ding he-art, tri-ed to slow her ra-cing bre-ath.
He lay atop her, still par-ti-al-ly clot-hed, and she co-uld fe-el the
shud-der that ran thro-ugh his body. And then he pul-led him-self away from [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]