To Desire a Devil (Legend of the Four Soldiers #4)(48)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

“No.” He strolled toward her, implacably confident. “You’ve given yourself to me. That choice has already been made.”

“But why me?” She truly didn’t understand. Why now? Why her? “Do you love me?”

“Love has nothing to do with it,” he said, and pulled the covers from her body. “This is much more basic than love. You belong to me, and I intend to demonstrate that fact to you.”

“Reynaud,” she said softly, using his name for the first time, hating the pleading in her voice. She was so disappointed that this wasn’t love to him. She wasn’t interested in his “more basic” feeling. She wanted his love.

He climbed into the bed and reached for her chemise. She didn’t resist him, because the reality was that she couldn’t. He was right and a part of her acknowledged it. She had given herself to him. She did belong to him on some basic level that seemed to bypass love altogether.

And maybe, just maybe, she wanted to watch his face as he lost control in her again.

Then it was too late for analyzing and worrying. He’d bared her body, and she lay before him like a feast for a starving man. He just looked for a moment, sitting beside her, not moving, only his eyes roaming over her. She felt her nipples crest as if displaying themselves for him. His face was grave. He reached out and touched her right nipple with only one finger.

Lightly. Delicately. Devastatingly.

She swallowed, feeling the heat build at her center.

“You are so pretty,” he said, his voice deep and rough. He circled that one nipple with his finger, his touch so light it might have been a feather, and she shivered. “Your skin seems to glow from within, and it’s soft, so soft.”

His finger wandered down, lightly tracing the undercurve of her breast and then skimming over her skin to her other breast. She breathed shallowly, the very lightness of his touch making her tremble with need.

“Your nipples are pink,” he whispered, brushing over the tip. Her nipples were so tight they ached. “But they deepen to rose as they come erect. I wonder if I sucked them if they would turn red like cherries?”

She closed her eyes, feeling that one point of contact, so slight and so erotic. This wasn’t what she’d expected when he’d declared his intent. She thought he would act quickly, consummate his desire in fast, hard moves.

Instead this was a slow, unhurried seduction.

His finger was wandering down over her ribs, gliding over her belly, circling her navel. She sucked in her tummy; the touch was almost tickling.

“So soft,” he crooned. “Like velvet.”

He was trailing lower, and her whole attention was focused on that finger and where it was headed.

“Spread your legs,” he murmured.

Her heart leaped in alarm. “I… I . . .”

“Beatrice,” he said darkly, “spread your legs for me.”

Maybe it was because her eyes were closed—if they’d been open, if she could see him looking at her so intimately, she wouldn’t have been able to do it. But as it was, she widened her thighs.

His finger dipped into her maiden hair, stroking through it. “So pretty, so sweet. I wonder what you taste like.”

And something touched her tenderly below her maiden hair, and it was soft and wet and most definitely not his finger.

“Reynaud!” she cried.

“Shh,” he whispered, his breath blowing across damp, excited flesh. “Quiet, now.”

She bit her lips, her hands clutching anxiously at the bedclothes.

His tongue probed her folds, stroking and licking. He was so close he must be able to smell her, to taste her, and she struggled between appalled horror and trembling delight.

“Do you like this?” he murmured. His lips brushed her with every word.

“I . . .”

He parted her with his thumbs and blew softly. “Do you, Beatrice?”

“Oh, God!”

He chuckled then, like an evil demon, and said, “I think you do.”

Then he was flicking his tongue against her so rapidly she couldn’t think, couldn’t squirm away. Not that she wanted to. He was relentless, untiring and thorough, focused entirely on that one point. Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more—when her breath was coming in short quick pants—he opened his mouth around her bud and sucked strongly.

Beatrice pressed the back of her head into the pillow, her lips opening on a soundless scream. He was pulling, tugging on that small bit of flesh, his broad hands pressed against her thighs, holding her firmly open, and she couldn’t withstand the sensation. Stars imploded within her, sending flashes of delight throughout her entire body. She jerked and jerked again, and then her limbs sank, weighted with pleasurable relaxation.

She opened her eyes to see him crawling up her. First his chest and then his hips brushed against newly sensitized flesh, and then he settled his weight on her, flattening her breasts. He nudged her legs apart effortlessly.

“Reynaud,” she breathed.

He looked into her eyes as he slid up a little, the broad head of his penis just kissing her entrance. He flexed his hips and began to breach her. Her eyes narrowed as she felt a pinch. It’d been only a day since she’d lost her virginity.

“Beatrice,” he breathed.

“It hurts,” she said, her voice small.

He nodded. “Keep your eyes on me.”

She widened them, looking into his eyes. He had a tiny indent between his heavy eyebrows.

He shoved a little.

She felt the stretching of her inner muscles. He pressed steadily, widening her, burrowing into her flesh. Then he thrust suddenly and with definite force, and he was seated fully. She felt the pressure of his pubis against hers. His mouth thinned as if he controlled himself by only a tiny thread.

“Now,” he said. “Now, I make love to you.”

He bent and kissed her with his open mouth, his tongue conquering her lips as his penis conquered the quivering flesh between her legs. He withdrew and slid back into her, more easily this time, hitching himself up her body a little. He caught her beneath the knees and widened her legs, settling in, making himself comfortable in her body.

She moaned and moved beneath him. For, unlike the previous night, what he was doing to her now began to feel good. More than good.

She slid her hands to the back of his head, rubbing the bristling hair there. She felt full, heavy, as if waiting for something. He still kissed her, and she nipped at his lip, provoking a growl from him.

He quickened his thrusts.