Best 35 quotes in «hot sex quotes» category

Fionna had thought he could shock her no more. But what he did next... Pleasantly rough fingertips skimmed the sensitive skin behind her knees, then lifted them high. With the breadth of his shoulders, he braced her wide apart. Wide apart... and open. She gasped, for now she was vulnerable in a way she'd never dreamed might happen. "You said you trusted me," he reminded her, one side of his mouth curling up. "Do you trust me, Fionna?" Fionna let out a ragged breath. Acknowledgement came in the merest rise and fall of her chin. Yet her body jerked when he brushed his lips across the hollow of her belly. Her heart jolted when his mouth traced a shattering path to the inside of one slender thigh. Her every thought gave way when the journey continued. His hands slid beneath her to cradle her buttocks. With the pads of his thumbs, he parted her soft down, exposing hot, furrowed flesh. Her eyes widened, for she had gleamed his intent. Her heart was near to bursting. With the wanton blade of his tongue he touched the center of her core, circling that aching bud of desire and tugging it into his mouth, much the same way as he had sucked her nipples. And in so doing... he proved that he was far more learned than one might ever have imagined. And immensely more talented as well. Time stood still as he tasted her again and again, his mouth divinely tormenting. Tasted her until she was slick from his tongue, slick with desire.

An arm about her back, he guided his rod between soft, silken thighs, rubbing her cleft, letting her feel the rigidness of his erection. Her eyes widened; it was as if he could see her heart stop. Her legs went wide. Aidan groaned and clamped her against him. He was shaking with need. God help him, he couldn't stop. He couldn't stave off his desire. Not now. Not yet. And when he plunged deep, her silken heat and warmth surrounded him, sending him to a place where nothing existed but the two of them.

For long moments, head back, slowly riding him, she let sensation rule, let her senses expand and fill her mind. All but overwhelmed by sensual delight, by an awareness of her body and its potential for pleasure more extensive and more compelling than ever before, she slowed. He growled, a guttural sound that sparked a completely different awareness. An instant later, even before she could lift her lids, he rolled, taking her with him, trapping them both in a welter of covers. Cushioned in the billows of the bed, he held her beneath him and thrust- hard, deep. With a cry, she arched; as he thrust again, even deeper, she desperately caught her breath, then wrapped her arms about him, lifted her legs and gripped his flanks, and raked her nails across his back as she joined him in frantic urgency as he rode her. Hard, fast, desperate for fulfillment, willing to surrender all just to reach that peak. And then they were there, panting, wanting, reaching, stretching for the glory. It broke upon them, swept them up, shattered them, then on a gust of deep, mindless pleasure, surged through them and left them wrecked. Wrecked with pleasure. Smiling sillily, dizzy with delight, softly laughing, they slumped in each other's arms, and let the moment cradle them.

A strong hand snared one buttock. Fionna emitted a sound of pleasure. Her thighs were open. Damp and waiting. But at the last instant, with another swift move that astounded her, he twisted so that she lay atop him. "Aidan." His name was half-stammer, half-plea. "I'm not sure how to... what to..." Both hands now clamped around her buttocks, he showed her what she needed to know. "There, sweet," he breathed, there's not much to it." One single, gliding move found him planted to the hilt inside her. Her eyes flew wide. "I think there is," she said faintly. And then there was no stopping it. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, she churned and thrust, with Aidan gasped and plunged. She buried her head against his throat. He arched his head and exploded inside her. When it was over, Fionna realized she still lay sprawled above him. It had been a heated, hasty- and unquestionably lusty- union.

Beneath her skirts, she guided his erection to her entrance; drawing his fingers from her sheath, so hot and wet and ready for him, he caught her hand, twined her fingers with his, and drew them away. And sank slowly, carefully, into her scalding heat. Her breath hitched. She tensed, then through the kiss caught her breath and fought to relax, to reverse the instinctive tightening. Her fingers clutched his. He pressed in, steady, sure, not too fast yet not too slow that she had time to think too much. Then he reached the barrier that was her maidenhood; with one powerful thrust he breached it, with the movement forging deep into her body. She cried out, the sound muffled between their lips, and tensed. He held still, giving her time to adjust. Giving himself time to still his whirling senses. To assimilate the feel of scalding velvet gripping him so tightly. To grit his teeth and hold against the powerful, all but overwhelming urge to ride her, hard and fast. As some part of him had wanted to do for a very long time.

