The Marriage Possession. Helen Bianchin

one fluid movement Zac rose to his feet with her in his arms, heard her bubbling laughter, stilled it with his mouth, and carried her through to the main bedroom.

      ‘Witch.’ The huskily voiced imprecation held amused resignation as he tumbled them both down onto her bed.

      ‘And that makes you…what?’ she teased, then gasped as he removed his jeans, shucked off his briefs and dispensed with the remainder of her clothing.

      ‘Let’s find out, shall we?’

      His erection was a potent force, and she soothed the silky head with an exploratory touch, heard the breath hiss through his teeth, then she brushed the taut skin with a few finger-pads, lightly, in a deliberate tease that brought a husky groan from his lips.

      Control…he had it. Yet she was fascinated to discover what it would take to break it.

      How far would he allow her to go?

      Seconds later it was her turn to gasp as he sought the satiny folds at the entrance to her femininity and latched on to the highly sensitised nub, initiating a deliberate stroking movement that sent her wild.

      Soon it wasn’t enough, and she was barely aware of urging his possession as sensation spiralled, sending her high…so high it was almost more than she could bear.

      ‘Now.’ Was that her voice begging for release? The part of her brain that engaged rationale insisted it had to be.

      ‘Not yet.’

      Oh, dear heaven. Yes. Otherwise she’d go insane with need.

      Except he wasn’t done. And she almost wept as he brought her to fever pitch…with his hands, his mouth in an oral supplication that blew her away, so far out of her mind she barely stifled an exultant scream as he entered her in one powerful thrust.

      Her vaginal muscles contracted, tightly sheathing him as she stretched to accommodate him. When he began to move, she met and matched his rhythm as shameless, pulsating emotion took them to an electrifying high, held them there, then tipped them over into a magically sensual nirvana that was erotic and exquisitely primitive.

      Treacherous, Lisane reflected later as she lay in Zac’s arms on the edge of sleep.

      Because she never wanted it to end.

      An inner voice silently demanded, ‘Does it have to?’

      Sadly, she didn’t have an answer.