A tremor quaked her frame, her fingers splaying against the wood of the doors.

The flick of his tongue, the intoxicating taste of her.

Her pulse thudded a rapid staccato, her wings moving in as erratic a rhythm. Lifting his free hand from her hip, he closed it firmly over the edge of her left wing and stroked down.

A choked-off sound, her pupils hugely dilated when her lashes flicked up. “Jason.”

Halting the intimate touch before it became too much, he spread his hand flat on her stomach. “How do I get you out of this?”

“The buttons that hold the wing slits closed.” Husky words. “There’s also a hidden zip at the side.”

Wanting her skin against his own, he took a single step away and swept her hair off her back and over her shoulder. The buttons were faceted black crystals, shimmering in the soft light. Slipping out the top buttons without touching the sensitive arch of her wings, he reached down and found the matching buttons at the bottom of her wings.

The center panel at the back fell down, over her lower curves and he watched as she tugged the front section off her arms, holding the crumpled fabric to her chest with a modesty that paradoxically made him burn. Using her free hand, she reached up to her side and pushed down a concealed zipper that went from her ribs to the slit at the bottom of her tunic.

Heat met his knuckles as he brushed them down the centerline of her back, fine tremors traveling over her skin. Were he a better man, he would stop this—Mahiya didn’t respond like a woman who’d had lovers enough to lose her shyness.

“. . . who doesn’t court me with lies, is honest in his desire.”

His desire held no deceit, was a fist in his gut.

Not forcing her to release the front of the tunic, he put his hands on the curve of her hips and pressed up against her again, his wings spread wide behind them. She shuddered at the intimate contact, because while she’d been busy with her tunic, he’d peeled off his T-shirt.

The softness of her feathers against his naked skin rushed sensory information through his mind, a molten river that held him captive. Bending to the sleek slope of her neck once more, he used a finger to brush aside an errant strand of hair, felt her responding shiver through the place where their bodies connected. Even as he pressed his lips to her sensitive skin, he stroked one hand down her arm to close his fingers over the ones she had fisted on her front, holding the tunic in place.

He didn’t force, just gave a gentle tug.

The tiniest hesitation before she uncurled her fingers and allowed him to take one hand, stretch it out to press against the door. When he traced his return journey down the slender warmth of her arm, she kept her hand where he’d put it. Switching sides, he swept her hair over to the other side with luxuriant slowness . . . because now that he was touching her, the fever in him had transformed into a dark sexual patience that promised crushing pleasure.

She knew what was coming this time when he stroked down her arm to her remaining fist, her breathing fast, shallow. Leaving his fingers over her own, he smoothed his free hand over the curve of her waist as he laved her neck with his lips before kissing the slope of one graceful shoulder, his face brushing the upper arch of her wings.

Trembling, she uncurled her fingers from her tunic and allowed him to ease that hand to press flat on the door, too. He caressed his way back down her arm just as slowly, kissing the temptation of her skin the entire time. Then he put both hands to where the tunic bunched at her hips and tugged.

It slipped down to pool at her feet. She stepped out of the fabric, let him kick it away. “The pants have”—a swallow, as if her throat was dry—“hooks at the ankles.”

“They’ll keep,” he said, rising to take in the picture she made, her wings slightly spread, her body naked to the waist, the lush curls of her hair falling over one shoulder. “No need to rush.” Reaching out, he ran his knuckles down the naked center of her back again, this time with deeper pressure, her soft cry a fist around his cock. “Close your wings.”

The second she did, he pressed close and shifted his hand around the waistband of her tapered cotton pants to undo the string-tie that held them up. Only allowing the garment to slide down to her hips, he redid the tie. Her abdomen quivered against the hand he spread on her satiny skin, his ring finger brushing the top edge of her pants . . . which just barely concealed the slick tightness of her.

His body pulsed, thick and hot.

Sensing it, she shivered but didn’t attempt to pull away as he slid his free hand up from her hip to just below her breasts. He didn’t cup the small, ripe mounds, just brushed his fingers along the underside before plucking at one taut nipple.

The sweet need in her responding cry whispered over his skin like a tactile caress. Rewarding her with another teasing brush, another tug that made her tremble, he insinuated his other hand just under the top of her waistband. Her navel tensed, relaxed with a shudder as he caressed her breasts once more.

Kissing her neck, so very sensitive, he moved his hand lower, under the silky roughness of fine lace to touch the delicate curls between her thighs, the damp heat of her the most exquisite temptation.

“Jason.” Dropping one hand from the door, she reached behind her to touch his hair. “Kiss me.” It was a whispered request.

He halted his erotic exploration and spun her around, her wings spread out in magnificent display behind her as she faced him, a woman with a blush of red over her cheekbones and taut breasts topped with dark nipples he knew he’d soon taste.

“You,” he murmured, closing his fingers over one breast, “are lovely.” Bracing his free arm beside her head, while her own arms wrapped around him as she rose on tiptoe again, he gave her the kiss she’d asked for. It was a naked, wet melding of mouths that had her rubbing against him, her abdomen sliding over his cock.

