Burning Up

her gently moving mouth. He could feel her heartbeat in her breast, a rapid thump that seemed to echo his own pulse.
    One soft, slender hand came to rest on his chest, cool against his heating skin. She used it to push herself upright. They stared at each other in the candlelit darkness.
    Again, he watched that curious fear leap in her eyes. For a moment, he expected her to whirl and run away.
    Instead she squared her delicate shoulders. Her hands went to the laces of her white gown, began to pluck at them until they fell untied. He caught his breath as she drew it off over her head and dropped it in a silken pile on the floor. Her body gleamed in the candlelight, elegant and slim, breasts pale, perfect handfuls, nipples tight and pink. She had the legs of a horsewoman, long and strong, and her arms had a kind of delicate strength, as though she did more than needlework. Her green gaze had gone bright with defiance now, as if daring him to make some cutting comment.
    But speech was beyond him. He felt his cock rise, hot and hard against his breeches, balls heavy with the weight of desire.
    Her gaze dipped to the broad length against his belly, and her lips parted. As he watched, her eyes dilated into a shadowed forest green, dark and wild.
    “Free me,” he managed at last, his eyes on the tight pink tips of her breasts. “Let me touch you.”
    She shot him a wary look, then seemed to remember herself and added a seductive smile. “Wouldn’t you rather I touch you ?”
    He laughed in a harsh bark. “At this moment, I would have you any way I can get you.”
    The Rose stepped closer to the bed and balanced on one long leg as she slid a thigh across his belly. He caught his breath in lust at the sensation of soft skin sliding over his in a wave of silken warmth. Slowly, so slowly, she sank down to straddle him. To his raging frustration, he could feel the cloth-covered head of his cock brushing the curve of her bare bottom.
    “Ahhh.” Her lids dipped and lifted, revealing the green of her eyes. The pink tip of her tongue crept out to wet her lips, and she swallowed. A very faint smile curved that tempting mouth. “You make a solid mount, my lord.”
    “And you make a lovely rider,” Raniero rasped, though the courtly words were almost beyond him as lust stormed his brain. His eyes dipped down to the soft delta of her sex, the lips full and pouting behind raven curls. He wanted to see those lips close around his cock. He could imagine how they’d feel, swollen and wet, gripping him deliciously.
    The Rose considered him, her head tilting. Her slender hands came to rest on his chest, long fingers stroking. Her nails were short and serviceable, and her palms were just slightly rough with calluses.
    Raniero frowned in momentary puzzlement. Her hands were slim as a maid’s, but rough as a swordsman’s. No stranger to battle, this one.
    Then the thought flew out of his head as she bent, green eyes locked on his. The tip of her tongue peeked out at him, and he stiffened in helpless anticipation.
    She licked him. A quick little flick over the tight ridges of his torso, wet, impossibly tempting, a maddening promise of more. Her head lifted, and a smile flashed, quicksilver mockery.
    God, he wished his hands were free. He’d show her need. He’d make her writhe.
    But his hands were bound, and she was the one with the freedom to inflict delicious torment. She bent again, and he inhaled sharply, helplessly.
    Raniero’s nipples were her target this time. He’d never considered them particularly sensitive before—certainly not like a woman’s—yet the rake of her teeth made his cock jerk like a rearing warhorse. She settled down to lick, gently, sweet teasing circles with the occasional application of a nibble or two. As if those desperate little points were candy.
    Red God’s Balls, he wished she’d do that to his cock.
    As the Rose nibbled, she stroked her hands over his torso, traced each ridge of muscle with tapered fingers that suddenly curled into blunt little claws. The teasing rake of nails over ribs made him want to writhe.
    Green eyes watched him, shadowed by thick lashes, dwelling on his face as if fascinated. Her nostrils flared, scenting him like a cat.
    His cock jerked again, brushing the velvet skin of her bottom. Raniero couldn’t quite suppress his moan.
     
    A maris was beginning to understand why poets spilled rivers of ink in praise of passion. The vampire lay spread under her like a feast,