Mary Putney - Angel Rogue

She gave him a smile filled with love. "Your problem, Lord Robert, is that you think too much."

Then she leaned forward and kissed him.

He could not resist her, yet for one crazed moment, as he thought of all of the people he had damaged, he tried. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

She smiled and raised herself above him, bracing herself with one arm. "Perfectly sure."

Waves of ebony hair framed the exotic features that had entranced him from the moment they had met. She was Kanawiosta, daughter of another land and another race. With her hair spilling over her shiftclad breasts, she looked like a pagan earth goddess, too mysterious for mortal man to know or possess, with a feminine power that could sear him to cinders.

But when she bent to him again, her lips were warm and real, her small, capable hands generous in their caresses. Surrendering, he opened his mouth to her drugging kiss.

He wanted to inhale her inside of himself so that she could mend the holes in his frayed spirit. He wanted to bury himself inside her and find shelter from the storm that had been raging in his head for a lifetime.

As the kiss intensified, she skimmed her hands over his shoulders and chest, the warmth of her touch glowing through his skin and reaching deep inside him to melt ancient aches. Finally she interrupted their embrace and pushed herself up with one arm, her eyes black with desire and her chest heaving under the translucent shift. "I'm glad you changed your mind."

"You changed it for me." He circled her breasts with his hands, using his thumbs to caress her nipples. They hardened, thrusting against the thin fabric. She closed her eyes and smiled, making a sound like a pleased cat.

He pushed her shift from her shoulders and down to her waist so that he could admire the sweet curve of her breasts. They were exactly right-not too large, not too small, deliciously crowned with circles the texture of sheared velvet. Huskily he said, "You belong in the Garden of Eden, where clothing was unknown."

"Eden was in a warmer climate than England," she said practically. Her smile turned wicked as she looked at his drawers. Even through the loose linen, his response to her was blindingly obvious.

"If we're going to pretend this is Eden, these must go." She tugged at the drawstring, then caught hold of his drawers and began pulling them off. It would have only taken a moment to remove them if she hadn't helped. Instead, her wandering, teasing hands made the process take much longer, and almost reduced him to incoherence.

When they were both as bare as Adam and Eve, he drew her forward so that she was lying on top of him. Her breasts crushed against his chest, the nipples a distinct, teasing pressure.

He could not get enough of the heated depths of her mouth. His hands glided down her back to linger on the ripe curves of her buttocks. Lost in yearning, he kneaded the firm muscles that lay beneath her satiny skin.

She sucked in her breath, and her lower body rocked against his. Her legs parted a little and his heated shaft slid between her thighs, rubbing against her with an intimacy just short of intercourse. She made a tiny mewling sound and her teeth nipped his collarbone when his hips thrust upward once, then again.

He wanted this to be slow and perfect, as she deserved, but she was making a shambles of his control. Struggling against the white heat that threatened to consume him, he caught her in his arms and rolled so that their positions reversed and he was above.

"Not so swiftly, Kanawiosta." He caught her wrists and pinned them to the mattress on both sides of her head. "In interests of justice, I deserve a chance to drive you mad."

"I'm a great believer in justice," she said with a ravishingly feminine smile.

Taking his time, he grazed her breasts with his chin, the hidden whiskers delicately abrading the silky, lavender scented skin until her body thrummed with desire. He bent his head and took the tawny tip of one nipple into his mouth, sucking and tugging until it was so rigid it grooved his tongue. Then he turned to her other breast.

When she exhaled feverishly and twisted against him, he trailed his mouth downward, over the arc of her ribs and the taper of her narrow waist. He paused to swirl his tongue around her navel, then nibbled the flat arc of her belly.

She strained against his pinioning hands, panting, "You've gotten your wish. In another five seconds, I'll be raving."

"Excellent." He straightened up and claimed her mouth again in a lushly sensual kiss. Abandoning all pretense of being in control, he released her wrists and wrapped one arm around her. His other hand glided downward, following the path of his earlier kisses until his fingers became tangled in feathery black curls.

She quivered when he first touched the hidden folds of female flesh. They were slick and swollen with moist heat.