His hold on the reins slipped.

Reaching between them, he undid the tie on her pants, broke the kiss and her grasp to push them down. Her navel was a lure he couldn’t resist, the kiss he pressed there making her fingers fist in his hair before he ran his thumbs over her hipbones and pulled away. “Don’t move,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the inside of one satiny thigh.

Mahiya sucked in desperate gulps of air, the cadence of her desire music in his blood. It urged him to rip off her pants, but he grit his teeth and took the time to undo the hooks, forcing himself to go slow, to not overwhelm his lover with her sweet passion and willingness to trust him to lead the dance.

Finally the pants were off. He ran his hands slowly up her calves, her thighs, the white lace that was all that covered her now. By the time he rose to his full height, the scent of her musk perfumed the air. “Take them off.” He wanted to see her slick and ready, to taste her in the most erotic of kisses, but first he would have this indication that she remained a willing participant.

Her breath hitched . . . but she ducked her head and hooked her thumbs into the sides of the scrap of lace. He stepped back to watch her push that scrap down and off, because the visual sensation was a feast—though nothing could ever triumph touch for him, tactile pleasure his one true addiction.

Heat blazing over every inch of her skin, she pushed the crumpled lace aside with a slender foot, her lashes hiding her gaze. He reached out, ran the back of one finger over a pebbled nipple. She jerked. Unable to resist, he dipped his head, took part of her breast into his mouth, sucked.

Her knees buckled. “Jason, oh please . . .”

Holding her up as he released her sensitive flesh, he soothed her with a languid kiss that poured fuel on the black storm of his own passion. “Like that,” he murmured against kiss-swollen lips as he continued to seduce her with his mouth, “just like that.” Cock painfully hard, he slid one hand between her thighs and stroked lightly down the centerline of her sex with a single finger.

Over and over . . . and over again.

Her breath turned into jagged gasps, the tip of his finger slick with her need, her hands gripping at his arms. Dazed eyes locked with his own as he broke the kiss, and he knew the pleasure was building in her, a slow crescendo.

“Fly.” It was rough encouragement as he demanded another kiss, craving the contact. “I have you.” He continued with his slow, relentless caress, touching the glistening nub at the apex of her thighs with each stroke now that she’d spread her thighs farther in an effort to deepen the intimate contact.

Her fingernails dug into his arms, her neck arched.

Bending her over his arm, he took part of her neglected breast into his mouth, ran his teeth over the taut flesh as he released it . . . at the same time that he captured the sensitive nub between her thighs in his fingertips and pressed hard.

“Jason!”

Raising his head, he removed his hand before the pleasure racking her body became painful. “I have you,” he repeated, nuzzling his face against the side of hers. “I have you.”

Only when she stopped trembling did he shift his hold to her hips and raise her until she could wrap her legs around his waist. Her eyes were lazy, sated, her kiss languid. Arms twining around his neck, she opened for him with a sensual generosity that made him want to devour, her fingers weaving through his hair. He reached between them to undo his jeans, grip his cock, and position himself at her entrance.

A soft gasp into his mouth as the head of his cock rubbed against her passion-swollen flesh and then he was pushing into the silken welcome of her sheath.

“Oh!” Mahiya gripped him tighter with every part of her body, her internal muscles continuing to ripple with trailing waves of her pleasure.

Shuddering, he dropped his forehead onto her own as he fought the urge to shove. Her body was telling him it hadn’t been used in such a way for a long time, her muscles struggling to stretch around him.

“It’s all right, Jason.” Fingers on his cheek, kisses gentle and tender and unexpected. “I want you so much.”

He drew in a ragged breath, pushed a fraction deeper. A bit more. Scalding heat, feminine muscles pulsing on his rigid flesh. The pleasure was almost pain, the bite exquisite. Turning his mouth to brush against her own, he continued to work his cock into her, slow and relentless.

“Jason.”

Flexing his hips at the whimper of sound, he forced himself to halt. “Does it hurt?” he asked bluntly.

A dazed look. “It burns and yet it feels good. I want you in me.”

That was all he needed to hear.

Sliding his hands under her thighs, he lifted her legs off his hips and pushed her knees up and wide, his strength more than enough to keep her pinned as he thrust into her to the feel of her nails digging into his back as her body spasmed around him, bathing his cock in molten desire.

Then he began to move.

23

Honor sat in sunlight rich as honey and as languorous, a glass of orange juice in hand and Dmitri’s white shirt loose and comfortable around her, watching her husband pace back and forth across the sprawling gardens that surrounded their private villa. He held a phone to his ear, gave clipped orders in a tone that said he expected to be obeyed.

He’d asked her if she wanted to explore the countryside, but all she wanted was to be with Dmitri. They made love in the sunshine and in the dark, played bedroom games that caused her to blush, and fed each other treats they had delivered from a discreet grocer in the nearby village. It was a lazy, hazy existence, and she was glad for it after the horror of what had gone before.