Consumed by Fire by Anne Stuart Page A

drowning out the noise and any other thoughts.
    She tilted back her head and laughed, suddenly happy. This was ridiculous, crazy, and she didn’t care. If she was going to throw caution to the wind for a night of passion, then the wilder the better. She could do this and take joy in it.
    He moved his mouth down her neck, leaving a trail of tiny bites in his path. The knit dress was stretching in the water, soaked, and he pulled it over her head before she realized what he was doing, so that she stood there in nothing but a skimpy black lace bra and panties.
    He paused, looking down at her appreciatively. “That’s encouraging,” he whispered in her ear, letting his teeth take hold of her earlobe and biting down, so that she arched against him with a soft moan. “You must have known this was coming.”
    She could protest—but this wasn’t the kind of underwear she usually wore, and there was no need to wear it under the black dress. She’d chosen it deliberately, whether she realized it or not. He moved back, pulling her under the full stream of the shower, his thumbs brushing her cheeks, pushing back her long wet hair as he kissed her eyelids, licked the water from her cheekbones and her mouth.
    She reached up and tried to unfasten the buttons to his shirt, but the fabric was wet and stubborn. She needed to feel his skin against her. She yanked it in frustration, and he laughed softly against her neck. “Patience, Angel,” he whispered, covering her frantic hands with his. “I’ll take care of it.”
    He released her, only for a moment, as he simply ripped the shirt open and yanked it off. She knew what kind of strength was needed to tear that wet linen, and she shivered.
    “Are you cold?” he whispered, reaching behind them, and the shower heated up as he turned the dials, apparently knowing from instinct how to adjust them. He pulled his belt free and threw it in the corner, where the heavy metal buckle clanged against the tile. She half expected him to yank down his pants, but instead he put his hands on her, pushing her back beneath the water where nothing existed but his mouth, his touch.
    She closed her eyes as his hands slid around her, and a moment later her bra came free, falling down between them. Her small breasts were tight and pebbled against his smooth skin, despite the warmth of the water. She felt his fingers on them, tugging, rubbing, and she heard a quiet moan of pleasure that echoed in the tiled room and knew it could only have come from her. His head moved down, his mouth latching onto her nipple, sucking, and she felt a spasm of reaction between her legs. She liked this. Men had always been so gentle with her breasts, so tender, and she’d felt nothing.
    James Bishop was rough, demanding, and she could no more resist those demands than she could fly. He moved to her other breast, leaving the first distended and needy, and when she felt his teeth on her a spasm rocked her body, shocking her.
    He pushed his hand down her stomach, beneath the black lace of her panties, finding her entrance without fumbling. Finding her clitoris when every other man had had to search. He knew where it was, and he knew what to do with it, rubbing his thumb across it, his mouth catching hers again as she cried out.
    She fell back against the cool tile wall, and he followed her, reaching up to tilt the shower spray so that it poured down on them, drowning everything out but touch.
    “Stay like that,” he growled, and she blinked her eyes open for a moment, just long enough to see him sink to his knees in front of her, sliding the panties down her legs until they rested around her ankles. She stepped out of them, kicking them away, as he put his hands on her thighs and held them apart as his tongue touched her. A shudder ran through her. This was too much—this was more sex than she’d had in her last few months with Lester, and James wasn’t stopping. He licked and sucked and bit at her clitoris as two long