He held her down in the cushioning billows of the bed, kissed her, fondled and provocatively caressed until she arched, with her body begged; breaking from the kiss, he trailed hot, wet, openmouthed kisses down the taut line of her throat, over the creamy upper swell of her breast, and gave her the first course of what she'd asked for. He feasted on her breasts without quarter, licked, suckled, and laved as she writhed and gasped beneath him, as her hands gripped and tightened on his skull as he drew every last gasp and moan he could from her, then moved on. Over her midriff, down over her waist, pausing to pay homage to the sensitive indentation of her navel, then he shifted still lower. Trapping one of her long legs beneath him, lifting and draping the other over his shoulder, he held it there, held her steady as he pressed an ardent kiss to the curls shielding her mons. He heard her breath hitch, felt her body tremble, then tense and coil. Glancing at her face, he caught a glimpse of intense cornflower blue burning beneath her heavy lids, saw her lips slick and swollen from his kisses, parted in shocked disbelief. Deliberately he slid lower, bent and set his lips to the slick, swollen flesh between her thighs. She jerked, moaned. He licked and she screamed. She reached for him, but could only touch his head. Her fingers twined in his hair, tightened; she tensed to tug, but he licked again, then slowly, expertly probed, and she didn't move. Panting, eyes shut, she waited. Inwardly smug, he settled to worship her in that way, too, to taste her, to fill his senses with her, and hers with him. She let him have his way, let him taste her as he wished, let him try her with his tongue and drive her mindless. He asked, and she surrendered; he took, and she gave. In return, he pleasured her with unwavering devotion until she sobbed and cried out his name. Rising, he rolled her firmly onto her back, trailed kisses like fire up her belly and breasts as he loomed over her, spreading her thighs wide, settling between. He held himself over her, arms braced as he kissed her, tasted her desperation on her lips. Then with one, single powerful thrust he joined them. She closed about him like a glove, and he gasped; like the goddess he'd named her she welcomed her servant into her temple and embraced him. He moved, and she moved with him, fluidly meeting him as they gave themselves up to the now familiar dance. His thoughts fractured, ripped from him as a whirlpool of sensation rose up, drenched, then drowned him.

He moved in deep nudges that corresponded to the caress of his fingers, refusing to give her the long thrusts she craved. His restraint made her wild. Burying her face in the mattress, she smothered her involuntary cries as her hips churned upward. Heat curled in her abdomen and radiated outward in hectic ripples. Every part of her being was focused on the place where he joined her, the thick pulsing organ that pleasured her until her senses were spurred into an ecstatic explosion. The shuddering contractions wrapped around his sex, and Ross groaned loudly against her back, letting the climax flow over him, drain and deliver him. Breathing hard, he hung over her until his arms trembled. Collapsing onto his side, he kept her with him, still enclosed in the depths of her body. Bathed in sunshine, they lay amid the tangled sex-scented bedclothes.

He played with her, flicking and stroking, his fingers sinking into her wet, gripping depths. It aroused him to see how hard she was trying to be quiet and couldn't manage it, strangled moans and gasps slipping out. After unbuttoning his trousers and freeing his erection, West braced Phoebe up against the wall and entered her. She let out a cry of surprise at finding herself mounted on his hips, her legs dangling helplessly. Keeping her supported, he began to thrust, nudging against the bud of her sex with every upward plunge. "Is this good?" he asked gruffly, even though he could feel her throbbing response. "Yes." "Too deep?" "No. No. Keep doing that." She clutched at his shoulders, her pleasure rising rapidly toward climax.

