It didn’t come.
She was ready to beg when his hand left her. Desperate, she caught her breath on a sob, felt the fingers wrapped about her hip dig in, anchoring her. Releasing her breast, he lifted his head, found her lips—took them. Ravaged them.
Her world teetered, rocked, then she realized on a rush of quivering relief that his other hand was at his waist, flicking the buttons free. He laid the flap of his trousers open. She immediately went to press closer, to sink down and take him in.
His hands gripped her hips, held her still for an instant, poised as he adjusted himself to her. She felt the broad head of his erection touch her, press fractionally in.
Eyes tight shut, her whole body a mass of urgent, heated need, she tried to gasp through the kiss.
He pulled her down onto him. Impaled her.
Her senses shattered.
He was fully aroused, engorged, more rigid unforgiving iron than velvet.
A low moan escaped her; he lifted her and ruthlessly drew her down again. Further, this time, so she took more of him. He thrust deeper, shifted beneath her, then his hands were at her hips, sculpting her legs, lifting them, rearranging them. As he wished. As he wanted.
He didn’t ask, didn’t order. He lifted her knees and wound her legs about his waist, leaving her helpless with no purchase to move.
Totally in his control, totally at his mercy.
He showed none; for her part, she asked no quarter.
All she wanted was him deep inside her, and he gave her that, as much as she wished, as much as she wanted.
Arms twined about his neck, she clung as he moved her. He set a steady rhythm, hard and deep, the head of his staff nudging her womb. She felt so full of him, as if he was pressing against her heart—and he only drove deeper, sure and true.
He held her to their kiss, tongues tangling, mouths merged.
Held her on his lap, naked and exposed, more vulnerable in the moonlight than she’d ever been.
More his.
All his.
When he finally released her lips and returned his attentions to her breasts, she let her head fall back, eyes closed.
Tensing as he again teased her nipples until they ached, then suckled anew, hard enough to make her fight to swallow a scream.
The next time, she lost the fight.
He was lifting her, working her on him, around him; simultaneously he was feasting at her breasts. She couldn’t take much more stimulation, more of the sensations he was ruthlessly pressing on her, heightened, made infinitely more powerful by their position.
She licked her lips, managed to gasp, “Take me to the bed.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “No. Here. Like this.”
His voice, all she could hear in it, very nearly made her weep.
With joy, with a pleasure that was far beyond the physical.
Need—simple, abiding, far deeper than she’d expected.
Never before had he been like this, never before had he dropped all pretence, every last vestige of sophistication, and allowed her to see so far, so clearly, to see that naked need. To know by her own experience so no lingering doubt could remain what truly drove him.
I love you.
She wanted to say the words. They welled in her chest, pushed up through her throat, but she swallowed them. If she told him that…