Westmoreland's Way - Brenda Jackson [45]
Before she could comprehend his words, he lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss that was as potent and powerful as any intoxicating drug. And it was just as effective. Her mind and body became meshed in a mirage of sensations so forceful she gave up any desire to convince him to think differently.
She only recalled bits and pieces of him removing her clothes. But she did vividly remember the kisses he placed all over her naked body once he had completed the task. And she had committed to memory the sight of him removing all of his clothes, every single stitch, and then putting on a condom—almost a difficult task due to the size of his arousal—before returning to her.
Concentrated desire consumed her the moment he rose above her as he took her mouth again the way a hunter would go after his prey. Moments later he pulled away to use that same mouth to trace downward, to latch on to her nipples, sucking gently and causing flutters to stir within, to the point of being breathless.
And then he was there, close to her face, raising her hips, widening her thighs, lifting her legs to hug his shoulders, and then entering her in one smooth thrust that made her moan his name. But he didn’t stop there. He continued to stroke her, inside and out, bearing down on her mind each time like he was bearing down on her body. And with each stroke it seemed to relay words he had not yet spoken, words she felt each time his dark eyes met hers, each time they breathed in and out together as one.
Sudden tears sprung to her eyes when she realized the depth, the intensity and then also the uselessness of the love she felt for him, all the way in her bones, in the air she was breathing. Yes, she had fallen in love with him. She’d once heard that a woman’s body could and would recognize its mate, and the thought that this man was hers almost overwhelmed her, and touched her very soul.
He saw the tears flow down her cheek and leaned in to kiss them away, as if he had the ability to make whatever was wrong in her life right. She wished it was that simple, but knew it was not.
She looped her arms around his neck when his mouth moved from her cheeks to her mouth, and then she kissed him in all the ways she had dreamed of kissing him the past two nights.
He gave in, allowing her to lead, to take the kiss wherever she wanted it to go and to whatever degree of passion she wanted it to be. And when she felt the explosion that ripped through her body to ricochet to his, she couldn’t hold back her scream of pleasure. And when she felt him sink deeper into her, tail-spinning into his own massive release, she clutched him tighter to her, locked her legs around his back, knowing that, regardless of what he thought and no matter that she now knew she loved him, this was all they would have together.
Nine
“I want to know why you are marrying a man you don’t love,” Dillon said raspily, close to her ear.
They lay locked in each other’s arms, their bodies entwined, drenched in sweat from the intensity of their lovemaking. The aftermath of pleasure was so profound they were still fighting to get their heart rates back to normal while they savored what had to have been passion of the most explosive kind.
Dillon watched as her gaze widened at such a deliberate and bold question, and then his heart began pounding in his throat while he waited for her to respond. When she nervously licked her lips, he was tempted to lick right along with her but knew he had to hold back and listen to what she had to say. Tonight he wanted answers and wouldn’t be satisfied until he got them.
And then, not surprisingly, fire crept into her eyes and she tilted her chin slightly. “You have no right to ask me that,” she said.
A smile touched his lips. His woman was feisty when she needed to be and he liked that. He liked even more the thought of her as his woman. “I have every right, Pam. I’m a Westmoreland, remember. Raphel’s great-grandson. I take what I think is mine regardless of whom it