The Silver Coin (The Colby's Coin 2)

Breanna seized his wrist, pushed his hand away. “Later,” she whispered, echoing his sentiments.

Royce's gaze darkened to near black. His hands slipped under her, gripping her bottom and angling her to receive him, his rigid shaft probing the entrance to her body.

He entered her in one slow, inexorable thrust, push­ing as deep as he could go.

Breanna cried out,” arched to meet him, her entire body softening and opening to take him, to sheathe him inside hen She whimpered in protest when he left her, only to cry out again as he pushed forward, filled her even more fully than he had the first time.

“Does... it hurt?” Royce could barely speak.

She shook her head, her arms tightening around him. “Don't stop.”

“Stop?” Royce was moving again, each lunge of his hips sending skyrockets of sensation shooting through her. “I'd die first.”

There were no more words then, nothing but the harsh rasps of their breath, the frantic kisses and ca­resses, the broken sounds of need, the grating of the bedsprings beneath them as their motions became more frenzied, wilder, more abandoned. Royce lost himself inside her, and Breanna tossed her head on the pillow, the pleasure too acute to bear, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until she thought she'd die of it

It peaked... and unraveled in a rush, throbbing spasms of completion radiating out from inside her, clen

ching again and again, contracting frantically around his engorged length.

Royce gave a hoarse shout, throwing back his head and groping for the headboard. His fingers closed around the bedposts, his knuckles turning white as his own climax slammed through him. His hips moved convulsively, pushing him into her, heighten­ing her contractions as he met each one with a scald­ing burst of heat.

Breanna bit her lip to keep from screaming. She could feel him spurting into her, sensations so erotic they retriggered her spasms, sent them spiraling even higher than before.

When it was oven they collapsed, neither capable of moving. Breanna sank into the bed, reveling in Royce's weight, the inadvertent shudders still racking his body, the final drops of his seed trickling into her.

“I love you,” she whispered, pressing her tips to his shoulder.

He swallowed, an audible sound in the silence of the room. “You have no idea,” he answered hoarsely. “No idea.” Reflexively, his arms closed around her, as if that act alone could keep her safe. “I'm going to spend a lifetime showing you.” He raised his head, stared deeply into her eyes. “Beginning tonight.”

Breanna smiled, smoothed damp strands of hair off his forehead. “You've made an extraordinary start.”

He caught her hand, brought her palm to his lips. “That's all it was—a start.” He rolled to one side, tak­ing her with him. “I just want to hold you, feel you against me, for a minute.”

“And then?”

“Then, I'm going to make love to you the way you deserve to be made love to, the way I still haven't mustered enough control to do.”

A sated sigh. “I've no complaints.”

His expression singed her. “You'll have even fewer by morning.”

“I'm intrigued.”

“Are you?” He bent to kiss her, cradling her head in his hands as he made love to her mouth. His lips moved slowly over hers, ending and tasting, nudging them apart for the intimate invasion of his tongue. He teased her with light, shivery strokes, awakening every surface of her mouth, his tongue gliding over hers in unhurried, lingering caresses, until her breath was coming faster and she was clinging to him, des­perately trying to escalate the pace.

Clearly, the minute was up.

Still, Royce kept himself in check, although his body swelled inside hers, throbbed in a way that told her what this delay was costing him. But he didn't give in, waiting until she was frantic before letting the fire of their kisses take over.

Breanna's inner muscles softened and tightened around him, her body reflexively asking for more.

Maddeningly, Royce refused.

Rather than begin the rhythm she craved, he with­drew, separating their bodies and dragging his mouth away from hers.

“Royce...” She whimpered a protest, but he ig­nored it, his Ups burning an open-mouthed trail down her neck, her throat. He kissed her shoulders, the spot where her heart was razing, then down to the upper swell of her breasts. He savored each curve, moved lower, letting his warm breath tease her nipples into aching points, then grazing them with fleeting brush­es of his lips and tongue.

Breanna's nails were digging into his shoulders when Royce gave in. He slid one arm beneath her back, arched her up to his mouth and drew her taut nipple inside, tugging and releasing, tugging and re­leasing, then lashing across the hardened peak with his tongue. He didn't stop until she was twisting on the sheets, chanting his name in harsh, broken gasps, and even then only to shift to her other breast, lavish it with the same attention.