Mind Game (GhostWalkers #2)(69)
Author: Christine Feehan

His teeth clenched and every muscle tightened. His blood sang and his heart pounded. The bayou came alive around him, dancing with sparklers, tiny stars of brilliant colors, and the electricity zigzagged in an arc as the sexual energy gathered to them, amplifying their every sensation. His fingers skimmed the sides of her br**sts, went back to her hair as she performed an amazing dance with her tongue and then suckled as if he were an addicting confection.

Nicolas had never felt such a combination of savagery and love at the same time. A part of him was aware the energy influenced him, but very little of his brain seemed to function. He could only feel—and need. He knew he was being rough when he dragged her closer to him, wanting her to take him deeper, but he couldn’t seem to stop. She tantalized and tormented him and the more she did, the more the terrible pressure built until he was certain every part of him would detonate.

He could hear animal sounds, a growling deep in his throat. He wanted the heat of her surrounding him. She was driving him over the edge and wasn’t nearly finished with him. He tugged at her hair, a small painful pull, exerting pressure on the roots. Even the silken strands in his fists felt erotic. She looked up at him, licked her lips, as he pulled her easily to her feet. His hands slid over her body. He enjoyed the fact that he was so much bigger, that his palms could cover larger sections of skin. He kneaded her br**sts, bent his head to find her mouth, taking possession, not giving her a chance to catch up to his hunger. He nibbled at her mouth, a craving for her taste nearly driving him out of his mind. The pressure in his body, driving upward from his toes to his skull was enormous. He opened her thighs, using his legs so his hand could slide over her flat stomach to the mass of tiny curls. He found them moist with heat.

She was steamy for him. Waiting for him. He knew how she would feel when he entered her. He craved the hot, slick wetness. His fingers pushed into her channel. She cried out his name, her breath coming in gasps. He pushed deeper, forcing her to ride, wanting her to be at the same fever pitch as he was.

Only when she was gasping, her body rocking and tightening, wave after wave, did he look around to spot the nearest fallen log. Fortunately it was only a foot away. He half carried her, throwing her shirt over the log and bending her over it so the curve of her bottom was thrust upward for him. The sun lit up her skin. He stared down at her, kneading her flesh, rubbing his erection along the seam of her perfect cheeks. Her channel was hot and slick and he nuzzled it lovingly. She pushed back, trying to get him to enter her, but he held on, prolonging the moment, enjoying the friction and the sight of the moisture on her skin. He felt a primitive lust building and building and just as wild was the need to know she was his. He had no idea if it was a by-product of the energy or his ancestors, or his bloodline, but there was nothing sweet or gentle in his hunger for her, his addiction to her body or his need to know she belonged to him heart and soul.

He wanted that first moment of entry, as he thrust hard, as he took her with his hands on her h*ps and her hair spilling around her and her br**sts jutting toward the ground, to last forever. Her sheath swallowed him, so tight he grit his teeth. He could bury himself deeper this way, thrust harder, driving into her over and over with long, fast strokes while she bucked and cried out and her muscles clenched and grasped at him. The energy poured over them both until every nerve ending and every cell was alive and wired into erotic passion.

Once he looked up and thought he saw a lightning bolt arcing in the clouds overhead, but nothing mattered but her hot silken sheath squeezing and rubbing with a velvet friction so tight he knew he would never last as long as he needed to be sated. He pulled her back toward him with each stroke, riding her hard and furiously, wanting to crawl inside her body and join them together forever. If there truly was ecstasy in the world, Nicolas knew he’d found it. He pounded into her soft body, and she shoved back just as hard, crying out with pleasure, completely uninhibited with him. She wanted him with the same fierce intensity and she never tried to hide it.

Caught up in the maelstrom of sexual energy, they were wild and frantic. Taking Dahlia was as necessary to Nicolas as breathing. He couldn’t begin to think or function until he sated the terrible hunger, the emptiness he felt. He took a deep breath, the gathering before a storm, as he felt her body tighten around his. He felt the muscles of her body surrounding him tightly grasp him, greedy for every drop of his passion. Greedy for every sensation he could give her. He was burning out of control, everything in him concentrated in his groin. Thunder was in his head, pounding in his ears. And then he was pouring his seed into her, hot and strong and deep. His h*ps thrust hard over and over into hers, driving deeper, wanting to be forever a part of her.

Gasping for air, Nicolas bent over her, resting his head on her back while their hearts pounded with the same ferocity with which they’d made love. He didn’t want to leave the sanctuary, the paradise of her body. As many times as he’d taken her—and it was many now—each time seemed better than the perfection of the time before. He pressed a kiss to the base of her spine as he eased his body from hers. “I love the way you play mind games, Dahlia. Feel free to indulge any time.”

He was the only thing holding her up. Dahlia was almost euphoric, yet her body well used, deliciously sore. She could feel his prints on her skin, his mark deep inside her body. She doubted if she would ever be whole without him. She rested against the fallen tree while his hands massaged her bottom and sent more ripples through her deepest core. After such a firestorm of frenzied lovemaking, she felt she needed the easier deep contractions to come down from wherever she was floating.

Slowly she turned and leaned back against the log. “Why is it I never seem to have my clothes on around you?”

Nicolas bent his dark head to hers. “Because I love to look at you.” He framed her face with his hands and held her still for his kiss. He made it loving and tender, a direct contrast to the wildness of his lovemaking. “Not only do I love to look at you, Dahlia, but I love to hear the sound of your voice. And I love your expressions. I have the feeling I’ve already fallen in love with you, that I’m in way over my head.”

Dahlia stared up at him, blinking rapidly, feeling as if her heart stopped in midbeat. She was na**d and vulnerable and he was declaring his love to her. “Don’t love me, Nicolas. Don’t do that.”

“I think it’s too late, honey. I think I fell like the proverbial tree.”