Free Shepherd by KH LeMoyne Page A

might leave her there, she wrapped her arm around his shoulders. He only moved between her knees and pulled her to him as his mouth claimed hers in a slower, lingering kiss.
    She didn’t want gentle, but as his tongue stroked against hers, coaxing a response instead of demanding a claim, she relaxed into his hold. A groan escaped her as his palms swept beneath her shirt and along her skin to cup her breasts. Heat raced through her veins as the thundering of her heart escalated. She dug her fingers into his back as much to make sure he didn’t leave as to ground herself. With a growl against her cheek, he tugged on her hair, pulling back her head. Uncertain, she dug in tighter. Instead of leaving, he swept off her shirt and lowered his mouth to capture her nipple in a long, hard suckle.
    Damn . She might have screamed. He tried to pull away, probably thinking he’d hurt her. She gripped him and dug her knees into his waist to cement her hold.
    With a nuzzle, he whispered from between her breasts, “I’ll give you more, Sugar. Trust me.”
    Not about to put up resistance, she held him close as he lavished the same attention on her other breast. The day-old bristles along his jaw delivered a prickle of heat along her skin. When his hands cupped her ass beneath her drawstring pants, her sighs became moans.
    He pressed against her, cuddling her to his chest as he pushed her down to the table. Intent on the sensations of his lips above her navel, she didn’t realize her pants were gone until his breath feathered between her legs.
    Suddenly, uncertain what to do or how to react, she froze.
    He glanced up. Perhaps it was the intensity of the blue in his eye, the flush of desire across his cheekbones, or his satisfied growl as he kissed the insides of her thighs. Her hesitation and fear vanished before the promise on his face. She’d never experienced this pleasure, this want, with another man. Hell, even her husband had never expressed more than a passing interest in her body. But Clay, the tightening of his hands on her thighs and reverence with which he kissed her skin, promised she would never forget this experience.
    The one last fear she held, that she’d never get over this encounter, fled as his tongue dipped between her legs. His eyes closed in what she could only describe as an expression of bliss.
    God, she hoped so.
    Esme stretched her neck and tried to breathe as the pleasure curled just out of reach with his touch. She wanted him to feel at least some small measure of what he was doing to her. That was her last coherent thought as he spread her for his feast, licking and nibbling until all she could do was pant in rhythm with his strokes.
    The rush in her ears built as he pressed one, then several fingers into her to torment her higher. She couldn’t restrain the need to move with him, to bring the final end closer, but one of his palms pressed against her hip, keeping her balanced on the edge, where she couldn’t quite tumble over.
    She clutched his hand and raised her hips into him. “Please. Clay. Please.”
    For one second, he pulled back. Her breath caught, and she glanced at him in desperation. His look projected dominance and certainty that he would give her exactly what she needed. His fingers stroked deeper as he drew her flesh into his mouth again. The touch, a deeper pressure, and a stroke from his tongue shattered her. On and on the sensation rolled. He kissed in caresses instead of harder suckles, but his fingers continued a deep, slow twist that she rode on the crest of her climax for what seemed like an eternity.
    “You okay, Sugar?”
    “Mmm, yeah. I think…” She stared at him, too sated to move. “Why do you call me that?”
    His gaze ran over her face as his hand caressed beneath her breast. “Have you ever seen any archives from before the devastation? Granted, they’re grainy and almost two hundred years old, but some images still exist. Like the clips of…advertisements.”
    She