Carpathian 18 - Dark Possesion

tolerate the early morning sunlight. He would risk everything to stay with her, to be inside of her, to claim her for his own. Her breath quickened, drawing attention to the rise and fall of her full, firm breasts.
    His . He was going to take every second he had with her and live it to the fullest.
    He forced himself to let his hand slide from her arm. Walking to the bed beside the fireplace he dropped onto the thick mattress. "I want to look at you."
    She stood for a moment, her hand on her hip, her hair streaming down her back, her beauty robbing him of breath. She took a single step in the sexy red heels, and desire hit him with a brutal blow, a fist of need that might have driven him to his knees had he been standing. He drew in his breath and let the intensity of lust take him. His body felt hot, too tight, bursting with the need to drive into her. Images ran through his head of her spread out before him like a feast.
    With each step she took, the hunger increased, until his blood pounded in his body and every cell raged for her. The sheer pleasure of wanting her shook him to the very foundations of his existence. He had never wanted anything the way he wanted her. He had never needed anything, but suddenly her body was everything. The shape and texture. Her skin, gleaming with invitation. Every soft inch of it waiting to be explored, to be touched. Every secret hollow and shadow. His. All for him. When nothing in his long centuries of existence had ever been for him, the sight of her was almost too much to be believed. Looking wasn't good enough. He would have to touch her—possess her—or none of this would be real.
    For the first time in her life, MaryAnn felt absolutely, totally sensual, without inhibition, moving around the room in her high heels, knowing every step she took brought Manolito De La Cruz closer to the edge of his control. It was exhilarating to see him draw in a harsh breath, to see his eyes go smoky and dark, to see the dark need in him etched deep into his face. He was so handsome she couldn't breathe for looking at him. And he wanted her. Oh, yeah, he wanted her. Lust was carved deep. Hunger lit his dark eyes, the intensity feeding her own needs.
    Her body was alive with sensation, her breath coming in gasps. She was aware of the aching tingle in her breasts, the way her nipples were tight and hard. The damp heat gathering at the junction between her legs.
    All because he looked at her with that fierce possessive need. She wanted to rub her body along his, stroke him, please him, do whatever it took to satisfy those leaping flames of hunger in the depths of his eyes.
    He crooked his finger at her. "Come here." He patted the bed beside him.
    She licked her lips. If he touched her, when she wanted him this much, what would happen? She threw back her mane of rich, dark hair and sauntered over, watching with satisfaction the way heat flared in his eyes as his gaze drifted over her body.
    "You really are beautiful, MaryAnn."
    His voice was that blend of rasping velvet, but this time, a small rumbling growl was added. The note seemed to play over her skin, stroking like fingers. Her womb clenched, triggering tiny like quakes. His foot hooked the inside of her leg, ran up and down her calf and then tugged gently until she stood with her legs spread for him.
    He shifted, leaning forward to circle her bare ankle with his fingers. Very slowly he ran his palm up her leg.
    When she would have moved, his grip tightened in warning. "Don't."
    She tried to stay very still, but his touch sent electric currents slicing through her bloodstream and she couldn't stop shaking. His palm traced the shape of her leg, moved up to her knee, caressing, stroking, sending tiny flames licking along her calf and up her thigh as he moved higher, his fingers pressing into her body, imprinting the shape and texture of her into his mind.
    "I'm not certain I can stand for much longer." Was that her voice, a thick sensuality coating every note? Why was this so sexy, to stand completely naked while he was fully dressed? To have every inch of her explored by his wandering hands while she stood still. "I'm not a toy, Manolito." But it felt like it. His toy. His woman.
    His body to touch and tease and worship with his large, warm hands. And why did that turn her on? Why did she like being on display for him, seeing his body's reaction to her and feeling more empowered with every passing moment?
    "Of course you are. Your body is