“I want you, precious,” he confessed huskily, dropping kisses on her neck. “And I mean to have you.” She didn’t argue. Instead—as hungry as he—she entangled her fingers in his ebony hair, bringing his mouth closer to her own. He groaned low in his throat, aroused even further by the significance of her act. It told him as nothing else could that she wanted him. Now. He kissed her again, not at all restrained. Ravenously, passionately, he crushed her lips with his own, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, in and out, over and over, a sure erotic rhythm that matched the instinctive movement of his lean hips as he pressed them against her. He still wasn’t close enough. Not until he was part of her. With trembling hands he divested her of her clothes. Rising high above her, he settled between her legs. The fire illumined her, a gilded goddess that he would soon make his own. “Open for me, angel,” he rasped, his breath warm on her cheek. She obeyed gladly, baring her innermost recesses like a beautiful flower spreading its petals to the life-giving force of the morning sun.
