“Please, Travis, please,” she begged.
Within seconds he came to her, his mouth hard on hers, but no harder than hers as she attempted to devour all of him. When he entered her, she arched high, completely off the bed, supporting him, needing him, using her hips to drive him onward.
His passion was as great as hers and his need as violent. After only a few powerful, deep, filling thrusts, his body jerked, and he clutched her to him in a bone-crushing hug as spasms racked both their bodies.
It was several moments before Regan realized she couldn’t breathe, that Travis seemed to be trying to pull her inside him, and that she wanted him to.
As he relaxed his grip but still held her, his face buried in her neck, she opened her eyes and saw a long line of crushed flower petals clinging to his sweaty skin. Turning her head, breathing deeply of the lovely fragrance, she began to laugh as she put out her hand, grabbed some flowers, and playfully tossed them into the air.
One eyebrow lifted, Travis moved to look at her. “And what is so amusing?” he asked.
“Flowers for the bride!” she laughed gaily. “Oh Travis, I meant a bouquet, not a whole garden.”
Leaning across her, he grabbed a handful, catching the flowers upside down and sideways, and he held out the funny bouquet. “I’m sure you could find what you wanted in this.”
She moved out from under him, rolling in the flowers, tossing clumps into the air, and then began pelting him with them. “She wants flowers,” Regan laughed in a mock deep voice. “I’ll give her flowers. Oh Travis, everything you do is so…so big!” she laughed, trying for the right word. “Everything is so oversized, blown out of proportion, overpowering, domineering.” Sitting up, watching him, looking at that magnificent body reclining lazily on a bed of flowers, her heart seemed to turn somersaults.
“Perhaps,” she said in a cat-soft voice, “not all of you is overpowering all the time.”
After a sharp intake of breath, Travis grabbed her by a handful of silk, but a short, sharp scream from Regan stopped him.
“Don’t you tear one more piece of my clothing,” she warned, but flung the silk gown off before he could disobey her.
“Orders and taunts,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he lifted himself up onto all fours and began to stalk her like some great beast of prey.
With a squeal of delight, Regan backed away from him, bombarding him with flowers as he slowly came toward her. When she was backed against the wall, she threw her hands up in surrender. “Oh, kind sir,” she said in mock fear. “Do what you will with me, but do not take my virtue.”
Her skin alive, anticipating Travis’s delicious pounce, she was startled when he uttered a heartfelt “Damn!”
Turning her head, she saw that he’d sat up, holding his knee. “How can you crawl around on these damned things without injury? Look at that! Have you ever seen a thorn that big?”
Regan burst into laughter so hard her stomach threatened to split. Her knees drawn up, she rolled in laughter.
Pulling the thorn from his knee and angrily tossing it onto the floor, he gave her a nasty glare. “I am glad I afford you some amusement.”
“Oh Travis,” she cried. “You are so, so romantic.”
He stiffened at her sarcasm, his mouth turning into a straight line. “Why the hell did I get you all these goddamn flowers if I wasn’t the very soul of romance?” he demanded seriously.
This statement, and especially the way he said it, sent Regan into new spasms of laughter, and it took some minutes before she became aware that she was hurting his feelings. He really had tried, she admitted to herself. It wasn’t his fault if he didn’t understand that a bunch of violets was often more romantic than enough flowers to fill a wagon. She’d said she wanted flowers, and he had gotten them for her. And neither was it his fault that a thorn in his knee forced him to interrupt a lovely little romantic game.
As he started to leave the bed, she put her hand on his shoulder and swallowed her laughter. “Travis, the flowers are lovely. I really do like them.” When he didn’t respond and she saw the muscles standing rigid on his neck, she really was sorry that she’d laughed. He’d done what he did to please her, and all she did was laugh.
“I’ll wager I can make you stop being angry with me,” she whispered, nuzzling his ear, her teeth running along the cartilage edge, her tongue touching the lobe. “Maybe if I kiss your sore knee, it will stop hurting,” she murmured, running her lips down his arm.
“It might,” Travis said, his voice especially deep. “I’d sure like to try it.”
Regan, aware of how he’d tried to please her, wanted to please him. Pushing him gently, she found he was putty in her hands, and the look of wonder and pleasure on his face was intriguing. The strength of him surrendering to her was a powerful feeling.
Beginning at his knee, her lips traveled upward,
her hands trailing behind, massaging his leg, glorying in the great muscle there. When she reached the center of him, Travis groaned, whispering her name. With one fluid motion he pulled her up in the bed, his eyes black and hot as he roughly threw her down beside him and mounted her in moments. He was not his usual, calm self, but a man driven beyond endurance with his blinding lust.
His violent need of her was exciting, especially because she knew she’d driven him to it. Lifting her body under him as if she were a rag doll, he thrust hard and long, pulling her, pushing her—owning her.
When at last the fury died in one massive flash, Regan was limp, weak from the raw tempest of their wild, savage lovemaking. Exhausted, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
“Get up!” Travis commanded, slapping her firm, lovely buttocks. “If we don’t get started, we’ll never make it to Clay’s house, and if you think I’m going to spend a night on that little sloop with you, you’re wrong.”