Teasing Your Wicked Heart

CHAPTER 34

"Sar—Sarah Jane..."

It became overwhelming, the intimacy, her nearness, and then he couldn't control the desire wrecking havoc inside his body. Anthony tried to pry her away but she was strong, she was embracing him, healing him in ways he couldn't have imagined that another person's presence could.

And with lightning speed, he took her face and ravished her mouth with a searing kiss, squeezing, exploring, and pleading her for more. He was lost in her, spinning in a crazed desire to keep her there to heal him anew.

And she was kissing him too.

Her hands were on his back, pulling him closer to her while he tugged the pins out of her hair. He was all over her, on her brow, her temple, her nose... he was showering her with kisses as if he knew that if he let go, she would disappear.

He was drowning in her.

It was probably a dream, and if it was so, he'd rather enjoy it while it lasted.

Sarah Jane recognized that there was a line crossed when he joined her in her bed. They should stop now if she wanted to get out of the room untouched.

But she couldn't bring herself to stop him when his kisses were sharing his pain, inviting him to take comfort in her.

His hands and lips were doing lovely things to her body that a swell of heat started to form in the pit of her stomach. She might have been gripping him too tightly; his clothes will be beyond repair, but if he found this the least bit important, he had given no indication.

He kissed her everywhere, down her neck, on her face, then towards the middle of her throat to the space in-between her breasts. Her clothes opened without a single bit of resistance. She hadn't even realized that the bodice of her gown already dipped low enough to give him access to her breasts.

He lapped at the skin slowly, gently peeling the fabric as he imbedded his hips in her skirts. His tongue did a wicked dance across her skin, sending frantic sexual messages down to her toes.

She gave a low moan and wondered if the sound really came from her. There must be a wanton living under her skin.

"Anthony," she breathed as his lips slid lower, traveling between her breasts and circling under one plump lump of flesh, dragging his tongue under it, on the thin skin that separated the mound from her ribs. He kissed the crook apart, testing the weight of her breast on his cheek as his palm pressed her exquisitely, his fingers grazing the areola, which spread the heat to the apex of her thighs.

Her back arched involuntarily and her hands gripped his hair in anticipation.

He kissed her slowly but hungrily. Little by little inching into the pillows of flesh and resting at the rosy tip of her breasts.

Languidly, he let his tongue roll over, around the nipple, and captured it with a full force that her legs shook from the sheer sensation.

She had called his name again, but he didn't appear to hear it.

He sucked on her relentlessly, causing her thighs to tighten in response.

They would have to marry.

No one could feel this sort of thing without being branded a fallen woman. She did feel as though she were falling.

His lips memorized every inch of what it touched—and it was everywhere. His Sarah Jane had responded to every moment; he'd be damned if he stopped now. She felt a bit of tugging at her skirts, his large hands caressed the sensitive skin of her legs, roaming freely and pausing only to squeeze.