A Duke's Wicked Kiss (Entangled Select) (17 page)

Solid muscle, lean and all sinew, was the hip she held. She reached down, clutched his other hip. And stepped forward. All the way into him.

…

John threw all argument aside. By God, that bastard wasn’t coming between them. Not now, at least, not when she’d slid her hands low on his hips and pressed her thumb against the stupidest muscle in his body. The one that was about to take over all thinking for him.

The wild thrum of his heart hammered against his ribcage. There was only feeling now—a shudder working its way through his body at the press of her breasts against the hard planes of his chest. Her belly, her thighs molded to the length of him. Hot licks of primal pleasure tugging at his groin, demanding release. Smoldering lust ready to burst into flame. No thought, no concerns, only an unstoppable force driving him to possess her, to make her mad with desire until she cried out for him, until she told him she could not live without him.

Careful.

Slow down.

He’d as soon plow into her, get the first time over with so they could move more leisurely into deeper pleasures later. But he intended to heighten every sense inside her, make her wild for him. Yes, he’d force himself to take his time, worship every inch of her—all through the night.

A small moan slipped from her mouth when he slid his fingers under the silken cloth and swept them across her bare midriff. Ah, wasn’t Indian clothing far more lenient than stuffy English wear?

Slow. Go slow, you randy pup.

Lifting the sari from her shoulder, he unwound it from around her top and let the length of fabric drop to the floor with a swish, leaving the upper part of her clad in the choli, a yellow beaded froth of fabric that bared her arms and midriff, exposed her luscious skin to his eyes and touch. He bent and brushed his mouth across her belly.

She sucked in a quick breath.

He smiled to himself.
Ah, yes. I like that you want me; that you don’t try to hide the fact.

Like plucking petals off a flower, he tugged at the rest of the sari tucked in the top of her skirt. One fold pulled loose. Another. Her eyes were closed to him, but she wasn’t holding back. On the contrary, she seemed lost in what he was about.

His finger slipped beneath the
lehenga
. Touched her navel. Swirled around the delicate edge. Her lips parted and a small moan escaped. He’d drink from that tiny well tonight, fill it with nectar and lick it dry.

He tugged at the sari again. Another petal gave way. And another, until the fabric fell around her feet like a sun-kissed cloud.

Damn, he wanted her.

Right here.

Right now.

Her eyes opened. But they weren’t focused. Dazed, she licked her lips, swept her teeth over her bottom lip, and throwing her head back, gripped his arms.

Steeling himself against the idea of tossing her across the desk and taking her while standing, he lifted her in his arms. Without a word, he swept her out of his office.

One of her sandals fell off and landed in a flower pot.

He ignored it.

Her arms laced around him. She buried her face in his neck. “Oh God, I want you so badly I could strip you bare before we even get to your bed.”

Good thing it wasn’t a long walk. He’d not make it much farther if she kept up that banter, and the ground was too hard. At least for the first time. “Keep talking. I need to hear how much you want me—want this.”

The short distance to his bed seemed like it took a lifetime to maneuver, but when he set her down inside his room, and her body slid along the length of his, rubbed against his erection, his resolve to take all night scattered to the four winds.

Only two buttons on the choli separated her bare breasts from him. Yanking his shirt off and tossing it to the ground, he had those two buttons undone and the choli off in one sweeping motion. He didn’t know where the blasted thing landed. Didn’t care. All he cared about was her warm breasts against his bare skin, his lips on hers, and her moans pouring into his mouth.

Her hands were all over him. Scraping his belly. Tugging at the button to his trousers.

She wasn’t working fast enough. He slid his hand under the waistband, gave it a flip, and released the button.

“Touch me,” he mumbled, and went for the tie holding her
lehenga
around her hips, while her hand slid down his belly and around his erection, which throbbed and ached to get inside her. “God, I’ve waited so long,” he groaned.

Her skirt fell to the floor. With one hand, he shoved down his trousers and smalls. In the same motion he stepped out of them, picked her up, and carried her to the bed.

