Spirit Bound - Christine Feehan [51]
The world around them burst into a fiery blaze. The heat soared until he could hear the roaring and crackling of flames. He’d inadvertently struck a match and lit a stick of dynamite. Her body melted against his while his heart roared in his ears and he lost himself completely in the beauty and wonder of her mouth. She tasted a little like an expensive champagne, going straight to his head and hitting him hard. She made him weak and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she belonged in his arms.
He couldn’t stop kissing her, over and over until they both were out of breath and their bodies were on fire. He found that small golden chain and he tugged and rolled the gold between his fingers the way he needed to do to her nipples. He ached to touch her, to memorize her, to devour her inch by slow inch. He tried not to be rough, but his mouth had a mind of its own, each kiss feeding his hunger beyond endurance.
His hand left her nape, fist bunching her hair, pulling her head back, taking what was his. His. Men like him didn’t have homes. They didn’t own anything they couldn’t walk away from in an instant. All the money he had acquired over the years by fair or foul means stayed in bank accounts no one knew about, never to be spent on the luxury of a home—or a woman.
Yet, this woman belonged to him—was made for him. He didn’t know anything about her and yet he knew everything. He kissed his way to her chin and back up to the heat of her mouth. He couldn’t resist her mouth and evidently she didn’t have any more of a sense of self-preservation than he did because she opened to him instantly, feeding on his hunger, returning it tenfold.
Every cell in his body responded to her. Knew. He knew without a single doubt that she was born to be his. Kissing her only got better. His fist tightened, holding her still. A warning signal in the back of his mind brought him close enough to the surface to remind him Thomas Vincent would never kiss her with such confidence. He wouldn’t grow rough and demanding. He would never be so aggressive. Stefan ruthlessly pushed the warning away and took her mouth, exploring, teasing, demanding. Sliding willingly into a deep abyss.
Lust rose like a volcano, winding itself through pure passion as his fingers stroked caresses over her bare midriff, absorbing all that soft skin. Heat rushed through his veins, setting up a terrible addiction he knew he would never be rid of. She tasted too good. Matched fire with fire. She needed the way he did. Her hands fisted in his hair and she gave herself to him, holding nothing back, feeding his need more, driving him past control.
Truth was the only thing that could have stopped him from taking what he knew belonged to him right there at the bottom of the steps of her home. She was a spirit element. The truth was there all along—he’d even suspected it, and right now they were in terrible trouble because her spirit enflamed his beyond all measure. Her desire and his together burned hot and wild, a firestorm out of control. Her element amplified every psychic gift he had and added to the heat and need rushing through him like a fireball.
He forced himself to pull back, not wanting to blow his chance with her—if he hadn’t already. If he had this woman—and what the hell was he thinking—it would be forever. Everything with her was a first. That first kiss, first touch, first attempt at finding a discipline that wasn’t ingrained or trained into him.
He rested his forehead against hers, drawing in a lungful of air. “I could spend a lifetime doing that with you.” He rubbed the nape of her neck with strong fingers. “Are you okay?”
Her gaze clung to his—filled with desire, filled with sorrow. She touched her lips, swollen from his kisses, with trembling fingers. “I didn’t know I could