Couldn’t.
She sobbed. Sobbed again as he raised her hips, turned the sensual rack one notch tighter . . .
In the instant before she broke and told him precisely what she wanted him to do, he shifted. Opened her with his fingers, guided the broad head of his erection to her entrance—and thrust deliberately and heavily home.
Filled her with one long, sure stroke that pushed all the air from her lungs.
That left her feeling more full of him that she ever had before.
His thighs outside hers, his groin to her bottom, he gripped her hip, withdrew a little way, then surged within her.
Still holding her down, a supplicant before him, her body offered for the enjoyment of his.
An offering he took, accepted, savored—with every hard, deep, too-knowing thrust.
She’d told him she was all his; he’d taken her at her word. As he held her before him and possessed her, deeper, harder, faster, she finally fully understood what that meant.
Couldn’t find it in her to complain.
The fire, the flames, and the love were there, around them, about them, within them. She gave herself up to it all, lost herself in the inferno.
Willingly surrendered.
Simon gasped as he
felt her body tighten. Closed his eyes, savored the exquisite sensation of the firm curves of her bottom riding against him as he buried himself in her scalding heat. Again and again and again.
Taking his hand from her back, he clamped both palms about her hips and held her still as, all restraint long gone, he took all he wished—all she’d offered him.
The most potent invitation a woman could issue—to have her however he wished. To possess her, all she was, all the delights her body could offer, without reservation.
His heart thundered, filled to bursting as he filled his senses with her. As, step by step, her body responded, as did his, wanting more, reaching further.
Releasing her hips, he leaned over her, ran his hands up and around, filling them with her breasts, hot, swollen, finding and squeezing her nipples until she cried out, until she sobbed anew.
She’d come alive beneath him, riding his thrusts, meeting them. He bent his head, nuzzled her hair aside, set his teeth to the tendon running along the curve of her neck, and nipped.
Laved as she reacted, as on a wild gasp her body rose beneath his and clenched tight, then imploded, fractured, pulsing as he drove relentlessly into her, deep into the heart of her fire.
Closed his arms around her, holding her immobile as his body reacted to the rippling contractions of hers, as he plunged deeper yet, filling her, following her, over the peak of sensual glory, over the edge of worldly delight and into earthly bliss.
Into a deep void of unutterable satisfaction. The deepest satiation he’d ever known. Her celebration had created a new dimension, taken them to a different plane.
How many minutes passed before he could summon the strength and the wit to lift from her, wrestle the covers from beneath them and, curling her body against his, slump, all but exhausted, into the bed, he had no idea.
He lay there and let the moment wash over him. Let the peace, the knowledge, the absolute certainty sink into him.
They both fell asleep.
When he woke, he found he’d turned on his side, one arm slung over her hip, his body curved spoon-fashion about hers.
She, too, was awake. He knew it from the tension in her body; she was lying on her side facing away from him—he couldn’t see her face.
Coming up on his elbow, he leaned over her.
She turned her head, looked at him, and smiled.
Even in the moonlight, the gesture was glorious.