Having weathered the storm once, she embraced it and gloried in it, thrilled to be wanted with such unwavering intent, with such concerted focus, with such... adoration. Despite the passion driving him, despite the desire that had hardened his body, that infused every caress with a driven edge, behind all was a care that never wavered. A care that had him holding back, his breathing as ragged as hers, his kiss every bit as desperate, until his clever fingers sent her wits spinning from this world and submerged her senses in indescribable pleasure. Only then did he shift, pin her beneath him, and thrust into her. She gasped, arched beneath him, then moaned as he took advantage of her instinctive invitation and drove even deeper into her very willing body. She clamped around him and he paused, eyes closed, every muscle clenched and tight, on the cusp of quivering, then he drew in a labored breath, withdrew and thrust anew, and she lost touch with the world. And once again all she knew was the heat and the flames and the steady, relentless possession. The giddy pleasure and delight, and beneath and through it all threaded the elusive evidence of his loving. It was there in the catch of his breath when she shifted, rose beneath him and moved against him, letting the fascinatingly crinkly hair on his chest abrade her excruciatingly sensitive nipples. There in the way he slowed, metaphorically gripped her hand and drew her back from the brink so that she didn't rush ahead and end the pleasure all too soon, but instead caught her sensual breath and joined agin with him in that primitive and evocative dance. More all-consuming, all-absorbing. More intimate. Love was there in the guttural whispers of encouragement he fed her when she once more started that inexorable climb, when passion roared and she suddenly found it upon her, near and so intense. There in the way in which he held her, cradled her, all the while moving so relentlessly within her, stoking the flames, sending her senses careening. There in the moment when ecstasy claimed her and he held her close, and held still, muscles quivering with restraint, prolonging the moment until she wept with simple joy. There in the final helpless moment when he lost himself in her.

Her legs splayed wide as he dropped her onto the mattress, his big body settling between them, and she cried out as he slid back inside her, his hardness stretching her lusciously. He began to pump in a slow, steady motion that wouldn't alter no matter how she writhed and begged him to go harder, faster, deeper. His mouth went to her breast, sucking at a nipple, tugging sweetly in time to his thrusting. Her body contracted every time he pushed inward, clasping him hungrily, sensation building until a powerful climax began, wringing every inch of her body with raw force. She fell silent, her hips locked in a steep arch against his weight. Still the measured rhythm went on, extracting every last flicker of sensation. He was tireless, unhurried, using himself to satisfy her. At last Phoebe collapsed down on the bed, shivering uncontrollably. West plunged into her... once, twice, thrice... and pulled out to crush the thick wet rod of his sex against her stomach. He buried a savage growl in the bedclothes and clutched the mattress on either side of her so hard she thought he might gouge holes in it. As she felt the hot spill of his release, an unfamiliar croon came from her throat, a sound of primal satisfaction at having pleased her mate.

His expression was graven, a mask of urgent desire. "Wrap your legs around me." She could barely make out the gravelly command; it took an instant to register that his palms had slid beneath her bottom, supporting her weight, then to make her muscles obey her enough to obey him. Immediately her thighs clamped about him, he lowered her hips, and she realized- felt the broad head of his erection nudge against her entrance, then he pressed in, and drew her down. As he thrust upward. Head falling back, she gasped as he impaled her, as the sensation of him riding hard and high into her body engulfed her senses, and dragged them down. Into a whirlpool of seething desire, of passion so hot it scorched, of a need so fiery it melted her bones. He lifted her, and brought her down again, thrusting upward as he did, and every nerve she possessed shook, shuddered. With a need he understood; legs braced, he held her in his arms before the fireplace, the heat from the flames dancing over her flushed skin as he gripped her bottom and held her to him, held her body against him and filled her again and again.

His hand slid between their bodies and she felt him stroke her while he pressed forward in slow nudges, his every movement careful and easy. Each plunge of his shaft drew a moan from her throat, and she bit her lip to hold in the sounds. Suddenly he was all the way inside her, gliding full and deep, burying every inch of his sex. He withdrew almost to the head of his shaft, then submerged the entire length with excruciating slowness, his chest hair teasing her nipples, his flat stomach brushing over hers. She writhed upward, her hips pushing into his long, pleasuring thrusts until she begged frantically, "Please don't be gentle, don't, don't, do it harder, please-" His mouth covered hers, muffling her cries. Her body shook with violent spasms, gripping the hard organ inside her until Ross let out a groan and seized her hips with both hands, spending his own passion. As her body continued to twitch and jerk with delight, Ross cradled her in his arms and kissed her again. Filled with his tongue and his sex, she felt another wave of sensation roll over her, and she moaned and shivered with a second climax.

