Oh, the feel of him.
Warm skin. Hard muscles. She stroked his shoulders, his biceps, heard the hiss of his breath as she caressed him.
She put her hand between them, ran it down his chest, felt a whorl of silky hair, the tightly defined abs.
He was—he was glorious to touch. To experience. But it wasn’t enough.
“Wait.” The command was low. Sexy. His fingers closed around her wrists and he drew her arms down, slid them, one by one, from the sleeves of her T-shirt, her sweatshirt, eased the shirts over her head and she cried out at the feel of him against her, bared skin against bared skin, her nipples budding as he shifted his weight, brought her beneath him.
She was completely naked.
He was still wearing jeans.
The feel of the soft denim against her belly, her thighs, the feel of Zacharias, in her arms…
“Please,” she heard herself whisper.
“Please, what? Tell me what you want.”
She tossed her head from side to side. She was burning up. Her skin was hot. Tight. She needed—she needed—
“Tell me what you want,” he said roughly, and he kissed her. Long. Deep. Hot. “Tell me,” he demanded, and when she couldn’t, he clasped her hands and drew them high over her head. “Is it this?” he said, his mouth closing on first one nipple and then the other and she gasped as he drew the tender flesh deep into his mouth. “This?” he said, kissing his way down her belly, nipping lightly at her flesh, nuzzling her thighs apart. “This,” he whispered, burying his face against her, inhaling her scent, parting her labia with strokes of his tongue, and Jaimie screamed with rapture as the world came apart.
Zacharias rolled off her. She sobbed, reached for him, and then he was kneeling between her legs, his jeans gone, his body powerful and beautiful as he bent to her, kissed her breasts, her throat, and then he surged forward, penetrated her, filled her, went deep, so deep that for one breathless moment she was afraid she couldn’t take all of him within her but she could, yes, she could, yes, yes, yes…
Zach felt her muscles begin to contract.
He had to let go. Had to come. Had to, had to, had to, but not yet, not yet…
Jaimie cried out, arched against him, and he fought for one final bit of control.
“Look at me,” he said, and she raised her lashes and he saw what he’d needed to see, her hunger, her need, her admission that she wanted this, wanted him, needed him.
She sobbed his name.
It was that—the wild cry, the sound of his name on her lips—that set him free.
A groan tore from his throat, and he threw back his head and gave himself up to the whirlwind, let it sweep them both away.
* * * *
She fell asleep in his arms.
He was the one who usually fell asleep right after sex, but not tonight. He was—hell, what was he? Physically tired, sure. It had been a long, almost an endless day, but sleep was the last thing he wanted.
What he wanted was to hold Jaimie just this way, in the sheltering curve of his arm, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his heart, her leg thrown over his.
Strands of her hair lay across his face. He closed his eyes, turned his head just enough so the strands rubbed lightly over his mouth.
He liked the feel of it. The scent of it. Of her. That combination of the sea and wildflowers, of the night, of woman and, now, the musk of sex.
She sighed in her sleep, shifted her body; he felt the whisper of her breath on his throat.
She was so soft. So delicate and yet, at the same time, strong. Not surprising. Those same words described her as a person. Soft. Delicate. But strong.
He liked that about her. That inner core of determination, the outer layer of femininity.
Zach yawned.