The Silver Bride

Then he coiled back from her to remove the tangle of fabric from around her h.i.p.s and she focused in shock on her b.a.r.e b.r.e.a.s.ts, rising wantonly full, crested by taut pink n.i.p.p.l.es. 'You're exquisite,' Dior g.r.o.a.n.e.d. Coming back to her, he let his thumb stroke a swollen bud, his palm cupping the underside of her firm b.r.e.a.s.t, and then he closed his mouth there instead.

He sent such a jolt of startling sensation through Stella she cried out loud, her head falling back on the pillows, all thought suspended. Her hands gripped his smooth brown shoulders as over and over again he c.a.r.e.s.sed her s.e.n.s.i.t.i.v.e flesh with his tongue and his teeth and his lips.

Now she was the one burning, maddened by every sure, knowing stroke, driven to a height of frantic yearning need that consumed her like a greedy fire. Without warning Dior rolled back from her and slid off the bed backward, burnished golden eyes welded to her pale pink body.

It was like being visually consumed. She was hot and out of breath, in a state of mindless hunger beyond anything she had ever imagined possible. Her eyes followed him. She simply couldn't bear him that far away from her. 'Dior...?' she muttered uncertainly.

You respond to me like you were made for me,' Dior told her with primal satisfaction. She watched him unzip his well-cut pants. Her eyes widened, a shred of awareness returning. His black boxer shorts were skimmed off his lean h.i.p.s a split second later.

Receiving her first view of a fully aroused a.d.u.l.t male shook Stella. And although Dior was even more beautiful than she had naively imagined, he was considerably more intimidating.

Belatedly conscious of her n.a.k.e.dness, Stella sat up and wrenched at the sheet so that she could squirm beneath its cover, her heart pounding against her b.r.e.a.s.tbone as if she had run a three-minute mile. The knowledge of her inexperience provoked a current of panic.

Dior strolled back to the bed without inhibition. she doubted that Dior had ever had the slightest urge to hide in the bedroom. 'You're shy,' he whispered almost tenderly, but he threw back the sheet to join her, with scant allowance for that reality.

'Yes... Dior—' 'I want to look at you,' he confessed, curving her into the hard, abrasive heat of his powerfully masculine body with a long possessive arm. 'You're shaking...' 'You're making me nervous.'

He meshed lean fingers into her thick hair and brought her mouth up to his, tasting her with deep, sensual appreciation until her head swam and the nerves were squeezed out of her by more physical reactions.

He lifted his imperious dark head then. Brilliant golden eyes gazed down into hers. This isn't a one-night stand. This is something exceptional and special. I don't sleep around,' he asserted with husky sincerity.

Stella raised an unsteady hand and brushed the tousled black hair off his brow, her heart banging somewhere in the region of her throat. She couldn't believe the power he had over her.

She couldn't believe that a man finally had her hanging on his every word, hoping and praying that he was worthy of her trust. It was a terrifying feeling, but when he held her eyes and touched her there wasn't a fiber of her being capable of resisting him. Dior ran an exploring hand over her trembling length.

She jerked and gasped, her whole body already so sensitized he could reawaken her with the slightest touch. When he teased the soft silver-gilt triangle at the juncture of her t.h.i.g.hs she m.o.a.n.e.d and thrust her burning face into his hard shoulder.

With devastating expertise, he traced the hot, swollen center of her and located the most s.e.n.s.i.t.i.v.e place of all. And from that point on Stella was lost, without hope of reclaim, stormed by endless exquisite sensations that just as quickly became a kind of sustained torture. 'You are so tight,' Dior muttered in a sensual groan of appreciation.

The ache of need he aroused was unbearable. Stella writhed out of control, tormented gasps wrenched from her as she clutched at any part of him she could reach. 'Dior, please...' she m.o.a.n.e.d in a desperate appeal.

He slid over her, rearranging her with urgent hands. She clashed with blazing eyes and exulted in her femininity, sensing his control was as ragged as her own was non-existent. Fierce hunger seethed hi her shamelessly at that instant.

She would have walked through fire to lie under him. And then he plunged into her, and the sharp, wrenching pain of that passionate invasion startled her into crying out in surprise.