In this position, she was able to control his depth. What an amazing feeling it was to have all that sinewy power beneath her, his robust body braced between her thighs. There was a flicker of challenge in his eyes, and his hips nudged upward in playful invitation. Helen moved carefully, rising and lowering, catching her breath at the hot slide of him within her. He was patient, letting her experiment, while his heart beat like a trip-hammer beneath her flattened palms. She found a gliding back-and-forth motion that sent spasms of heat through her. Judging from his ardent groan, he seemed to enjoy it as well. His mouth caught at the tips of her breasts whenever she moved high enough, and she began to delight in teasing him, sometimes letting him have what he wanted, sometimes withholding. The ribbon had come loose from her hair, the curtain of silvery locks tickling his face and chest. "You like to torment me," Rhys said, his eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure. "Yes." In fact, it was fun, enormously exciting fun of a kind she'd never imagined. The hint of a grin crossed his lips and vanished quickly as she plunged harder, filling herself with him. He began to answer her rhythm in earnest, fisting his hands in the bedclothes. She loved the sight of him lost to passion, his head tilted back and his strong throat exposed, the muscles of his chest sharply delineated. A storm of sensation swept through her, and her shuddering body locked on him. He continued to thrust, the movements becoming jerky and forceful, finishing in a powerful shove that arched his hips and most of his back completely off the bed.

It. May. Not. Be Fair. But. It. Can. Be. Good.

I want you, Leilani. I'm so hard it hurts. But your scent entices me, lures me." He drew the sheet farther down, past her navel, along the soft swell of her stomach. "I want to taste, to savor. Here." He kissed his way to the tender flesh high inside her inner thigh. "And here." He traced a similar path to the other side. "But I want to feast... here." He drew his tongue along the center of her, and groaned at the sweet taste of her. Lani's hips started to pump harder, and he could feel a fine quivering begin along her skin. She rocked and keened, and when he plunged his tongue deeply into her, she cried out, reached down and buried her fingers in his hair. Guiding him, urging him, demanding him, release broke over her in wracking, wrenching waves. "Baxter, please... please." Her hips slowed, but her body continued to gather and jerk as the aftershocks kept twitching through her. "Now," she demanded. "I'm- I'm safe, protected, we don't need-" She broke off as he kissed his way back up the center of her torso while she continued to writhe beneath him. The way she responded to him, making herself vulnerable to him, moved him in unpredictable ways. He shifted so he was directly on top of her and pressed himself between her thighs, which she parted, wrapping them around his hips, digging her heels into his lower back as she lifted for him, and took him in. Take her, he did, sliding all the way in, groaning as she gripped him fully, so tightly, so wetly, so perfectly, it was the fulfillment of every fantasy he'd ever had. Even though his heart was drumming inside his chest, and his body was priming itself for a ferocious release, climaxing wasn't the only thing dominating his thoughts. He met her every hip thrust, echoed every groan, every growl, as they worked their every frenzied way to completion, together. He could feel her climb again as she rolled her hips beneath him, and reality continued to eclipse fantasy. "Come with me, yes," he said, claiming her mouth even as she was nodding in agreement. He pulled her into his arms and moved more deeply, as she instinctively shifted to take him more tightly inside her. They moved with a rhythm that was as old as man's creation, and uniquely and utterly their own.

Rothbury," she whispered. "I need to feel you inside of me again." His eyes fluttered open, then met her gaze. Staring into her eyes, he positioned himself at her opening, then with one hand at her hip, he entered her slowly at first, thinking she must be tender from the day before. She arched against him, silently giving him leave to enter more fully. And he did, then, nearly losing himself in that second. Together they began to move, their rhythm steady and firm. Soon her moans grew desperate and her heels pressed into his buttocks. He increased the pace, pumping into her wildly now, determined to bring them both to utter bliss.

The hard length of his arousal pressed against her stomach, no longer a weapon to be feared but an instrument of pleasure. Lara reached for it cautiously, encircling the shaft with her fingers, sliding them along the hot silken skin. Her touch made him shiver, his body responding eagerly to the caress. She sensed that there were things he wanted to show her, teach her, but for now he let her explore him as she liked. She moved down to the pouch between his legs, testing the pendulous weight, and slid her fingers up the shaft to the smooth, broad tip. He groaned and lowered his mouth to her throat, kissing her, telling her in guttural murmurs how much he wanted her. Pushing her knees upward and apart, he settled in the lee of her thighs and took her, sheathing himself in a deep slide. Lara gasped and wriggled to accommodate him. There was only an instant of discomfort before her body accepted him in dewy welcome. He began a steady rhythm, driving straight and sure within her, angling himself to press against her sex with each stroke. She lifted herself up to him, cradling him with her hips, her hands gripping the dense muscles of his back. He was hard, delicious, riding her just as she wanted, covering her with his masculine weight, plunging deeper, deeper... The pleasure of it was overwhelming. She cried out at the height of it, her body filled with a liquid rush of delight, a shudder of satisfaction. It was equally pleasurable to share Hunter's fulfillment, to hold him in her arms and feel him shake with sensations he could no longer control. He remained inside her for a long time while his mouth covered hers, caressing and tasting.

