Free Lone Stallion's Lady by Lisa Jackson

she kissed his cheek. “Good night.” That was the mistake.
    He grabbed her then. He wrapped his strong arms around her, dragged her close, slanted warm, possessive lips over hers and kissed her so hard she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only hear her own heartbeat thudding in her ears.
    Gina felt dizzy. She dropped the suit on the floor. His hands splayed across her back as if he owned her. Her mouth opened and he groaned as the kiss deepened. Somewhere music was playing and the room seemed to shrink. He tasted of Scotch and champagne. Her knees went weak, her resistance fled, and before she knew what she was doing she was kissing him back, molding her body into the tight fit of his, her knees turning to jelly.
    Don’t do this, Gina. This is pure madness. Get out. Get out now. While you still can!
    But the alarms in her head went unheeded. She wrapped her arms around his neck and heard him groan as he lifted her off her feet and carried her through the French doors to the bedroom.
    He didn’t ask.
    She didn’t protest.
    They kissed and touched and she remembered hearing the hiss of her zipper as it slid down her back, feeling a cool breath of air against her bare skin, discovering the wonder and strength of his body as her fingers explored the ridges and planes of hard, sinewy muscles.
    She knew she was making an irreversible error, but she didn’t care. She’d always been so cautious when it came to men, but this time, for this one night, she flung her reserve and distrust aside. She knew him, she rationalized as he kissed the crook of her neck and she began to ache inside. Strong, calloused fingers slipped her dress down her body and his mouth and tongue followed, his hot lips brushing her breasts, his warm breath blowing against her abdomen as he slid the silky fabric quickly off her body.
    She sighed as every nerve in her body tingled expectantly.
    She felt the corded strength of hard muscles pressing against her; reveled in the feel of her fingers playing in the soft matt of hair on his chest; kissed anxious lips that couldn’t seem to get enough of her. Through the panes of the French doors, firelight sparkled.
    She heard him kick off his pants, felt the strong muscles of his legs against her own, and experienced a wanting heretofore unknown to her. He breathed against her ear, the soft whisper of air tingling her ear, and as his fingers dipped past the lace of her bra, she wanted more. Everything. To discover what it was to be a woman—fully loved, if only for one night.
    Closing her eyes, she moaned softly as his tongue and lips caressed her, seeking out each dimple in her skin. His hand parted her legs. She ached inside. Her back arched and she clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He touched her intimately, expertly, finding a place that stopped her breath.
    Heat sang through her bloodstream and she’d never in her life felt such fever. She’d never known such want, such hunger.
    By instinct she moved beneath him, swallowing against desire, needing the feel of him within her.
    Hot. She was hot. Dots of perspiration broke out on her skin as he stoked heat in the most intimate part of her. She was clinging to him, gasping, opening. Desire thundered through her veins, throbbed in her brain. The room seemed to spin, or was it her soul? “Trent,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, unrecognizable.
    “Right here, darlin’.”
    “I—I want…”
    “I know.”
    Desire pounded through her brain. She moaned—or was it his low, raspy voice she heard? He shifted, slid upon her and, kissing her hard, thrust deep inside her.
    She gasped as she felt a jab of hot pain. But as he began to move, pain quickly became pleasure. He was everywhere at once, moving within her, kissing her neck, her eyelids, her lips, his hands caressing her as her mind spun out of control and the center of the universe existed in the spot that fused them together.
    Faster. Harder. Hotter. She couldn’t breathe,