First You Run by Roxanne St. Claire Page A

back on the ground, spread her legs, and gathered her dress to her waist.
    Taking his hand, she guided it between her legs, pressing his fingers against her moist panties, and a scream welled in her throat. She opened her mouth, and he captured it with another fierce kiss, turning her scream into a soundless moan, sliding his fingers expertly over her, letting her ride and roll and ache, all the while sucking and stroking his delicious tongue.
    He broke the kiss, but not the precious contact.
    “Miranda.” He kissed his way to her ear, struggling to speak, only able to whisper, “You’re possessed.”
    “Yes.” She barely got the word out, nodding and writhing against his hand. “I am. I am. And you can’t stop. You can’t . Take me there, please. Now.”
    She shook, she tensed, she vibrated with need. “Please,” she begged again. “I’ll die if you don’t. I’ll die.”
    She needed this, needed to take him in and squeeze the satisfaction from between her throbbing, aching, hypersensitive legs.
    Sliding her panties to the side, he thrust a finger into her, then two, pushing and prodding and pulsing her flesh at precisely the right place. Three fingers plunged inside, and his thumb pressed the hood of her clitoris, circling, cajoling, teasing.
    At the same time, he kissed her, their teeth clashing, their lips tearing at each other. His other hand glided up her dress, until his rough palm shocked her tender nipple, squeezed it with two fingers, and sent fire straight to the spot he owned with his thumb.
    The lightning flashed again, blinding her even though her eyes were closed. The wind roared like a train, and her body sparked and whipped against him.
    She was lost. Gone. Taken away and dropped into a black hole, where she swirled and folded and burst and dissolved into one long, endless, blissful euphoria that shook her body.
    Again and again and again, until finally, blessedly, it stopped.
    And she was free of the ache and the need, heavy with satisfaction, soaked with her own release.
    The blackness lifted, her blood cooled, each breath hurt a little bit less.
    Finally, she could open her eyes. How they had gotten from the crypt to the ground was hazy in her mind, but he was clear. Close and warm and sharply in focus.
    Had she noticed how thick and long his lashes were or that his golden eyes had flecks of black in them? His hair, unkempt and wild, was pushed back, his temples soaked with sweat, his mouth reddened, swollen.
    This had to be a trance. It was Taliña’s magical, mystical shaman trance of ecstasy. She’d had no control, and he had…
    Plenty of control.
    Her fist was still closed over an enormous erection, and his fingers remained curled inside her body. She closed her eyes and let out one last, helpless sigh.
    “I wasn’t kidding. I was possessed.”
    “I believe you were.” He eased his fingers out of her, and helped her sit up. “If I didn’t satisfy you, you might have spontaneously combusted.”
    She had combusted, quite spontaneously. “I think she…made me…completely crazy.”
    “Someone did,” he said with a teasing smile. “And while that is quite a lovely skill to have, it makes me wonder what else she is doing to make you crazy.”
    Miranda drew back, reality and common sense making their return as she finally let go of him. “What do you mean?”
    “Your hostess has ten thousand copies of your book hidden in a basement of one of her fake temples.”
    “Ten thousand!” Miranda’s sexual buzz totally evaporated. “Are you sure?”
    “Give or take a couple thousand.”
    “Maybe she wants to give them as gifts to friends?”
    “More than the four hundred who showed up tonight?”
    “To her husband’s business associates? As a Christmas gift?”
    “That’s an awful lot of associates.”
    Disbelief washed over her. “There has to be an explanation.”
    “Could she be one of your crazies? Maybe it’s an attempt to hide all the copies of a book she doesn’t