The thought went through my mind that we should film ourselves in our sexual act, and project our frenzied copulation permanently onto the walls of the tea-room, as a lesson to wake up the boring people who drank tea here, and to show them what life was really all about.

He dragged in a shuddering breath and forced his lids up. He looked down, at her on her knees, leaning into him, her glorious hair rippling over her shoulders, gilded in the firelight, shifting as her head moved and she pleasured him. He saw his fingers locked on her head, felt hers slide higher, circle the base of his staff, and tighten.

Hushing her with his mouth, he lifted and turned her carefully until she was lying on her stomach. Dazed and shaking, she felt him push a pillow beneath her hips, and then another, until she was propped up high and open as he knelt between her thighs. His fingers stroked and spread the folds of her sex, and then he was pushing inside her again, and her moans became uncontrollable. Helplessly she turned her head to the side, her cheek pressed against the mattress, while her twisting hips were steadied in the firm grasp of his hands. He thrust even deeper than before, probing and stroking and pleasuring her with a measured rhythm... deliberately pushing her over the edge of sanity. She begged, sobbed, groaned, even cursed, and she heard him laugh softly as he drove her into a shattering burst of rapture. Her body clenched around his sex in throbbing contractions, milking a climax from him until a deep growl was torn from his throat. Panting, Marcus lowered his body over hers, his mouth at the nape of her neck, his sex still buried inside her. Resting passively beneath him, licking her swollen lips, Lillian mumbled, "And you called me a savage." She caught her breath as he chuckled, the hair on his chest rubbing like rough-napped velvet against her back.

If I am so transparent, then what am I thinking now?" Ross studied her for a moment, and a slow smile curved his lips. "You're wondering how soon I'm going to make love to you again." Before she could reply, he pulled her farther atop his body, settling her legs on either side of his hips. To her astonishment, his sex stirred into vibrant life, springing hard against her vulnerable flesh. "And this is your answer," he murmured, pulling her head down to his.

I thought to myself how we were so wrapped up in this animal act, that he couldn’t care less about his tea shop business, and I couldn’t care less about my job. That’s real sex that is, real passion: where you abandon all your boringly sensible thoughts, and all that tediously responsible side of yourself, as you give yourself to what you know really matters more, deep in the core of you: frantic sex.

It was worth the battle to restrain them to hear her increasingly ragged gasps, to feel the desperation mount within her and know it wasn't him driving, wasn't him orchestrating and controlling her that made her so. As they moved together, her riding him, him thrusting just enough to appease them both, to let passion flow unimpeded on its course, as the familiar landscape of sexual delight flowered around them, as passion wound through them and tightened its snare, he was distantly aware of how different the familiar was. How much more layered with feeling, with meaning. With emotion. The end, when it came, was an implosion of sensation, finer, sharper, reaching more deeply than any such moment before. With a cry, high, triumphant, and primarily female, she shattered in his arms; the contractions of her sheath caught him, drew him on. Release swept him, and he cried her name, held her down, his grip unforgiving as he shuddered beneath her.

One glimpse of a wide, hair-matted chest, the merest hint of a jutting arousal was all she had before he planted his hands very deliberately alongside her body. Fionna smothered a sound of disappointment. Maidenly honest be damned, she'd wanted to see for herself the part of him that- The thought was cut abruptly short when he stretched out above her. Skin against skin. Breasts against chest. Belly to belly. There was not an inch of her body that wasn't engulfed by his. Had he not propped himself up on his elbows, his weight would have been intolerable. He kissed her again, and she sensed his struggle to keep his desire in check. A little playfully- no, perhaps naughtily- she ran her toe up and down the knotted muscles of his calf. Aidan lifted his head. Now he was the one who gave a hoarse laugh. "Do you toy with me, you little witch?" The shift in her leg had also made her breathtakingly aware of the steely erection that lay thick and hard against her belly... as well as the twin fullness that lay below.

