Her mouth fed on his; her hands pushed at his clothes, at hers, to rid them of the unnatural encumbrances. She couldn’t get close enough to him; skin to skin was not going to do it. Jacques drew her shirt over her head, tossed it aside, nearly bent her backward to feed hungrily at her breasts. His hands slid up and down her sides, her narrow ribcage, the tiny waist.
“Let me into your heart, Shea,” Jacques murmured along the creamy swell of her breast, against the frantic rhythm beating in tune to his. “Right here, little one, let me in.” His teeth scraped her satin skin, his tongue caressed and stroked.
He dragged the jeans from her waist, pushed them down the curve of her slender hips. Dropping to his knees, he circled her hips with his arms, nuzzled the silk panties, burrowed deep. Shea cried out his name, and the wind whirled the sound and roared it back to her, surrounded her with him, with his scent and the strength of his desire.
“Want me, Shea. Like this. Like it is meant to be. Just like this. I have to have you. Out here in the middle of this storm. I have to have you right now.” He ripped the silk panties aside, clutched her to him, feeding on flowing, honeyed heat. Her body rippled with pleasure, and she writhed against his attacking mouth, but he didn’t stop, instead sending her over and over the edge.
Shea could only grab hold of his thick charcoal hair with her fist and hold on as the world rocked under her feet and the rain crashed to earth. Jacques somehow managed to do away with her shoes and drag the jeans from her body. She stood naked in the driving rain, so hot she was afraid the water would sizzle when it hit her skin.
“Do you want me, Shea?” This time his voice was hesitant, as if for all his strength, for all his power, one word from her would bring him crashing down. He was kneeling at her feet, his beloved face—so ravaged by torment, so beautifully male, so sensually Carpathian—staring up at her. He was lost without her; it was there for her to see. Raw. Stark. His total vulnerability. For just one moment the wind seemed to cease, and the storm held itself still as if the very skies were awaiting her answer.
“You can’t possibly know how much I want you, Jacques, even if you’re reading my mind.” She pulled him to his feet, leaned forward to brush his lips with hers. “I want you in my heart. I always have.” Her breath was warm on his chest. Her tongue tasted his skin, felt the answering jump of his heart. Her hands went to the buttons of his jeans, then slowly freed him from their tight confines.
A whip of lightning cracked across the sky, and for one moment his profile was lit up. His dark body, the taut muscles and his terrible need of her, was revealed starkly in the night. His eyes never left her, black and intense and so hungry. Shea’s arms circled him lightly, and she touched her mouth to his flat, hard stomach. Jacques jumped as if she had burned him. Her palms followed the carved contours of his buttocks, lingered for a moment as if memorizing him. Then she was on her knees, her hand cupping him, stroking and caressing the velvet shaft. Her every movement sent a shudder of pleasure dancing through his body, a rush of flames leaping to engulf him.
Jacques caught a fistful of her red hair, soaked and darkened by the driving rain. He urged her forward, thrusting his hips aggressively, consumed with need for her touch. She was laughing softly, tauntingly, as the heated, moist interior of her mouth slid over him. He groaned and held her to him, lifted his face to the wild storm.
“You have to mean it, Shea. You cannot do this and not mean it.” The words were torn from him, raw and hurting, as if from his soul.
She tightened her hold on him, followed his unintentional thrusting, deliberately enticed him further. He dragged her up, buried his face in her neck, breathing deeply to maintain a semblance of control. Hands spanning her waist, he lifted her.