He probed deeper until he found the exquisitely sensitive nub he sought. The gentle friction of his finger caused her to writhe frantically.

He broke their kiss so she could drag great gulps of air into her lungs. Then he closed his eyes, blocking out the beguiling sight of her so he could concentrate on the subtle messages of her body. Harder here. Back and forth again and again there, as her breath roughened and her hips bucked.

As the heady scent of passion filled his nostrils, her pliant nakedness became his whole world It had been unutterably long since he had held a woman like this, and never had he felt such deep yearning.

The wildness built higher and higher, filling her mind with crimson fire. When she could bear no more, she cried out, her thighs clamping on his hand as a vortex of sensations swirled through her. The enfolding strength of his embrace held her safe as her spirit spiraled skyward, soaring falcon free.

As she returned to earth, she sagged against Robin, dazed and trembling. He lay on his side, holding her close against him while one hand caressed her from shoulder to hip in long, easy strokes. She tilted her head back, and the satisfaction she saw in his eyes assuaged her sense of selfishness.

But underneath his composed surface, his body was tense and unfulfilled. She lay back on the pillows, then caught his hand and pulled him across her. "Your turn, Robin."

It took only a single slow, wanton roll of her hips to splinter his calm. His face stark with urgency, he parted her legs with one knee, then probed her intimately, separating the delicate folds. Nothing more was needed, for her body was still wetly welcoming.

He braced himself over her and positioned the velvety head of his shaft. Then he thrust forward, sheathing himself in her willing flesh with one swift stroke.

The pain was brief but intense, a shock wave that swept through her whole body in an instant. Then it was gone, leaving a not unpleasant sense of internal stretching, and the deep satisfaction of knowing that they were mated in the dance of life.

The effect on Robin was far worse. He stiffened, his expression stunned. "Good God, Maxie! Why didn't you say something?"

She smiled and slid her arms around him, clasping his hard buttocks to hold him tight against her. "Because I knew you would get one of those maddening attacks of gentlemanliness. You can't help it, you're an Englishman." She rolled her hips upward, drawing him deeper. "You're thinking too much again, Robin. Don't."

Unable to resist, he drove into her again and again, his breath fractured and irregular. Though she had never experienced such sensations, she knew in her marrow how to respond, how to match his rhythm and resonate to his passion. She welcomed the flagrant maleness of his assault as much as she rejoiced in the female power that could inflame and absorb such desire.

His body arched and went rigid. "Ah, God…" he groaned, his voice a low, shuddering prayer. Though she did not reach the same fiery pinnacle as before, she felt an echoing sense of release and fulfillment.

As his body softened, she smoothed her hands over his sweat slicked body, feeling the slow relaxation of his muscles. She touched her tongue to his shoulder, liking the saltiness, and the pounding of his heart, so close it seemed like her own.

He rubbed his cheek against hers, then rolled away and slid from the bed. Too exhausted even to be curious, she simply watched him cross the room. Garden of Eden indeed. Robin must be used to the casualness of naked lovers, but it was new to her, and an unanticipated pleasure. He was like a mountain lion, sleek and lithe and utterly masculine. The memory of what it had been like to have him inside her made her exhale roughly.

He went to the washstand and opened the drawer. After removing something, he returned to the bed and handed her a neatly folded towel. She used it to cleanse herself, and was pleased to see there were only a few spots of blood. It would have seemed gauche to stain a stranger's bed.

When she was done, he stretched out alongside her and drew her into his arms again. "Was I such a pathetic case that you felt compelled to do your utmost to patch me up?" he asked with rueful amusement.

She smiled. "I suppose there is a grain of truth in that, but it hardly does justice to either of us. I've wanted you from the time we met, Robin. Tonight I decided to stop acting like a demure English miss and behave like a woman of the Mohawk." She made an exaggerated face and nipped his shoulder. "We are famed for our ferocity. We take what we want, white man."

Tenderly, he massaged the back of her neck, his thumb exactly fitting a hollow he found there. "You had me thoroughly baffled. Given your age, your contraceptive tea, and general lack of maidenly vapors, I had assumed you were not a virgin."