Free This Man and Woman by Jackie Ivie Page A

doubt.”
    “It is!”
    “Without reservations, recriminations, fear, and—”
    “It is, damn it!”
    Her back met the table, arriving there with a move too quick to comprehend. The lace tablecloth took the brunt of her arrival as it wadded beneath her, pillowing her. He slammed both hands to the sides of her head, rocking the structure, and then stopped; glaring at her with what she immediately assigned as a crazed combination of fire and ice. Dark and light. Liquid and rock. His entire body wavered and then went motionless. Amber eyes drilled into hers while everything on him went taut; pulled like a bowstring to the point of the arrow release. Striations formed in his pecs, vascular definition framed the sinew of his arms, shadows of dents and valleys caressed his abs. And yet nothing moved. He stayed poised, statue-still, unmoving. Waiting. Just waiting.
    “Jean-Pierre…”
    Her upper body heaved toward him, seeking a connection he denied. Her hands slid from everywhere she sent them. Sliding. Gripping. Begging. She arched in a soundless plea, and then added words to it. “Please? Jean-Pierre, please?”
    “I have one chance, Cherie . One.”
    “Okay.”
    “It must be given of your free will. No coercion. No forfeit. Anything else, and—”
    “Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes! How many times must I say it?”
    He snarled, light glinted off sharp-looking fangs, and then he lowered his chin to glower at her, projecting a look that electrified, heat that burned, light that flared. That look did more than thrill. It consumed. Branded. Imprinted.
    Her hands moved up her own body, sliding from her waist, over her breasts, causing his eyes to darken. She reached the neckline of her dress and scrambled to the back of her throat, searching for the buttons that fastened it. And then it was him, reaching to help her. He placing both hands at her throat and yanked the material apart, giving her more proof of his strength. Vitality. Prowess.
    The silk split with a ripping sound, releasing her to his gaze. Takaiya shimmied in place before arching her back, assuming a seemingly impossible bowed form, everything on her silently begging for what only he could give. His eyes moved from hers, the amber darkened to the shade of old gold as he looked down at her breasts, and then he lowered his head to a nipple, licked, and then suckled.
    Takaiya screamed, grabbed handfuls of his hair, wrapped tendrils about her fingers, and then screamed again. Intensity surged through her, sending pulse after pulse of wonderment. Ecstasy. Release. She was sobbing before he moved to the other breast, and then screaming again. This time with shock as he bit her nipple, wrapped his tongue about it, licked…and then sucked, his action sending absolute delight flooding through her.
    Takaiya became a wild thing, thrashing about the table surface with each motion he made. She was in another world. One filled with endless horizons. Rushing water. She careened through it, cascaded over a fall. Landed beneath leagues of liquid with a surge of spray. Choked. Fought. Struggled. Broke the surface. Filled her lungs with the sweetness of air. Her back pounded against the table, keeping time with the throes of ecstasy. And once it dissipated, she immediately began begging for more.
    “Jean-Pierre…”
    “Easy, Mon Cherie .”
    Easy? She didn’t want to go easy! She needed to go massive, and huge, and hard. And now .
    Takaiya’s arms went around his neck, lifting her from the table, matching her nakedness against his, glorying in the chill of his flesh to her heat. He wouldn’t leave her…would he? He couldn’t. The hands at her thighs tightened, pulling them apart, releasing him from the constriction she placed about him. No! Her hands locked together behind his neck, gluing her to him. Still, he backed a fraction, his motion lifting her.
    “Don’t leave me! Please?”
    “Leave you? Ah Cherie . Please. I’d as soon cleave my own heart out. I just—.