sardonically, “just pretend I am Marcel.”
Gabby’s neck corded, and anger was bitter on her tongue. His cruel words and filthy accusations stunned her. She longed to strike out at him but fear held her in check. “Hurry,” he said as he poured himself another brandy and flipped it expertly down his throat, hot eyes devouring her as piece by piece her clothing dropped to the floor. “Tonight, ma chere, you will find paradise,” he promised, his voice softening into a hoarse whisper. “I shall not allow you to suppress your natural passion with a pretense of frigidity. When I am through with you your thoughts will never again stray to another man.”
Effortlessly, Philippe plucked her from the mound of discarded clothing at her feet and carried her to the bed, flinging his own clothes off before falling at her side. Gabby shivered, suddenly aware that the wind had risen and the ship was no longer the sedate lady she once had been. Though it had grown dark, streaks of lightning lit up the cabin while thunder rumbled across the heavens.
Gabby lay still as Philippe’s eyes became twin pools of gray velvet, his hands surprisingly gentle upon her flesh. With every ounce of her strength she fought against the sensations that threatened to engulf her, knowing that once she submitted willingly she could no longer despise him for forcing himself on her. When Philippe enfolded her in his arms it was as if a bolt of lightning had pierced the very core of her, his body hot and demanding. Yet, he was gentle. Never had she known such tenderness from him. His passionate kiss was long and deep, and when he released her mouth she wanted him to claim it again. His lips etched a path along the smooth curve of her neck to the tip of her breast where he felt her nipple rise as his tongue flicked hotly against the pulsating bud before moving across the pale goblet of her belly, kissing and caressing all the small hollows and indentations along the way. Her body trembled, tiny seeds of sensation bursting softly into bloom as waves of desire coursed through her. By the time his lips reached the smooth, tender skin of her inner thighs, she no longer had a will of her own. Something was driving her on, insisting she find out the meaning of the powerful force pulsing within her.
“Don’t fight it, ma chere ,” Philippe whispered, his mouth twisted in a crooked grin, all vestige of drunkenness gone. “There is no greater pleasure than that of the flesh.” Then his lips were where no lips should ever be, teasing, nipping, tasting, as she experienced a terrible, rising ecstasy to which some secret place within herself was vibrating, his questing lips pushing her ever upward.
“Philippe,” she begged in a haze of delirium, “have mercy!”
But Philippe showed her no mercy. Every muscle of her body was as taut as a finely drawn wire as she strove toward a truth she had long denied, even feared. Then all sense of time and reason receded as a million stars burst inside her head, hurtling her skyward to join the maelstrom of the storm raging outside the cabin, powerless before that long withheld surge of emotion until her body had nothing more to give.
When she was quiet Philippe raised himself and whispered in her ear, “That was for you, ma chere now for me.” She gasped as he plunged deep within her, moving with swift, sure strokes until Gabby felt once again the flood of warmth coursing through her veins. Her eyes opened wide in shock, confusion reigned. Could he be bringing her again to that pinnacle of towering passion in a repeat of the ecstasy she had known only moments before? Then all thought fled as she joined Philippe in his race to the summit.
Grabby drifted in an eddy of quiet contentment aware only of Philippe’s cries of completion ringing in her ears. Before sleep claimed her she felt amazingly at peace. The briefest smile of triumph flitted across Philippe’s face before he, too, sank into oblivion, both unaware of
Gabby’s neck corded, and anger was bitter on her tongue. His cruel words and filthy accusations stunned her. She longed to strike out at him but fear held her in check. “Hurry,” he said as he poured himself another brandy and flipped it expertly down his throat, hot eyes devouring her as piece by piece her clothing dropped to the floor. “Tonight, ma chere, you will find paradise,” he promised, his voice softening into a hoarse whisper. “I shall not allow you to suppress your natural passion with a pretense of frigidity. When I am through with you your thoughts will never again stray to another man.”
Effortlessly, Philippe plucked her from the mound of discarded clothing at her feet and carried her to the bed, flinging his own clothes off before falling at her side. Gabby shivered, suddenly aware that the wind had risen and the ship was no longer the sedate lady she once had been. Though it had grown dark, streaks of lightning lit up the cabin while thunder rumbled across the heavens.
Gabby lay still as Philippe’s eyes became twin pools of gray velvet, his hands surprisingly gentle upon her flesh. With every ounce of her strength she fought against the sensations that threatened to engulf her, knowing that once she submitted willingly she could no longer despise him for forcing himself on her. When Philippe enfolded her in his arms it was as if a bolt of lightning had pierced the very core of her, his body hot and demanding. Yet, he was gentle. Never had she known such tenderness from him. His passionate kiss was long and deep, and when he released her mouth she wanted him to claim it again. His lips etched a path along the smooth curve of her neck to the tip of her breast where he felt her nipple rise as his tongue flicked hotly against the pulsating bud before moving across the pale goblet of her belly, kissing and caressing all the small hollows and indentations along the way. Her body trembled, tiny seeds of sensation bursting softly into bloom as waves of desire coursed through her. By the time his lips reached the smooth, tender skin of her inner thighs, she no longer had a will of her own. Something was driving her on, insisting she find out the meaning of the powerful force pulsing within her.
“Don’t fight it, ma chere ,” Philippe whispered, his mouth twisted in a crooked grin, all vestige of drunkenness gone. “There is no greater pleasure than that of the flesh.” Then his lips were where no lips should ever be, teasing, nipping, tasting, as she experienced a terrible, rising ecstasy to which some secret place within herself was vibrating, his questing lips pushing her ever upward.
“Philippe,” she begged in a haze of delirium, “have mercy!”
But Philippe showed her no mercy. Every muscle of her body was as taut as a finely drawn wire as she strove toward a truth she had long denied, even feared. Then all sense of time and reason receded as a million stars burst inside her head, hurtling her skyward to join the maelstrom of the storm raging outside the cabin, powerless before that long withheld surge of emotion until her body had nothing more to give.
When she was quiet Philippe raised himself and whispered in her ear, “That was for you, ma chere now for me.” She gasped as he plunged deep within her, moving with swift, sure strokes until Gabby felt once again the flood of warmth coursing through her veins. Her eyes opened wide in shock, confusion reigned. Could he be bringing her again to that pinnacle of towering passion in a repeat of the ecstasy she had known only moments before? Then all thought fled as she joined Philippe in his race to the summit.
Grabby drifted in an eddy of quiet contentment aware only of Philippe’s cries of completion ringing in her ears. Before sleep claimed her she felt amazingly at peace. The briefest smile of triumph flitted across Philippe’s face before he, too, sank into oblivion, both unaware of
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