Soulfire by Juliette Cross Page B

sealed with a thin zipper, which is a lot easier to handle on your own. Frustration has made me tear a shirt or two.”
    “I bet.” I finished with the formal shirt.
    He slipped it over, and unzipped the two seams on his undershirt to pull it off. He turned to me, and my mouth dropped. All sinewy cords and ridged muscle. I didn’t want to be the inexperienced girl, gawking at her half-naked man, but my resolve to keep my cool vanished when confronted with the sight of him. Morgon men were an impressive species with their clothes on. My view at the moment made my mouth dry up and my body tremble. He smiled and moved closer, arms at his sides, making no sudden movements. “Touch me,” he whispered, voice gentle.
    Still on my knees on the bed, I placed tentative hands on his upper chest, feeling down the rippled planes of his abdomen and back up. He closed his eyes as I explored. More confident with every sweep of my fingers, I brushed feathery kisses along one pectoral, then dipping at his sternum, continued my line across. A vibration rumbled beneath my lips, a deep growl resonating from his chest.
    One taste made me want him more. This man—my man. No longer hesitant, I opened my mouth at the hollow of his neck, licking out with my tongue. His broad chest and contoured abdomen tightened at my touch. His wings widened at his back. When my mouth skated across his nipple, he hissed in a breath, his perfect composure failing.
    One hand thrust into my hair, wrapping around my nape, the other slipped the knotted strap off my shoulder until my top half was bare.
    He dipped his mouth to my neck, giving me the same attention I’d given him. He laved a trail of kisses across the upper slopes of my breasts, heightening my desire. I closed my eyes as he moved lower, teasingly, and took my breast in his mouth. My hands clenched on his biceps as he loved me there with tender nips and licks. Such a new sensation, I was embarrassed and swept away by longing at the same time. He crossed to my other breast, hands low on my hips. I melted under his gentle hands and warm mouth, wanting more with each gasping breath. His teeth grazed my taut peak, shocking a whimper out of me. Heat coiled in lower places. He kissed back up my neck, steering around my lips.
    “Lay back on the bed,” he whispered in a gentle tone.
    He sat on the edge of the bed to finish undressing. Feeling braver with his back turned, I slipped the dress off and kicked it over the other side. He joined me under the covers. His face fell in shadow when he peered down. “Close your eyes.”
    I obeyed.
    He traced light fingers over my brow, across my cheeks, and down my neck. Then up again. A soothing touch. The tension ebbed from my body.
    “When I painted you,”—his words poured like thick honey—“I imagined this moment. When I could touch you.” His fingers traced lower over my collarbones, edging the line of the silk sheet over my breasts. “When you would want me to touch you.” My breathing accelerated. He drew circles and loops up my neck and across my shoulders, sliding the sheet down with each sweep of his fingers, inch by inch. “I never thought it would happen.”
    I couldn’t speak, deft fingers grazing my breasts, not stopping, pushing the sheet lower to expose my stomach. He circled my navel, trailing figure eights in the hollow between stomach and hip. “In my imagination,” he began, voice like velvet, fingers teasing across my abdomen, trailing to my hipline before coming back up, “I was always in control.” He swept the sheet down to my thighs, fingers grazing over my panties, back up and around my navel. “I never thought I would be such a slave to your beauty. To you.” I sucked in a breath when his fingers slipped beneath the thin layer of lace, stilling before they slid between my legs. “But I am.” He pressed a kiss below my collarbone. “I am yours.” Hot, open-mouthed kisses over the slope of my breast. “Command me anything,