Stretching the length of her, skin against hot skin, he took a nipple in his mouth. She cried out his name, pulled his hips over hers, and wound her legs around him. “I can’t wait,” she cried, her lips all over his shoulder, sucking and nipping, sending shards of pleasure racing through his body. “I can’t…I can’t.”

His mouth found her other breast, surrounded her nipple and sucked. Hard.

“Please,” she whimpered, “Oh, please. Inside me. Please.”

“I wanted slower,” he managed to utter, but he was already fitting himself inside her, sliding into her slick sheath. So hot. So tight. So exquisite.

“Next time,” she cried into his mouth and canted her hips into his. “Oh God, next time!”

He drove into her, their hips rocking in unison as her teeth found his shoulder again and her fingers dug into his back. Exquisite pain. Lusty pain. A pain that caused no hurt, but sent him over the edge at the same time she cried out his name.

She quivered. From the very center of her core, where the most intimate tip of him penetrated her, he felt her quake, that small tremor sending wave after tremulous wave through her body like a pebble tossed into a pond.

Her sheath pulsating around him, he lost all reason. As he exploded inside her, a singular thought cascaded like a waterfall over him, through him, around him—he’d been lonely. So goddamned lonely. And bloody hell if she wasn’t about to exit his life in a matter of days. Gone. Forever. Well, he didn’t want that to happen. He’d lost too many people.

He’d have hurt her with the fierce way he wanted to crush her to him. Instead, he enveloped her in his arms, turned them both sideways, and tenderly pulled her length against his. Rubbing his hands along her hips, buttocks, and back, he forced himself to hold her gently to him.

When his blood settled, when the rhythm of his heart found normalcy, he rested his head against her shoulder, unwilling to let her go, unwilling to apologize for having taken her so quickly and with such driving force. “Next time,” he whispered. “We have all night.”

He felt her laughter rather than heard it. “Yes, next time.” She kissed his shoulder where she’d bitten him. “Did I hurt you?”

“Hell no,” he growled in her ear. “I should be the one asking that particular question. Did
I
hurt
you
?”

“Hell no,” she responded and traced kisses along his neck.

“Adorable.” The word left his mouth as he slid out of her.

She made a quick move to pull his hips back to hers, but he only grinned and rolled off the bed. “Let me take care of you,” he said.

He padded to the wash basin. Those blasted thoughts of her that had kept him awake nights didn’t do justice to Suri. To the incredible event that had just taken place. He poured water into a clay basin, grabbed a towel, and made his way back to the bed.

Kneeling, he dipped one end of the towel into the water and washed her clean, as carefully as he could manage between her legs. She was beautiful stretched out on his bed, still and relaxed, her legs parted for him, her eyes never leaving his face. A thought seized him—she trusted him. He should have pulled out in time, shouldn’t have spilled his seed in her. But it didn’t matter, did it? Not now. Not anymore.

He swept the towel over her belly, her navel, and paused. “Ah, a moment.” He rose, made his way to another table lined with bottles, and poured a finger of arrack into a silver beaker.

“What’s that?” she asked when he returned.

“An Indian drink. Made from coconuts.” He kneeled next to her and grinned. “Hold still.”

“You don’t intend to—oh, dear.”

He chuckled. She was so damned beautiful lying there like a painting. He could feel his cock thickening again. “Let’s see how many drops it takes to fill that little vessel of yours.” His voice had roughened.

“You
are
a wicked one, John.”

He couldn’t help noticing her nipples had peaked into tight little buds. She was enjoying the hell out of this little game. Carefully, he angled the beaker and spilled a drop of the sweet nectar into her navel. Another. And another. “Seven,” he announced. “Tiny reservoir you’ve got there.”

He dipped his tongue into the recess.

She let out a soft sigh.

He hardened.

She swept her fingers through his hair. “More,” she whispered and tugged his curls in invitation.

He drank of her again, licked her clean. And then he leaned to a breast, drizzled the arrack across a nipple, and quickly caught the trail of sweet liquid with his tongue. He licked upward, back to her nipple, and then sucked until her hands clung to his hair and her eyes closed once again.

“Oh, what you do to me,” she moaned.

