Wildstar

His hands came to her hips then. In a single powerful motion, he raised her up and held her poised over his jut­ting arousal.

Then, his bright, hot eyes holding hers intently, he low­ered her slowly upon his rigid, throbbing length, his entry sensual, tormenting, exquisite as he pulled her down and around him.

Jess exhaled a shuddering breath, her eyes closing in ecstasy.

His body completely still, Devlin held her there, im­paled on his erection, filling her but not allowing her ful­fillment. A tremor quivered through Jess, resonating outward, upward, from her very center, moving with ach­ing intensity throughout her entire body. Helplessly, she shuddered and rocked against him.

"No . . . easy, take it slow, angel." His fingers tightened on her hips, staying her motion with a strength that only made her desire sharper. "We have all the time in the world." He leaned back, closing his eyes, his face tighten­ing as if in pain. "Oh, God, this is so good. . . ."

Jess agreed with all her heart, and yet his demand that she go slowly was impossible to obey. Clinging to Dev­lin, she shut her eyes and tried to stop the quivering explo­sion she felt building inside her, but it was like trying to hold back one of the devastating flash floods that swept down the Rocky Mountain canyons in a storm. The torrent of desire was too strong, her need too savage.

"Garrett . . . !" His name on her lips was a gasped plea. Her muscles clenched around him involuntarily, gripping the hard, pulsing length of him.

His hands clamped down hard on her hips, trying to hold back, but he was losing his maddening control, she could feel it. His fading willpower gave her a fierce sen­sation of triumph, of joy.

With a final effort at restraint, his strong hands gripped her buttocks, holding her close as he swelled upward into her lush heat. But it was the beginning of the end for Jess. She rode him helplessly as he moved, unable to contain the frenzied passion that swept through her in a tremen­dous rush.

"Jess." The word, a harsh sound ripped from deep in­side him, mingled with her keening, incoherent cry. The sweet, tearing burst of light and heat shuddering through her had caught Devlin in its power.

He shut his eyes against the wild delirium, the incred­ible, staggering pleasure, as he arched deep into her. Noth­ing in his previous, vast carnal experience had prepared him for the impossible ecstasy he felt at this moment, at the wild, flame-hot consummation of his marriage to the woman he loved. He never wanted it to end.

The explosive climax did end, of course; it was physi­cally impossible to maintain such a shattering peak of de­sire at such a fierce intensity. And yet long after Jess had collapsed in his arms, melting around him, their harsh breaths mingling, the pleasure remained, a slow, pulsing golden glow that surrounded him with warmth.

Some long while later—neither of them could have said when—sanity returned. Jess was lying draped over him like a rug, her face buried in the curve of his throat, while Devlin lay quietly beneath her, his head thrown back, his eyes closed.

When she started to stir, though, his fingers tightened on her hips. "No . . . hold still. I want to feel you around me."

The water had grown cold and she was half asleep be­fore Devlin finally allowed her to move. He lifted Jess to her feet and lovingly dried her off, then carried her to the bed.

"Garrett, was it all right?" she asked as he tucked her

in.

"Was what all right, sweet?" "Making love to me?"

The tenderness that entered his eyes reassured her. "It was far better than all right. Jess. It was . . ." Settling one hip on the mattress beside her, he searched for a word that could adequately describe the fierce feelings that had flowed through him when he'd taken her the first time as her husband. The shattering climax had been heightened, intensified, nearly tearing him apart. This woman—his wife, the woman he loved—had touched a part of him that he'd never known existed.

"It was exquisite," he said simply, honestly.

"But . . . I don't have any experience."

"You gave me something I consider far more precious, Jess . . . your love. That more than makes up for any tech­nical skill you might lack." With a gentle solemnity, Dev­lin's hand came up to trace the delicate outline of her jaw. "Do you know what I used to dream about? That someday I would have a woman like you to love me as loyally as you loved your father. To stick by me through thick and thin, to cherish me for myself, not the size of my bank ac­count."

Her gaze softening with love, Jess turned her face to press her lips to his palm. "I'll stick by you, Garrett, with or without your bank account."

"I don't doubt that in the slightest, angel. You're a spe­cial kind of woman."

He leaned down to press a chaste kiss on her forehead, but instead of joining her in bed, he stood up.

Drowsily, her eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Are you going somewhere?"

"No. I just want to lower the window shades."

Efficiently, he took care of the task, shutting out the bright fall sunshine and cloaking the hotel room in semi-darkness. Just as he was about to return to the bed, how­ever, a quiet knock sounded on the door.

Biting back an oath, Devlin pulled on a dressing gown, then strode impatiently to the door and yanked it open just a crack.

"My excuses, m'sieur," Louis Dupuy said, "but a tele­gram has come for you. I thought you would wish to see it, since it is marked 'urgent.' "