On the Move by Catherine Vale Page A

“I am willing to try. You are my equal, and I trust you, as you can trust me.” The exhaustion faded and he smiled again.
    “I think inside the hut I am willing to let you take care of things. I am, as you say, injured. I should rest.”
    Even in the soft light she couldn’t miss the glint in his eye, the hint of that cocky smile. Her fingers trembled as they found the polished bits of wood that Daphne had fastened to the dress, pulled them, dropping them to the floor with a soft clatter. The cloth slipped from her shoulder, exposing one breast. She caught the cloth before it fell any further. Sleeping with him in the jungle, under the cover of darkness was one thing, but here, in daylight, she was suddenly shy.
    She looked into his eyes and saw desire and longing, heat and lust. He moved on the pallet, muscles flexing, hips rising just enough to draw her attention to where he wanted it to go. It was very clear what he wanted, what his intentions were.
    Her eyes traveled freely over his body, drinking in every inch of him, including his rising erection. No man had ever been so blatant in displaying his arousal for her. It filled her with a sense of power, and freedom. He gave her silent permission to enjoy his body, to take pleasure in what she saw, and in turn, she could do the same for him.
    He followed every movement she made as she began unwinding the cloth, uncovering herself for him. His glance was like fire on her skin and her breathing quickened as she slowly pulled the dress away. With a final soft swish, she let the cloth fall to the floor and stood naked beside the bed.
    The fire in his eyes matched the heat that grew inside her, starting low in her belly, filling her with desire for this strange exotic man.
    She stood for a moment, basking in his gaze, and then sat on the edge of the bed. Her hand grazed his thigh, his skin smooth and warm beneath her fingers. Slowly she slid her hand up his leg, caressing the hard muscles of his thigh. An image of him as a jaguar rose in her mind, the sleekly muscled cat, the power and grace in his movements.
    He lay still, watching, as she continued exploring his body with her hand. The wounds on his stomach were no more than raised red lines, the ragged edges already closing.
    Griffin made a sound like a soft growl as she took him in her hand. He was like hot silk over steel and she drew a sharp breath as she began stroking him, his eyes darkening as he watched her.
    He reached for her, his hand caressing the inside of her thigh, slowly, gently. As his hips rose and fell in time with her movements, his touch on her thigh grew stronger, fingers sinking into her skin.
    Suddenly he grabbed her hand, stilling her movements, pulling her down until she was face to face with him. He wound his fingers through her hair, her face close to his. He lifted his head, seeking her mouth, and she gave it to him, the kiss both tender and searing.
    Beneath her, his body moved, legs shifting restlessly. The hard heat of his erection rested against her stomach, and she rocked her hips, rubbing herself against him, teasing him.
    The growl was louder this time, his hand sliding down to grip her hips, fingers tensed against her skin. Slowly she moved over him, her thighs sliding down over his hips, until his cock rested between her legs.
    His lips were still on hers, his kiss fierce and desperate. She broke away, pushing herself up on her hands, rocking her body back as he thrust his hips upward. His erection grazed the inside of her thigh and his snarl filled her ears. She smiled against his mouth as he thrust harder.
    She broke the kiss with a gasp, sitting back, resting on her knees, thighs straddling his hard hips. He looked up, eyes flashing.
    “Is this still fussing? If so, I’m done being fussed over.”
    She smiled at him. “I like being in control.”
    “Control is one thing; torment is another.” But a smile flickered across his face.
    “This is called foreplay. Do you have a word