Panting, she pressed closer to him as he unfastened the row of buttons and freed his swollen erection. With a soothing murmur, Ross positioned her over his hips, canting them to just the right angle. She sank down eagerly, gasping as he filled her completely. Her hands clutched at the fabric of his coat, fingertips digging into the smooth broadcloth. "Hold onto me," he whispered. When she had wrapped herself around him, he picked his feet up from the stepping board and let the chamber-horse seat drop several inches in a sudden electrifying jolt. The movement forced Sophia harder onto the hilt of his shaft, and she whimpered in pleasure. Ross smiled as he stared into her wide, unfocused eyes. Color burnished the edges of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and sweat misted his skin. His thighs went taut as he braced his feet on the board once more, then let them drop again. "Is this all right?" he murmured. "Is it too much?" "No," she gulped. "Do it again." Obligingly he began a bouncing motion that elicited a rhythmic squeak from the chamber horse. Air rushed from the contraction and expansion of the cushions like the sighing of fireplace bellows. Sophia held on tightly, her body gripping his intimately. Each drop of the seat caused the stiff, thick shaft to push harder inside her, again, again, until the stroking, grinding motion caused her to convulse in a release that had no end. Feeling the spasms of her body, Ross impaled her one last time and groaned in satisfaction. When at least he leaned backward with her body clasped in his arms, Sophia draped herself over him, utterly relaxed. Their bodies were still joined , and she moaned as he flexed inside her.

Sarah rode with him and felt her body rejoice, felt her senses whirl and sing with pleasure. She was exquisitely conscious, to her fingernails aware of the shattering intimacy of their joining. Eyes closed, hearing suspended, her world condensed just to him and her, and another world came alive, a landscape filled with feeling, with heat and longing, with sensation and power and the promise of glory. He moved within her and she rode out each thrust, met and matched him, welcomed and reluctantly released him again. Pleasure and delight bloomed, welled, then spilled through her. The momentary pain had faded so fast it was already a dim memory, overwhelmed by the solid and immediate reality of him hard and strong and so elementally male, joining so deeply and inexorably with her. His fingers slid from hers, sliding down and around to one globe of her bottom. He tilted her hips, and she gasped as the altered position let him penetrate her more deeply still. The reined power behind each deliberate thrust sent a thrill arcing through her. A primitive sense of danger, the recognition of vulnerability; he was so much stronger than she, his body so much harder, so much more powerful than hers. Yet he was careful. The realization slid through her, but she couldn't focus enough to think, then the heat of their passion rose another degree and claimed her. Sent fire and a hungry, ravenous need sliding through her veins, making her writhe, making her gasp. It inexorably branded desire deep into her flesh, marking and searing, until she burned. Until her body was aflame, until the flames coalesced and concentrated, burning deeper and hotter until she sobbed and clung and desperately urged him on, and he rode her faster, harder, deeper. Until with a rush, all heat and yearning, she found herself clinging to that final, dizzying peak. Felt him thrust one last time and shatter her, felt the furnace within her that he'd stoked and fed rupture, felt glory pour forth and sear her veins. And rush through her. She spiraled through a void, cushioned in heated bliss, her mind disconnected. Dimly, she heard him groan, long-drawn and guttural, was distantly aware that, joined deeply with her, he went rigid in her arms. She felt, from far away, the warmth of his seed spill inside her. Buoyed by glory, cocooned in golden rapture, she smiled.

She felt his fingers pressing her swollen folds open, his tongue touching the delicate peak between them. Her elbows collapsed, and she fell back to the mattress with a groan, staring blindly into the darkness. Oh, God, he was licking her, in long, sinuous laps that made her body quiver with desperate excitement. She could not stop the motion of her hips, rising upward in repeated surges. His hands slid beneath her, guiding her rhythm while his tongue strummed, bathed, flirted.

