Chapter 10

He lowered his mouth the rest of the way and kissed her hard. She should have pushed him away. But she didn't. She wanted his touch, his kiss. He had awakened an instinct in her that had lied buried. Now, it roared with life, with hunger. It frightened her and thrilled her, and she surrendered with out a fight because no matter how wrong her common sense told her it was, the woman inside said it was right. She melted against him. Seifer groaned helplessly as her mouth softened beneath his. Need swept over him like a tidal wave. He needed to touch her, taste her, to hold her. It was madness, he knew, but such sweet madness that he couldn't resist.

Seifer: I want you, Quistis.

Quistis: I know…I want you, too.

Seifer: I'm not going to stop. So if you want me to stop I suggest you tell me now.

Quistis could feel him, hard and urgent against her belly, and she knew he meant what he said. He lowered his mouth again, sipping, tasting, and testing her. Quistis framed his face with her hands and pressed her lips more solidly against his, letting him know that she wasn't planning to stop him. Seifer pulled her lower body tight against his with one hand and slid the other between them, seeking and finding the open throat of her blouse. The top button gave way as he curled his fingers into the fabric and pulled downward. One by one the buttons surrendered, falling onto the floor.

He trailed his kiss down her jaw to her throat, stripping the blouse from her shoulders and disgarding it. His thumbs hooked under the straps of her bra and he drew them down off her shoulders, peeled the cups away to reveal her breasts to his touch, his gaze, the hunger of his kiss. Quistis cried out as he took one turgid peak into his mouth and sucked strongly. She tangles her fingers in the blond silk of his hair and pressed him closer as heat swept through her.

Together they sank to their knees on the rumples bed. It was exquisite—the pull of his lips, the rasp of his tongue, the feel of his hand kneading her other breast. He pulled away and tore the garment off, flinging it aside, never taking his eyes from hers. His body was a living sculpture of muscle. They met soft white skin to hard, white muscle, woman to man. He kissed her roughly, wildly, his arms banding her to him, his hands swept down to unbutton her skirt. She gasped into his mouth as he caught his fingers in the waistband of her panties and jerked the scrap of silk and lace from her hips, tearing it free.