Lucille’s fear for the beautiful man right above her, was being pushed aside by the heated tenderness of his mouth, by the gentleness in his caressing hands. He carelessly shoved the sheet that has been covering her nakedness down, exposing her bare breasts to his hungry gaze.
Hot. He was so hot she could not stand the feel of the thin sheet on her heated hips, twisting around her legs. Her hands were tangled in his thick hair, crushing it in her fingers like so much silk. His shirt was open to his tapered waist, his hard muscles pressing against her soft breasts. The rough, dark hair on his chest rasped erotically over her nipples. A wave of heat heralded a storm of fire, through him, through her.
Lucille’s hands, of their own accord, pushed his shirt from his wide shoulders.
She watched with enormous eyes as he slowly shrugged out of it, his silver gaze holding her gray ones captive. She was drowning in those pale, mesmerizing eyes. Eyes filled with such intensity, with so much hunger for one woman. Her. Only her. Afraid of what she was committing herself to, she tentatively, cautiously, touched his mind with hers. She found a hunger so deep, so wild, so urgent, she was instantly lost.
How could she deny his fierce need? Even though the strange man knew he was a man without tenderness, that his every instinct was wild and uninhibited, his intent was to be gentle with her, to ensure her pleasure. His every thought was for her, to please her, to worship her body with his.
“I know you are afraid, mon amor,” he whispered softly, his hands sliding up her rib cage to her breasts. “But I am no longer a beast. You leashed the demon. There is only me, a man who very much wants to make love to his lifemate.” He stated.
She felt his breath against her nipple.
“Let me show you how it is supposed to be. Beautiful. Such pleasure. I can bring you so much pleasure, ma petite. ” His mouth closed over her breast, hot and moist. The sound of his voice was mesmerizing, enticing. She could get caught up forever in the mere sound of it.
There was no thought in his mind for his own burning body, his own urgent demands; he wanted to show her the beauty and pleasure of true mating. Flames raced through her blood and licked down her skin at the intensity of the eroticism, the craving his mouth at her breast created.
She moaned, low and soft, the note brushing at his soul like the flutter of butterfly wings. Her hands slid over his back, tracing each defined muscle with her fingertips, committing him to memory. Tears filled her eyes. How could a man be so sensual, so perfect? He was stealing her will as easily as he was stealing her body.
“Want me, Lucille,” he whispered softly. “Want me the way I want you.” His tongue rasped over her skin, traced the underside of her breast, followed each rib even as his hands explored her hips and thighs. His fingers found their goal, the heated, moist entrance, hot and ready, waiting for his body to merge with hers. She arched into his palm, her body demanding relief.
“I feel like I’m burning up!” she gasped, shocked at the intensity of her hunger for him. She needed him.
“I am the one burning up, going up in flames.” He murmured sensually as his fingers pushed deeper, ensuring her readiness, taking pleasure in her reaction.
Her hands on his bare skin were driving him wild, but most of all, it was the trust she was giving to him that moved him so deeply. She could literally see his thoughts clearly. He could not conceive of such trust from a woman so brutally abandoned, and it humbled him, the way she was so forgiving. She might never be able to love a monster such as he, but with her understanding, her compassion, she was determined to make something of the imposed sentence of their life together.
The clothes confining his body were tight and painful, so he removed them with a mere thought. He heard her gasp as the hot length of him pressed aggressively against her thigh. She had thought herself safe as long as his clothes were on. She had thought she would have the time to make up her mind, to choose for herself, but her body was making the choice for her. And he was losing himself in the molten heat of her, in her shadowed, secret places. Lucille’s body suddenly went rigid.
She caught his face in her hands, exerting pressure so that he had to lift his head from his delicious explorations, his silver eyes molten as they touched on her face. She took a deep breath. “What if I can’t do this?” She asked. She sounded close to tears. “What if I can never do this?”
“No one is making you do anything, ma petite, ” he replied gently, kissing her stomach. “We are just exploring possibilities.”
“But…” she tried to protest, attempting to bring his head back up so that he could see her very real fear for him, for their life together.
“If I cannot persuade you otherwise, mon amour, I am not much of a lifemate, now am I?” The words were muffled in the tight silky curls, the intriguing little triangle at the apex of her thighs.
“You don’t understand.” Lucille closed her eyes against the waves of fire racing through her, her anticipation building.
“It’s me who is no real lifemate. I don’t know how to please you, and I’m so afraid of this.” The man muttered. “Relax, mon amor,” He breathed warm air against her, inhaled her scent. “You please me far more than you will ever know.” His teeth nipped her thigh, his tongue caressing her shadows and hollows, following the path his fingers had taken.
She cried out at the feelings sweeping through her, tumultuous, turbulent, wild, and untamed. She was no longer on earth but soaring free, spiraling and spinning out of control.
*
Who do you think is her lifemate now?