Sitting on his lap, their limbs all a-tangle, she splayed her hands wide across the dark fur on his chest, coasting them down his belly to tangle in the thick nest between his thighs. Her mouth followed, her lips hot on his naked skin. She sank to her knees on the floor. Aidan went very still. No. He could not believe that she would... His hands twisted in her hair. It was the most incredibly erotic sensation in his life. Her tongue danced and circled, down to the very root of him and back up, tasting and exploring that most sensitive part of him. He gritted his teeth until he could stand no more. He caught his hand in her hair and pulled her up and onto his rod. They were both frantic, twisting wildly in perfect union, until at last he exploded inside her, spurting wildly again and again and again.

Somehow she willed enough strength back into her knees to satisfy him, and she moaned as he began to thrust more powerfully and deeply than ever before. Each inward drive was a sensuous jolt, lifting her heels from the floor. She breathed and sweated and pushed back at him, the feelings rising thickly to a crescendo. The repeated wet impacts of their flesh embarrassed and excited her, and there was nothing she could do about any of it; she had lost all hope of control. One of his hands slid to the triangle between her thighs, caressing her pulsing flesh, while the other went to her breast and clamped the nipple gently between his thumb and finger. That was all she needed. She pressed her clenched fists against the door and cried out repeatedly, in ecstasy that sounded like anguish. Satisfaction rushed and ebbed, back and forth, in heavy waves that soon broke into shudders. She really couldn't stand then, her limbs quaking, and he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Before her body had even settled completely on the bed, he was in her again, thrusting almost savagely, reaching beneath her hips to pull her up into each plunge.

Sophia..." Ross ground out the word against the side of her neck. "Let's go to my room..." "Now," she insisted. Greedily she fumbled with the front of his trousers to free his straining erection. Abandoning all attempts to dissuade her, Ross helped her with a muffled laugh. "Insatiable minx," he accused, sliding her hips to the edge of the cabinet. He entered her in a smooth, deep plunge that made her gasp. "There... will this satisfy you?" "Yes. Yes..." She leaned back helplessly against his arm. Supporting her back and buttocks, Ross lifted her completely off the cabinet, keeping her fully impaled. He brought her to the door and pinned her against it, allowing her legs to dangle helplessly on either side of his hips. Sophia moaned as he thrust at exactly the right angle, stroking inside her, rubbing against the most sensitive part of her sex.

Tell me what to do," she said, the words blowing against him. Whatever sanity Ross had left promptly burned to cinders. He gasped out instructions, his hands trembling as he clasped her head. "Use your tongue on the tip... yes... now take as much as you can in your... oh, God..." Sophia's fervor more than made up for her lack of experience. She did things that Eleanor would never have tried, tugging at his aching flesh, her velvety tongue swirling and lapping. Ross sank to his knees and pulled at her clothes, tearing them, and she gave a breathless laugh at his roughness. His mouth caught greedily at hers, while she wriggled to help him strip the shredded gown down her legs. A primal sound of satisfaction escaped him when Sophia's naked body was finally revealed. He lifted her to the bed, pausing only to remove his trousers before he joined her. Eagerly she slid between his legs and took his sex into her mouth once more, resisting his efforts to bring her face up to his. Groaning repeatedly, he surrendered to her ministrations, his fingers tangling in the locks of her hair. However, he was not satisfied for long- he wanted more, he craved the taste of her. Impatiently he seized her hips, maneuvering her until she was positioned at his mouth. He buried his face amid the intimate curls, his hands gripping her thighs as she jerked with surprise. He searched her with his tongue, licking deeply into the seam of moist folds. Avidly he hunted for the tiny engorged peak where her pleasure was concentrated. Finding it, he nibbled, stroked, darted his tongue at it, as he felt her stiffen in approaching climax. He backed off, gentling, while she moaned pleadingly around his cock. Twice more he brought her to the edge, making her suffer, tormenting until she responded with desperate tugs of her mouth. Each time Sophia drew on him, Ross sank his tongue deep inside her, matching his rhythm to hers, until she shuddered hard as her pleasure finally reached its zenith. She cried out against his groin, her mouth still clamped around him. His own culmination approached rapidly, and he moved his hands to her head. But she resisted his attempts to dislodge her, and the silly strokes of her tongue became too much to bear. The climax broke over him, and he arched and gasped as he was consumed in an explosion of pure white fire.

