Dark Ransom by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online

darkness that enveloped her she
    was aware of his hands sliding under her hips, lifting her to the first
    unequivocal thrust of his manhood.
    There was a pain so sharp that the darkness was rent with jagged
    lights, and she had to fight to subdue a small moan. One side of her
    mind wanted to beg him to stop. But as she lay beneath him, numb
    and speechless, she felt her body gradually coming to terms with
    this new and shattering sensation.
    If there had been any justice the pain should have killed the need
    and brought her, with shame, back to her senses, but, as it receded,
    Charlie found other, even stronger feelings taking its place. As he
    began to move again imperatively, intensifying his first possession
    of her, she arched to meet him, bringing a groan of satisfaction from
    his throat.
    Riago kissed her again, hungrily, the slide of his tongue against hers
    mirroring the movement of his loins, slow now, and deep, and
    infinitely controlled.
    Too controlled, she thought, her body twisting, obeying an instinct
    she hadn't known she possessed as her hands tightened on his
    shoulders, absorbing the play of muscle beneath his sweat-
    dampened skin. How could he be so patient... ?
    Even as the question formed in her mind, the rhythm of his
    possession changed suddenly— sharpened, quickened, as if he was
    trying to reach some hidden core in her, some undiscovered
    wellspring of feeling. The savage urgency of it caught her up, and
    carried her down into some deep, dark chasm of the spirit where all
    coherent thought spun away, and only sensation remained, a sweet
    agony splintering her—tearing her apart.
    She heard him groan huskily in turn, his body convulsing in spasm
    after ecstatic spasm, then he slumped beside her, burying his face in
    the pillow.
    his arm thrown across her, keeping her pinned beside him.
    For a while she remained still as her mind tried dazedly to come to
    terms with what had been happening. But, as sanity returned, it
    brought shame in its wake, and a frantic, horrified disbelief.
    Oh, God, what had she done? she wailed silently. What had she
    allowed him to do?
    She tried to edge away from him, but the imprisoning arm tightened,
    pulling her against him. He muttered something slurred and husky in
    his own language, and a few minutes later his even breathing told
    her that he was asleep.
    She lay rigidly, hating his total relaxation ... the way his warm
    breath fanned her shoulder. They could have been sleeping together
    all their lives, she thought resentfully. The least he could have done
    was allow her to crawl away somewhere—heal her aching body in
    solitude.
    But the pain he'd inflicted, though real, was the least of her worries.
    Infinitely more disturbing was the reality of her own capitulation.
    Why couldn't she have retreated from him—remained immune
    throughout it all, as she'd intended?
    She could never forgive herself for that—and yet she had to. It had
    happened, but now it was over. What she had to do was carry on
    with her real life, as if this had just been some nightmare, terrifying
    at the time, but forgettable, she told herself, biting her lip.
    Slowly and carefully she turned her head and stared at him—this
    total stranger who had just known her more intimately than any
    other human being. Who'd made her experience feelings and
    emotions she'd never dreamed existed.
    He was... attractive, she acknowledged with deep reluctance,
    although that didn't excuse anything.
    In fact, he was handsome with a strong, almost classic bone-
    structure.
    His hair was thick, and as dark and glossy as a raven's wing,
    although it needed cutting, and his lashes were almost indecently
    long. As he slept his mouth curved slightly, as if some dream or
    recollection was making him smile.
    Charlie shivered, then reached out a cautious hand and turned down
    the lamp. She had seen, she told herself, more than enough. The last
    thing she wanted was his image imprinted on some memory bank in
    her