Christine Feehan: Dark Possession

Manolito covered her body with his own, kissing her over and over, taking his time, being as gentle and as patient as he could. His touch was tender as he aroused her body. He wanted her to know love. To feel love. To know that he would always stand with her and for her and he would worship her body with his. She would know, at the end of their time together, she would know she had been thoroughly loved.

He parted her thighs with his knee and lifted her to him, waited until her eyes met his, and then he joined them in one long surge that set lightning streaking through his body. Her muscles pulsed around him, tight and slick and oh so velvet soft.

He told her he loved her with his body, leaning down over and over to kiss her as he rode her, as he brought her to a gentle climax. His heart pounded at the enormity of what he was doing-of what they were doing. His own release sent another orgasm rippling through her. He kissed her again and sat up, pulling her into his lap.

«Are you certain?»

She nodded, her eyes trusting. His heart turned over. He drew her into his arms, his mouth finding hers, kissing her again and again, over and over as if he'd never get enough. She gasped as his fingers nicked her nipples and sent an overload of sensation to the junction of her legs, so that her body shuddered with more pleasure. As if he had waited for that signal, he bent his head lower, long hair sliding sensuously over her skin, pooling in her lap as he found her breast. Teeth tugged, scraped; his tongue laved and danced. He took his time, suckling for a moment, one hand sliding between her legs to catch her reaction, the hot tightness, the gathering moisture.

He kissed his way back up to the swelling curve of her breast and licked at the pulse point there. Once. Twice. His hand slid over her cleft, rubbed, fingers pushing deep. He felt the ripple of her silken walls closing around him, clamping down with heated arousal. He sank his teeth deep. MaryAnn jerked in his arms, threw her head back, her hips bucking against him, her body riding his hand as he drank. The pleasure/pain of it rocked her and, through her-him.

This was the Carpathian way. The need of a lifemate. Nothing sated hunger, sexual or physical, as a lifemate could. Her taste was unique to her and an aphrodisiac to him. It was the very essence of their life, a blood bond that could not be broken. He reached for his wolf, sharing it with him, wanting him to understand, wanting MaryAnn's wolf to share that same bond.

He fed MaryAnn's arousal, wanted her to feel only pleasure, to heighten the experience of their ultimate merging. Her life was tied to his for all time, and the blood binding their union was as addicting as her body. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her bare skin sliding against his. Every nerve ending was enhanced, so that the smallest sensation washed over him in waves of pleasure. He moved in her mind, sharing how she felt-the soft satin, the hot silk, the spicy taste.

He lifted his head, watched the two twin trickles make a path down the sloping curve to the valley and below toward her belly. He passed his tongue over the pinpricks, closing them, and followed the twin trails over her breast, down the valley to her stomach. His hair slid across her thighs as he circled her waist, urging her to lie

back as he licked every remnant of her life's essence from her skin. He could feel the muscles bunching under his palm, tightening just the way her sheath tightened around his fingers.

He caught her to him and rolled, putting her on top of him. «Straddle me. Ride me.» He was already bursting with need again.

«You can't possibly,» she said softly, but she slithered down his body to find his pulsing erection with the heat of her mouth. «I guess you can.»

His hands caught at her shoulders. He couldn't let her distract him, and her mouth-her magic mouth-just might do that. «Straddle me, MaryAnn.» He gripped her thigh, tugged until she reluctantly gave him one delicious, very erotic swipe with her tongue and then obeyed him, crawling up his body until she straddled him.

She threw her hair back over her shoulder and rose above him, while his hand circled the base of his shaft so she could slowly seat herself. Her breasts swayed invitingly, lovingly, oh so temptingly, and he caught his breath, wondering at the sheer magic of her. And then she lowered herself, one exquisite inch at a time. It was torture, a painful pleasure as she took him into her sheath, so hot she was like a ring of white-hot fire, so soft she felt like living silk, so tight his breath strangled in his throat. He wasn't certain he would survive this night.

Manolito lifted his hands, and MaryAnn leaned forward to tangle her fingers with his. The movement put pressure on her most sensitive spot, and she nearly fragmented right there, but his hands dropped to her hips and locked her down tight on him, preventing movement. His gaze held hers. Hot. Aroused. Glittering. The intensity sent another wash of heat rolling through her. Commanding.

She knew what he wanted. The idea should have filled her with fear, or dread, or even disgust, but instead, it excited her, excited her wolf. She could feel her teeth, sharp now, pressing her for a taste of him. Manolito. The other half of her soul. He slid one palm under her hair until his fingers could curl around the nape of her neck and pull her down to his chest. Seated on him, her body throbbing with pleasure, she licked at the spot just above his heart.

The rush of his blood through his veins called to her. His male scent. The musky scent of the wolf and the heady fragrance of sex in the air-all combined to make her head spin. Her tongue darted out again, flicked over his skin. His cock gave an answering jerk. Her muscles tightened around him. She waited, listening to the steady beat so close to her ear. Rapid. Excited. Anticipating.

Her teeth sank deep, and the taste of him, the incredible gift of life, flowed into her. His harsh breathing deepened. His cock thickened, stretching, invading, sending fiery waves through her body. Her muscles spasmed, and he groaned, adding to her heightened pleasure. He tasted-like power. Hot and sweet and filled with sex. Who would have thought he could taste so good?

His body began to move in hers. Long, slow strokes, almost lazy. Steel encased in velvet riding between her legs, thick and long and driving her slowly insane. He was everywhere. In her. On her. Flooding her mouth, her body, enveloping her in a cocoon of love. His hands urged her hips up so that she concentrated on the fiery sensations as he nearly retreated completely. Then he forced her back down, holding her to the lazy pace so she could take enough for a true exchange.

The ride was the most sensual she'd ever had. His hands slid over her bottom, massaged, made small circles, stroked the long, velvety line between her buttocks, and then he'd urge her up again, in that slow, lazy rhythm. She moaned and swept her tongue across his chest to close the small wound. Her muscles were pulsing around his shaft and her breath came in gasping sobs. She looked down into his eyes.

He was staring back at her. Manolito De La Cruz. His eyes were the blackest of night in color, with streaks of amber, like small lightning bolts. And she could drown in the amount of love she found there. He didn't try to hide it, wasn't in the least shy about letting her see.

He held her hips and did a long, slow circle as he brought her down, so that the breath was driven from her body and the tight knot of nerves screamed at the intense sensation. Her stomach rippled with the fiery burst and her womb spasmed.

«Of course I love you. How could you not know?»

Her throat ached and tears burned behind her eyes. «I never thought I'd find you. I never thought I'd feel a love like this of my own.»