Christine Feehan - Murder Game

"Don't handle me, Kadan. I don't like to be handled."

His eyes flashed with something raw that made her stomach flip. She reached up to trace his mouth. There was always such a cruel edge there, as if he was capable of terrible things, yet one small movement, just a slight turn, and he could appear incredibly sensual. The look in his eyes held a dark lust that just intensified when he held her like this. His arms felt like steel, his body both protective and possessive. She turned soft, melting against him, into him. She lost herself in his steely strength.

His hand slid over the curve of her bare hip, those incredible fingers, hard yet velvet soft, brushing against her skin erotically. His head dipped lower to find her ear again. "I think you're lying to me. I feel your need beating at me, Tansy. You like the way I handle you."

"You weren't supposed to seduce me."

He bent his head to her neck, his teeth nipping, first the hollow of her shoulder and then her earlobe. "Look into your mind, Tansy. You seduced me, not the other way around. How could I possibly resist you?"

She closed her eyes, knowing he was right, knowing she was enticing him, stroking at his mind with hers, enhancing his needs because she so desperately wanted to be held. To belong somewhere, with someone.

His teeth bit down, flashing pain through her body, then his tongue swirled, taking away the sting. "Not someone, Tansy. Me . You belong with me."

Her eyes met his and her stomach flipped.

"Say it."

She wanted to resist him, but she couldn't resist her own needs. "I belong with you."

His fingers smoothed up the inside of her thigh, teased her soft, damp mound. "Open your shirt." The fingers continued their journey, sliding into her, curling and teasing, stroking and circling her sensitive bud.

Again, she wanted to resist, just for pride's sake. She didn't altogether trust him. He was too cold, too able to turn off emotion, and she wasn't entirely certain she could trust that he would be all the things he said to her. His hunger for her was absolute, but there was a driving need in him for complete possession. She didn't understand what he wanted from her. He confused her. She confused herself, craving him desperately, wanting to escape the way he mesmerized her.

His fingers stilled. Her womb spasmed. Desperation won. She slowly unbuttoned the shirt, revealing the swell of her breasts and narrow rib cage, the flat of her tummy and finally the vee of curls at the junction of her legs. When the shirt was open all the way, his fingers did another slow curl inside her and began to stroke again, pushing deep.

Tansy's breath caught in her throat. Her body pulsed with need. Kadan could turn her into a melting cauldron of liquid heat with one intense look. Hot excitement poured through her veins. He was all muscle and strength. And he was completely, utterly, focused on her. He made her feel as if he had to have her. As if waiting one more moment might kill him. He didn't say much. He just looked at her, his eyes dark with lust, with possession, and every fiber of her being surrendered to the demand in his steady gaze.

His calloused hand was hot on her skin, and every muscle in her body tensed. He knew every shadow and curve intimately, and she craved his touch. Craved it. After a lifetime of never touching or being touched, she felt like a cat, pleasured by the caressing strokes, arching her back, pushing her hips upward against his hand, needy for whatever he gave her.

The pad of his thumb, with the strange feel of velvet bristles, made lazy circles on the inside of her thigh, slid upward to caress the crease between her buttocks and her thigh. A soft moan escaped, needy and hot and so unlike her, although she was afraid that with Kadan she'd turned into a very sexual being. Blood thundered in her pulse, roared in her ears, and throbbed in her clit, in time with the mounting tension in her womb.

There was something very arousing about lying sprawled across a man's lap, shirt open, bare breasts spilling out, and his hands wandering possessively up her thighs, fingers circling and disappearing inside her body, as if her body belonged to him and not her. His face was dark and intent, hooded eyes on the rise and fall of her breasts. There was satisfaction in the carved, sensual lines of his face as he watched her breathing change to ragged gasps and the wild color flush all over her.

Heat radiated from him, and in his lap his shaft grew into a monster of need. He pressed against her tightly, letting her feel the way he responded to her eager, wet body. "Look at me, Tansy." His voice was harsh. "I want to see your face when I take you over the edge."

She loved how rough he sounded, that edge to his tone, that dark, intense desire, the lines that seemed deeper, the way her skin burned as his gaze slid so possessively over her. His fingers straightened, jabbed deep, filling her sheath, stretching the soft, slick, velvet folds. She gasped and bucked, as his thumb pressed down relentlessly on her hard bud.

"You're so tight, baby," he whispered, his teeth tugging at her earlobe. "Each time I push deep inside, you get wetter and hotter." His tongue licked along her ear, swirled down her neck. His teeth teased at her skin.

He plunged into her tight depths again, watching her face, drinking in her gasps of pleasure, the way her eyes widened and her nipples peaked. Her thighs tensed; her stomach muscles bunched. It seemed so decadent, Tansy sprawled across him, her soft body open for his every touch, receptive to his every desire.

He had never thought he'd have a woman of his own, let alone one he craved, one he felt bonded to, skin to skin, mind to mind. It had happened before he'd had a chance to think, to even know or understand, but something in her drove out the cold and replaced ice with heat. Every time he looked at her, he wanted to touch, to give her pleasure, to see her eyes glaze over with heated desire just for him. Salvation. Redemption maybe. Whatever it was, and he didn't even care, she was his and he was hers.

Moisture coated his fingers, thick and hot. Her sheath was so damned tight his cock jerked with anticipation. He thrust another finger deep, stretching her a bit, plunging and retracting, watching her face, her heightened breathing, that telltale flush, and the sheen in her eyes. He took his time, bringing her to the edge of her climax, loving her face, the beauty of need. He reveled in the way her body rode his hand almost helplessly while little whimpers and pleas escaped.

If this wasn't love, he didn't know what was. He wanted her with every cell in his body. He knew she'd been born for him. And he vowed to himself she'd never have a reason to regret her choice. He plunged deeper, his thumb teasing her clit until she went crashing over the edge, crying out his name, her body nearly strangling his fingers. He let her ride it out, feeling the powerful ripples before pulling out his fingers and tasting them, savoring the unique cinnamon flavor that was Tansy.

She was panting a little, dazed by the powerful orgasm. He slid his hand over her bottom in another slow caress and leaned down to her ear. His fingers remained tight in her hair, the heavy mass wrapped in his fist. "Slide off my lap to your knees." Even as he said it, he tugged at her hair with one hand and pushed her hips from his with the other.

Tansy found herself kneeling between his legs as he sat all the way up, one leg planted on either side of her body. Her face was in his lap, right where he'd planned all along. He caught her hand and wrapped it around the thick length of him, down low at the base, even as he used the fist in her hair to guide her mouth over him. Her tongue touched him first and his cock jerked. His balls tightened. Warm air bathed the broad head. She licked a glistening drop away and watched the shudder of pleasure go through his body, felt it ripple through his mind.