Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [66]
“I'm going to use you, Brenna,” he said hoarsely. “I'm going to use this lovely body of yours in every way I know how, and when I've finished, I'm going to do it all over again. I'm going to drown myself in you to the point of satiation, and when I've rid myself of this crazy obsession I have for you, I'm going to kick that lovely tail right out of my life and hope to God I don't have to look into those lying eyes ever again.”
He pulled her close, the touch of his warm vibrant flesh against her own waking her from the dreamy lassitude that had enfolded her like a warm blanket. She reacted helplessly, as she always did, to the magnetism of his powerful body. Though his words lacerated her spirit, her flesh recognized only that this was Michael, the man she loved, and so there must be a response.
As their bodies touched, Donovan's coolness vanished as if it had never existed. His body hardened against hers, as he buried his head in her shoulder, a convulsive shudder rippling through his large frame. “Damn you!” he groaned brokenly. “Why is it that I only have to touch you, to turn on like a teenager with his first woman.”
His lips covered hers, his tongue invading her to ravish her mouth as his hands were ravishing her body. He was memorizing every line and curve. His hands caressing and branding at the same time, so that she felt that after tonight there wouldn't be an inch of her that was not known and possessed by him. His mouth was at her swelling breasts, and then on the softness of her belly, before returning to her mouth again in a fever of desire.
She arched against him, no longer caring how this sensual witchery had started. She wanted only completion. The desires they felt had been banked low for too long. She could feel the need for him burn hot in every vein until she was gasping and moving helplessly, her hands running first in compulsive caresses over his smooth, muscular shoulders only to bury themselves in the thick crisp hair at the nape of his neck.
His knee parted her thighs and he knelt above her, his hands filling themselves with her breasts. His hair-roughened chest was heaving and his blue eyes glazed with emotion, as he looked down into her flushed face and glowing eyes.
“I want to devour you,” he growled thickly. “I've never wanted a woman like this in my life.”
Brenna was one throbbing, pulsing entity as she writhed beneath his tormenting hands. Dimly she was aware that there was something she should tell him. She tried, “Please,” she gasped. “I must tell you…”
“Too late,” he muttered hoarsely. “Too late for anything but this.” And his hips plunged forward ruthlessly.
Brenna gave a muffled scream at the hot piercing jolt of pain that wracked her with shocking suddenness. Her hands, that had been caressing, now tried frantically to repulse the intruding body that was suddenly stiff and still above her.
“My God!” Donovan swore, his eyes stunned and unbelieving as he looked down at her pain-filled eyes.
“Please. Let me go,” she whispered, her hands pushing at him futilely.
He closed his eyes, his face taut with the battle he was waging. When his eyes opened, they were glazed and desperate. “I can't,” he groaned. “God! I can't do it. I promise I'll make it good for you, sweetheart.”
He started to move with exquisite care and patience, and he kept his word. Soon the pain was gone, lost in a rapturous vortex of sensation that seemed to be both the beginning and the end of all sensual pleasure. As she began to respond, meeting thrust for thrust with wild passion, he forgot his caution and, holding her close, he plunged again and again, his voice murmuring hotly in her ear. “God, you're so tight, sweetheart. That's it, move with me, love. Put your hands on me. Touch me, Brenna.”
The passionate litany was as much an aphrodisiac as the sweetness of his lips, that moved