Sexual Magic: The Complete Anthology
Rreth këtij libri elektronik
~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~
From "Dragon's Untamed Tribute"
Jarvallen followed Kinzi into the bedchamber. It was not like the room she had shared with Lizbet at the farm, before she moved away to wed Velden two years ago. Instead of a bedstead and mattress, there was a heap of blankets, furs, and pillows, tucked cozily into one corner of the room. The stone floor was clean, and the room was obviously well-tended, with candles burning on handy ledges. She kicked off her shoes, delicate things unlike her clumsy boots, and ran a bare foot across a sinfully soft wolf-skin pelt.
“Turn around.”
Before Kinzi could think about refusing, she had obeyed, putting her back to him. She sighed as she felt his long fingers gather up the weight of her hair, running it between his fingers before he let it fall in a tumbled mass across her chest, leaving her neck cool and bare.
“Like fire,” Jarvallen whispered. His fingers were at her back, undoing the buttons which held her dress closed. One by one, they dropped away, until it was hanging loose from her shoulders. She shivered, once, as the cool air of the cavern hit her skin. “Turn back to me.”
As if in a dream, Kinzi turned again. His hands pushed the dress down from her shoulders, exposing her chest. A finger came up, the long nail drawing a line from her neck, to the shallow valley between her breasts, and down to her vulnerable stomach. She trembled in a combination of fear and arousal as she imagined the incredible, deadly strength of that nail in his other form. A strength that could gut her, if he wished.
“Do I frighten you?” His nail traveled back up, circling the small swell of her breast, and she wished, with all her heart, that Nubilia had been more generous with her blessings.
“Yes.” Goddess above, he was playing her body like a lute! She looked down, past her breasts, her chest heaving as she fought for air, to the rumpled mass of cloth gathered around her waist. Jarvallen wore the same black leather breeches he had worn when she first met him, and she could see that, although he was having an incredible effect on her, she was having an equally great effect on him. His manhood tented his breeches, straining toward her, and she reached out a hand, her fingertips dancing over his bulge. It surged, filling her palm, and she closed her fingers about it appreciatively.
He sucked in a tiny breath of air, and she jerked her hand away. “Witch,” he growled, taking her hips in his hands. He pulled her to him, grinding into her loins as he claimed her mouth in a kiss which left her light-headed.
He was hot. No, he burned. Burned with a flame which made her want more. She found herself clutching his back, her hands exploring his fever-hot skin eagerly, rubbing his muscled chest shamelessly, like Nubilia herself, claiming her lover at the Feast of Spring. She wiggled her hips impatiently, helping Jarvallen as he pushed at her dress, and when it finally fell to the floor she raised her chin proudly, looking her lover boldly in the eye.
Yes. Beauty I have. Let him see me. And desire me. For I am a woman, and proud.