“Open your lips,” he murmured. When she did, he trickled the remaining nectar into her mouth and followed with his tongue, invading her. Searching for the floor with his hand, he set the beaker down, and with his mouth still set to hers, found the apex of her thighs, and slid his fingers there. She was moist with want for him.

He stroked the insides of her thighs. “More?’ he whispered and pressed his mouth against hers, deep and intense.

“More,” she sighed. “I…I haven’t had enough of you.”

He chuckled and began a slow slide of his tongue down her chin. He had a destination in mind with that tongue. He’d show her just what else he could do with it. Yes, he’d keep her here all night, he would. Maybe not send her home until the morning of the wedding. Maybe not send her home at all.

She was his now.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

Suri’s shuttered eyes gathered in light before her brain registered that dawn had arrived. Feeling came next—her leg thrown across warm hips, her fingers splayed across a muscled belly, an arm surrounding her where she nestled against his chest, her mouth against smooth skin, tiny hairs tickling her nose.

Oh, Lord, had last night truly happened? A slight movement and the tenderness between her legs told the tale. Lovely tenderness, that. Filled with memories to last a lifetime.

Someone watched her. Not John—his breathing was steady and low in his throat. She peeked through her lashes. And stared straight into Shahira’s amber eyes. The cheetah sat on its haunches, its face even with Suri’s. Any closer and the cat would be in bed with them.

John’s breathing shifted. His fingers on her arm traced a light caress along her skin. His other hand reached out and rubbed behind Shahira’s ears.

“She doesn’t know what to think,” he said in a voice rusty from sleep.

“Dare I move?”

He gave Suri a gentle hug and kissed the top of her head. “I happen to find your position rather satisfying at the moment.”

As if to emphasize his words, what had so masterfully enthralled her the night before—and currently lay beneath her thigh—thickened and took on a life of its own. The already tender place inside her set to aching but for an entirely different reason. How could she want him yet again?

She moved her leg, slid her hand to cup his growing arousal. “It seems I’ve an important task at hand.”

A low sound, somewhere between a moan and a chuckle rumbled through John’s chest. “And don’t I favor that task?”

His lips touched the crown of her head again. Such a simple gesture, but after their torrid night together, his tender action evoked an inner response she couldn’t quite name. Whatever it was winding through her heart hadn’t sprouted overnight. The seed had been planted when he’d kissed her so long ago, grown in her imaginings over the years, and then had bloomed here in India, of all places. But she was no fool—she’d known there’d be a price to pay when she allowed Tanush to bring her here. Well, gladly paid. She’d see to the care of her heart later.

A huge paw slapped John’s stomach. Suri jumped. John laughed and lifted the paw aside. “She wants to play.”

“
Humph
. I want to play, too. And
I’m
the guest.” Suri circled his erection with her hand and gave it a stroke. So smooth the skin. Like satin overlaying steel. Lust, pure and simple, invaded every cell of her body.

John slid from beneath her leg, rose, and drew back the mosquito netting. “First, breakfast for our little intruder. Come, girl.”

The cheetah padded along behind John while Suri nested her chin in her hand and watched his fabulous form glide across the room, studied the taut muscles flexing in his lovely bum. How comfortable she felt with him. It had only been one night and yet they both seemed as relaxed as though they’d been together a long while.

John opened the door to the corridor and clanged a loud bell. The cat bolted into the garden. In one sleek move, John was back in bed and propped on an elbow. He combed his fingers through her hair, his grin raffish. “Now then, you were doing what?”

She managed a decent purr and slid her hand back to his groin.

His pupils dilated at her touch, and primitive emotion swept across his face, yet, he frowned. “Are you certain? You’re not sore?”

Tightening her hold on his erection, she licked his chest and closed her teeth over one of his hardened nipples. “Deliciously so. But will it deter me? Decidedly not.”

“Now you’re the impious one.” He rolled her over onto him and planted a kiss on her forehead, then the outer corner of each eye. “I think I’ll take an hour kissing you,” he said. “Maybe spend most of it right here.” He kissed the edge of her mouth. “Or here.” He kissed the curve of her neck. Then he slipped a hand under her belly and ran his fingers between her legs. “Perhaps here, wild one?”