Spirit Bound - Christine Feehan [133]
His face struck her as he knelt above, his hands sure on her hips, dragging her to him, lifting her body so easily. She was an artist, and if she was going to paint him, she would try to capture that sculpted, carved-from-stone look of sheer sensuality stamped on his face. The dark desire in his eyes, the hunger in the stamp of his mouth. He was beautiful and so sexy a lump welled up in her throat, blocking all sound as she stilled, feeling the broad head of his heavy erection pressed to her needy entrance.
She heard her heartbeat thundering in her ears as his shaft slowly invaded her body, one stunning inch at a time. He filled her so full, sending streaks of fire—of lightning—rushing over her skin, enflaming every nerve ending to a point almost beyond endurance. His rock-hard flesh pushed deeper and deeper into her body, searing her body with scorching heat.
She wanted him with every cell in her body, wanted him to belong solely to her. She tightened her muscles around him, gripping hard, desperate for him. His hiss of agony shocked her, his eyes going turbulent and stormy with lust. He actually groaned, a tortured, strangled sound that sent her heart pounding and her body writhing beneath his.
“Angel, I’m going to lose control if you keep that up. I swear, baby, you’re so damn hot and tight I’m going to lose my mind.”
She wanted him to lose his mind, to lose all that perfect control—for her, with her. “Lose it then, Stefan. With me. Lose your mind with me,” she whispered, not fully understanding what she was asking, but knowing with him she’d go anywhere.
He pulled back, pistoned forward in a harsh, nearly brutal stroke, driving through velvet folds, deep, so deep and she rose to meet him, her muscles throbbing around his pulsing flesh. Deep inside, every movement he made filled her, caressed her, sent those streaks of fire arcing over her until she was nearly mindless with the sensations tearing through her.
His hands gripped her tighter and she felt the difference in him as if he’d coiled tighter himself, as if that long held control was at an end. The ride turned wild, he drove hard and fast, deep and full, a jackhammer intent on finding her womb and lodging himself there. She heard her own keening cry as he plunged into her over and over, the rhythmic thrusting setting her blood on fire and nearly driving her right off the bed. It was only the tight grip of his hands pinning her in place.
Tension grew, coiled tighter and tighter until she was tossing her head, digging her heels into the mattress, desperately trying to get away, to push herself harder into him, impale herself on that steel spike that never stopped thrusting into her. He was tormenting her, driving her insane with such a frantic need that seemed never ending. Her breath came in gasping sobs, as the firestorm rushed over her.
Her mouth opened wide, a soundless scream, as his shaft pressed hard on her sensitized bud. Her body clamped down on his, claimed his, gripping like a vise of silk and steel. Wave after wave shook her, swept both of them up in the torrent of sensation. His hoarse cry was harsh, a startled yell of triumph somewhere caught between love and laughter that he could burn with her, feel with her.
Stefan, with his remaining strength, dragged her completely onto the bed, collapsing on top of her, while they both fought for breath. Her hair was damp, and a fine sheen dampened both their bodies. Their hearts beat like crazy, an accelerated rhythm that made them both laugh. Stefan wrapped his arms around her and rolled until she sprawled on top of him. He held her in his arms for a long time, breathing deeply, before he lifted his head to trail kisses over her face, one hand smoothing back her hair. His gaze drifted slowly over her, his eyes—those deep blue-green eyes smiling, his face relaxed.
“We’re not finished by a long