Angela Knight - Over The Moon

This remarkable man was hers, if only for the moment. She could touch him, hold him. Pretend they shared something more than a weekend snatched from the teeth of violence.

The Burning Moon burst into full heat, running like lava through her veins. She had to have him.

Gasping with need, she tore free of the kiss and let her head fall back. Lucas's warm, skilled mouth found the line of her jaw, tasting, biting softly, sending chills of delight racing over her skin.

Then one big hand discovered her breast, cupping it boldly.

"Oh, God." She sighed.

He rumbled something, thumb and forefinger stroking the tight peak, coaxing it even harder, each caress sending another jolt of pleasure through her nervous system.

Dazed, she met his eyes. He was watching her, his gaze direct, predatory. His lips looked kiss-flushed. "Has anybody ever told you your breasts are perfect?"

She swallowed. "They are?"

"I love the way they fill my hands." He looked down at the soft globe he cupped and petted. "Your skin is like satin."

As if unable to hold back any longer, Lucas slid an arm around her waist and arched her back over it. Her nipples broke the water's surface, hard as cherries in the moonlight.

He covered one peak with his mouth, a sudden, delicious envelopment in wet heat. Then he started suckling, slow, deep, each sweet pull of his lips sending a pulse of raw pleasure through her nervous system.

"God, that feels good." Biting her lip, Elena closed her eyes and let herself float in sensation—the water bubbling around her sensitive skin, the strength of his arms holding her, his mouth, gentle and greedy at once. She let herself go completely limp, surrendering to him.

Lucas's free hand slipped between her thighs, gently exploring. He found her nether lips and traced his fingers over the soft hair covering them, then gently parted her.

The first stroke of that strong finger into her core arched her back with a jolt of thick, luscious pleasure. Crying out, she bucked against him.

Lucas lifted his head from her breast to watch her pleasure. "That's right," he said softly. "Let go. Give it to me." His thumb found her clit, strummed over the tiny erection to draw out another molten swirl of delight. A second finger joined the one inside her, pushing deep, then scissoring apart. Tormenting her deliciously.

With every stroke of his fingers, every swirl of his tongue around her nipple, another pulse of pleasure rolled through her. Until finally she was writhing, maddened with it, so close to coming, so desperate for the release her body craved.

He lifted his head from her breast to watch her, enjoying her pleasure, her desperate yearning.

"Lucas," she groaned. "Please!"

Another taunting stroke. "I like the sound of my name on your lips. Say it again."

"Lucas!"

"You're close, aren't you, baby?"

"Oh, God, yes! Please, Lucas!"

"Oooh, yeah." And he thrust hard, deep, simultaneously circling his thumb over her clit.

Her back arched, bowing ferociously as she cried out, the orgasm sweeping her up and throwing her high. Sweet, endless pulses of it that went on and on.

Until, at last, they subsided, leaving her panting and spent.

Dazed, she looked up at him.

His gaze was intensely satisfied, possessive—and hungry.

And she realized he was far from done with her.

Even as Elena's slowing heartbeat sped up again, Lucas set her back on her feet, then caught the edge of the hot tub and vaulted out.

He met her gaze with a smoldering stare. "I want to look at you when I take you."

She swallowed, feeling inner muscles clench. "All right."

"I wasn't asking permission." He reached over the side of the tub and caught her in his arms, lifting her out as if she weighed nothing at all to him. Which she didn't, given his Direkind strength.

Swinging around, Lucas carried her to a red-stained wooden chaise lounge, then lowered her to the thick cushion.

He straightened and stood looking down at her a moment, his gaze hungry and possessive. That look would have insulted her coming from anybody else, yet from Lucas, it felt… right. Not to mention wildly arousing, particularly combined with the thick tent in the front of those trunks.

She smiled up at him, eying it. "Is that a rocket launcher in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?"

Lucas grinned. "I think the actual quote was 'pistol.'"

Elena gave him a lusty smile and her best Bogie drawl. " 'That ain't exactly a snub-nose, schweetheart.'"

"You sure about that? Maybe you need a closer look." He reached for the waistband of his trunks.

She caught her breath in anticipation.

Lucas slid them down slowly, a wicked half-smile quirking his lips. The head of his shaft appeared over the lowering waistband, fat as a plum, then the thick shaft with its long, veined underside. Finally his balls, full and tight with arousal in their nest of dark curls.

He bent with surprising male grace and pushed the wet trunks the rest of the way off, then kicked them aside. Straightening to his full height, he caught his erect cock in one hand. Long as his fingers were, it was a handful even for him. Setting his big feet apart, he angled the curving shaft upward, stroking its length as he cupped his balls in the other hand, displaying himself shamelessly. "What do you think?"

"I think modesty is not your best thing." Her voice sounded embarrassingly hoarse.

He laughed. "Honey, I'm an Alpha. We don't do modest."

Elena blinked, watching a gleaming droplet roll from one tiny male nipple, down the sculpted ridges of his ribs to the top of one strong thigh. "What do you do?"

"Whatever we can get away with." He stepped closer and sat down on the edge of the chaise. Bracing a strong arm on the cushioned back, he leaned down toward her mouth. "Speaking of which…"

Elena reached for the kiss eagerly, hungry to taste him again. She hadn't been mistaken about that mouth. His lips really did feel like satin, and his tongue stroked between hers with a connoisseur's skill. Still kissing her lazily, he cupped one breast, caressing her, teasing her already hard nipple until it began to ache again.

The Burning Moon driving her in concert with her own curiosity, Elena started touching him. Her fingers traced the great slabs of muscle covering his chest, her nails tracing through the cloud of dark, soft hair that covered them. Circling his tongue with hers, she followed the silken trail downward, over the intriguing ridges of his belly. Down to his cock, jutting urgently against her hip. She wrapped her fingers around it and was delighted to note her thumb and index finger didn't quite meet. Dreamily, she gave him a slow stroke, back and forth. He growled against her mouth, the sound feral.

By the time he pulled away, they were both breathing hard.

For a long moment, they stared into one another's eyes, feeling the raw need pulse between them. The moment was so intense, she felt driven to crack the tension with a joke. "Definitely a rocket launcher."

Lucas's laughter boomed as he pulled away and knelt at the foot of the chaise. "Wench! Just for that…" Grabbing her hips, he hauled her ruthlessly right to the edge, then spread her wide, his palms warm on her thighs. She caught her breath, startled and delighted, as he buried his face right between her legs.

The first stroke of his tongue felt as if it would blow the top off her head. She arched, gasping. "Lucas!"

"Yes?" Another wicked, teasing stroke. He spread her with two fingers and lifted his head, tilting it to one side as he studied her. "Pretty little puss." Lucas gave her another long, slow lap, then swirled the tip of his tongue around her clit. Fire spiraled in its luxurious wake.