The fist on his chest uncurled. A finger began to stray, tracing the line of hair down toward his navel. It was a slow, tentative movement, for this was all too new. Passion unchained. Not just her own nakedness, but his.Especially his. She was still half-afraid to touch him. Then all at once he caught her hand, as if he could stand it no longer, and guided it down the tight grid of his belly, between the ridge of his hips. Straight to the heart of him. She gasped in shock when he dragged her hand up and down, up and down. Her eyes flew wide. It was a caress as outrageously shocking as when he'd slid his fingers inside her; as bold and daring as the man himself. "Aid- Aidan!" She stuttered his name, part-question, part jarringly shocked. "No, it's all right. Touch me, sweet, just like that... Oh, yes, just like that." His whisper compelled surrender. Watching him, the glint of his eyes, half-closed now, her reserve slipped away.

Through the tempest of their passions, through the wild turbulent ride, Sarah was conscious only of sensation. It buffeted her, overwhelmed her mind, etched itself on her awareness. So that despite the heat and the delirious pleasure of his body moving over hers, despite the powerful thrusts that physically rocked her, despite the impossible clamoring urgency that had her tilting her hips to take him yet more deeply, that had her scoring his back urging him desperately to ride her yet more forcefully, the one element that shone through the raging veil was his hunger for her. It was every bit as deep and powerful and demanding as her hunger for him. No- more. For him, in him, that hunger was so potent, so deeply ingrained that she had no doubt he would give every last gasp to sate it- to consummate it, to give it life, here with her in their bed. It drove him, and controlled him, and drew her into the maelstrom, too, until she was as passionate as he in finding the way to appease it, to sate it, to discover the way into its temple and sacrifice herself at its altar. And at the last, in the final mind-shattering moment when she clung by her fingernails over the sensual void, the veils ripped apart and she saw that hungry power clearly- saw, felt, with her own senses knew what it was. Unquestionably, beyond doubt. Then he thrust one last time and with a cry she shattered; with a sob she lost her grip on reality and fell. Weightless for that moment, that briefest of journeys, falling from heavenly pleasure into satiation's soothing sea.

Watch," he whispered hoarsely. "Watch me make love to you." No power in the heavens could have made her look away as he withdrew- all the way so that she saw the passionate sheen of her body's juices glazing his rod. Her eyes widened. Coarse dark hair mingled with soft, chestnut curls, a sight that was incredibly erotic. Even more erotic was when he plunged again, gliding deeper this time, harder. She couldn't tear her gaze away. She was both amazed and stunned at the way male joined female, feeling the walls of her passage yield- soft tender flesh clinging tight and wanton to hard male steel.Everything inside her went wild. Every part of her was melting, every fiber of her being. With a helpless little moan she caught the sides of his head. She wanted to tell him how wonderful he made her feel. But the power of words had once again deserted her. The pleasure was climbing, spiraling high and fast, taking her by storm. Unable to hold back, her hands slipped to his shoulders. She clutched at him; sensation gathered there, in the very center of her body, the place he possessed so fully. Had she surrendered? Or had he? she wondered vaguely. Eyes closed, she flung her head back. Release was close. She could feel it coming, shivering throughout her body. His head dropped low. He kissed the arch of her throat. "Fionna," he said, his tone almost raw. "Fionna!" Her nails bit into his shoulders. The walls of her channel contracted around him, again and again and again, sending spasms of release hurtling through them both.

With a soft, evocative sigh she eased, her body giving, accepting. Instinctively she contracted the muscles of her stretched sheath, felt him there, and shivered. Gritting his teeth against the inevitable effect of that evocative caress, he drew back just a little, then forged in again, filling her even more completely. Her breath left her and she clutched, both with her hands and her body. He eased back again, filled her anew; her breasts swelled as she breathed in, then she followed his rhythm. He set the pace, slow, steady, only gradually increasing as he sensed her response, as desire rose, fresh and urgent, and the fires of passion reclaimed them, and the conflagration built. And it was more, so much more, than the act had ever been. Reaching deeper, further, into some part of him he hadn't known could be touched, the intimate surrender and the possession sank to his bones. Her surrender to him, and his to her; his possession of her, and hers of him. This wasn't any simple joining, the usual trading of pleasure, but one intricate and involved, layered with meaning, coiled and twined with feelings and emotions he'd never before encountered, not in this arena. Not between the woman who lay beneath him, so gladly and wantonly accepting him into her body, and him.