Ghostwalker 01- Shadow Game

lips, a gentle persistence completely at odds with the tremor of intense hunger that ran beneath the surface of his body.
    His hands were gentle, tender even, as one curled around the nape of her neck to hold her still. The other followed the line of her back, the curve of her hips to rest possessively on her bottom.

    A flame shot through her bloodstream, wild and hot and all at once out of control. The sensation was shocking when he was so gentle, coaxing her response rather than demanding it. Lily felt weak with wanting him, tired of fighting the attraction between them. The temptation of heat and fire stole her good sense. Her mouth moved under his, her lips soft and pliant and welcoming.
    His mouth hardened, became hot and dangerous, compelling her to open for him, her dark sorcerer claiming his rights. At once she was swept into another world, one of pure feeling, of colors and sensations. Tongues of fire raced along her skin. Every nerve ending came alive. Her blood was thick and hot with need. Her body craving, craving , until her arms crept around his neck and her body molded itself to his.
    Her breasts ached, her body throbbed. His hands cupped her bottom, lifting, pressing her against the thick evidence of his arousal, rubbing her close until the friction was almost too much to bear.
    Ryland groaned, a sound of stark need. "I'm losing my sanity, Lily. I burn for you, day and night." The words were whispered against her open mouth. "It's not comfortable or pleasant, it hurts like hell. Put me out of my misery, honey. Help me, Lily. I can't think with wanting you."
    "Want" was such an insipid word. How could he explain to her what it was like for him?
    Day and night thinking of her, dreaming of her, a drug in his bloodstream, a craving that couldn't be sated. His body was always hot and unmercifully hard. There were no words adequate enough, intense enough, to describe the nights of sweat-soaked sheets and days with his jeans stretched so damned tight over his hard body he thought he might never be able to take another step without pain again.
    His hands on her bare bottom cupped her firm muscles, began a slow, intimate massage, deliberately, wickedly enticing her.
    Lily couldn't breathe with wanting him. His mouth fastened to hers, devouring her, the gentle coaxing manner lost in the inferno building between them. She let her body answer for her, without words, giving consent with her hands, sliding possessively over his body, while her tongue dueled with his.
    Ryland groaned softly, low in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a purr. Lily was trembling beneath his hands. He didn't want her to be afraid or nervous, not even for a moment. "I dreamt of this moment, Lily." He lifted her easily, casually, his mouth roaming her face and throat as he carried her to the bed. "So many times, I dreamt of this."
    Lily could feel the coolness of the sheet against her back as he pressed her into the mattress. His hands were strong, determined, possessive even as they roamed over her body. His face was etched with deep emotion, his eyes burning. He swept away the shirt, dropping it carelessly on the floor. She heard him gasp, the hitch in his breath, the husky sound in his throat. His palms trailed over her skin slowly from her shoulders, over the swell of her breasts, along her narrow rib cage to her tucked-in waist and the flat expanse of her stomach. "It's amazing how soft your skin feels."
    His touch was exquisitely gentle, completely at odds with the terrible hunger burning in his eyes. He bent his head slowly to her breast. His breath reached her skin first. Warm.
    Moist. His lips were soft.
    Lily jumped under his seeking mouth, all at once so sensitive even the brush of his hair was erotic against her skin.
    Ryland was determined to go slow, stay in control, hold his terrible hunger for Lily under some sort of rein. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her. There was plenty of time for wild cravings—right here, right now, it was all about pleasing Lily.
    Go slow. Go slow . The words beat like a litany in his head. His fingers trembled as they stroked her breasts. Worshiped her. He closed his mouth around the soft mound, a tight wet bond, his tongue dancing over her taut nipple as he suckled.
    Lily cried out, arched into him, craving his touch, needing more. Always more. "Take your clothes off, Ryland," she pleaded, "I want to touch you, look at you." Her voice, hungry with urgency, hungry for him,