Blackhawk Desires: Blackhawk's Betrayal. Barbara McCauley

      His mouth caught hers again, kissed her long and hard. A hot, wild meeting of tongue and teeth and lips. Her pulse raced; heat swept through her veins like a firestorm, turning her insides to liquid. Certain her bones were melting, she clung to him, afraid she might slide to the floor.

      But the carpet was soft, she thought dimly. Soft and cushioned.

      And so close …

      So decadent …

      She arched up into him, felt the full length of his solid body against hers, the hard press of his erection. Her breasts tingled with anticipation, her skin tightened, and the intensity of the sensations might have been painful if she hadn’t been so completely and utterly aroused.

      Her fingers hurried up his neck, curled into his thick, smooth hair. The texture shivered from her fingertips all the way down to her toes. She breathed in the scent of his skin, a heady mix of pure male and hot passion, then rushed her hands down again, slid under the lapels of his suit jacket and slid it off his broad shoulders.

      Through the rolling haze of desire, she felt him backing her across the room. Toward the sofa? she wondered. The bedroom? It didn’t matter, just as long as they got there soon. As long as he never stopped kissing her.

      She fumbled with the knot of his tie, cursed her inability to make her fingers work faster. Finally, with a whoosh of silk, the tie slid from her hand and dropped soundlessly to the floor. She worked at the top button of his shirt, felt his low growl against her fingertips when she opened buttons and slid her hands inside. The feel of his muscled chest under her palms, the heat of his skin, sent ripples of white-hot need coursing through her.

      So it was the bedroom he was directing her toward, she realized when she bumped into the doorjamb. She opened her eyes just enough to catch a glimpse of smoke-colored walls, a mahogany armoire and late afternoon sunlight streaming through the open, dark blue drapes. She couldn’t see the bed from this angle, but she knew it was there, and the thought of making love with Sam, of having him inside her, made her shudder fiercely.

      His kisses swept like liquid fire across her jaw, over her chin, down her neck. Certain she couldn’t take any more, she raked her fingernails down his chest, moved her hands toward the buckle of his belt.

      “Sam …” She heard the desperation in her voice, his ragged breathing, her heart slamming against her ribs. The sounds swirled in her head, melded together. She kicked her flats off, then rose on the tips of her toes and wantonly moved her hips against him.

      On a groan, he tugged her blouse from her slacks and slid his hands underneath, rushed his fingers over her rib cage.

      “So damn soft,” he murmured.

      As if in slow motion, she felt herself falling backward onto the mattress, the descent steep and long and exciting. His hands covered her breasts, and she sank into a river of erotic sensations, let herself be swept away in the swirling waters.

      “I’ve been crazy wanting this,” he said huskily. “Wanting you.”

      Crazy. There it was again. The word that seemed to say it all. She looked at Sam, saw the fierce desire glinting in his narrowed eyes as he stared down at her. Crazy or not, how could something that felt this right be wrong?

      When he lowered his head to her bare stomach, she simply didn’t care anymore.

      It surprised Sam how fragile Kiera felt under him. She was tall for a woman, but her bone structure was delicate, her curves soft and smooth, her breasts firm and round. Her fingers moved restlessly over his back when he touched his lips to the hollow of her belly. When he swept his tongue over her warm, silky skin, she squirmed under him.

      The sweet taste of her nearly sent him over the edge, but he held back, wanting, needing to draw that sweetness out. He nipped at the edge of her rib cage, heard her sharp intake of breath. She arched upward, and he slid his hands underneath her, unclasped her bra and shoved the lacy garment up.

      When he took one hardened nipple in his mouth, she gasped and raked her fingers over his scalp. He suckled one breast, then the other, teased the peak of each nipple with his tongue and his teeth. The need he felt for her rocked him to the core. Slow it down, he told himself. Get yourself back in control, dammit.

      Then she moved her hips against him and whispered his name.

      Oh, to hell with it.

      Flipping open the single button on her slacks, he blazed kisses along the underside of her breast while he tugged the zipper down, then slid his hand inside to cup her. Soft lace pressed against his palm. When he tightened his grip, she groaned.

      Every breath burned his lungs, sweat beaded on his forehead. If he wasn’t inside her soon, he thought he might go mad.

      He slid between lace and skin and slipped a finger into the wet heat between her thighs. She bucked upward, and when he stroked her, he felt the bite of her nails across his shoulders.

      “Take … off … your … clothes,” she gasped and hurried her hands to his belt buckle.

      He brushed her hands away, knew he didn’t dare let her touch him yet. “You first.”

      In one fluid sweep of his hands, he had her slacks and underwear off and tossed them aside. She rose up, managed to undo the knot on her own tie and yank it off, then reached for him. But he moved too quickly, tugged her blouse downward, pinning her arms and dragging her closer while he dropped his mouth down on hers.

      She couldn’t move, could barely breathe, and she thought she might die if he didn’t hurry. Heat coursed through her, coiled between her legs. She wanted desperately to touch him, but he’d trapped her arms, frustrating her. Exciting her. Thrilling her as no man ever had before.

      “I can’t stand it,” she said raggedly, dropping her head back when his mouth moved to her neck. He sucked lightly, then used his teeth. Flames raced over her skin. “Sam, please.”

      Hopelessly and wonderfully lost in the sensations battering her, she couldn’t think, could only feel as he moved over her with his mouth and teeth and tongue. She trembled with need, wantonly arched upward, frantic for him to be inside her.

      When he released her arms, she fell backward and lay naked under him. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. She drew in a breath when he shoved his pants and black boxers down. He was hard and fully erect.

      And large.

      Her eyes widened, and she felt a moment’s apprehension. He slid his hands up her legs, her thighs, his gaze dark and fierce and primal. He spread her legs and she gripped the bedclothes as he moved over her.

      He entered her, moving deeper with each thrust, then deeper still, until he was fully sheathed inside her. She released the breath she’d been holding and wrapped her arms and legs around him, felt the rippling sinew under her limbs.

      And then he began to move.

      Slowly at first, his rhythm building gradually. Exquisitely. Moaning, she clung to him, every thrust of his hips coiling the pleasure inside her tighter, then tighter still. Blood pounded in her temples, raced through her veins, until she burst apart.

      She cried out, bit her lip as the shudders tore through her like shards of colored glass. When he groaned and thrust deeper, harder, she held him tight, felt his muscles bunch under her hands. He moaned, deep in his throat, then his body convulsed with his release.

      He collapsed on top of her, pressing her into the mattress. Closing her eyes, she slid her arms around his neck and smiled.

      It took a few moments for Sam to regain any sort of order to his brain. With his breathing still ragged, he rolled to his back, bringing Kiera with him. She lay over him like a rag doll, her head on his shoulder, her warm, soft breath fanning his chest. A fine sheen of sweat covered their bodies.

      Reality slowly came back. They were in his bedroom, on his bed, their clothes tossed on the floor. He could still hear his blood pounding