What choice did she have? She was locked, trapped, steeped. Her breathing was slow now, shallow, her vision misted at the edges, but she moved with him. Stroke now for stroke.
He shuddered when she came, when she closed around him like a damp fist, and he fought a vicious war with himself not to follow. Not yet. There was more. Even as the blood roared like the sea in his head, he wanted more. And so he dragged her up until her legs locked around him, until her body flowed back so fluidly it might have been made of water. Worked her until her new frenzy was met, matched, until her head dropped on his shoulder.
Then, and then only, he buried his face in her hair and let himself fall.
His weight pinned her to the floor. It was an odd and drugging feeling, having a man's full weight on her again. And it was a triumphant feeling to know that he was incapable of moving, that he was as dazed, as sated, as she. She didn't have to doubt it. She'd seen his eyes, felt his hands, heard the gritty groan sound in his throat. He had been caught, trembling, on that stunning moment when he had lost himself and come inside her.
There, in the darkened stables with the sweet smell of hay and horses, her clothes in tatters and her blood singing, she felt like a woman again. Not like a mother, a friend, a responsible member of society. Like a woman.
She didn't want to fumble now, to begin stuttering out foolish truths. That it had never been this way before, that she hadn't known it could be. Better, she thought, for both of them, to keep it light.
So she smiled, found the strength to lift her hand and stroke his hair. "Looks like I redeemed that rain check."
His chuckle tickled her throat. "What was your name again, sugar?"
Gathering his reserves, he rolled lazily over, pulling her with him until she was sprawled on his chest. Her smile was both smug and sleepy. There was hay in her hair.
"God, you're pretty. Such a pretty little thing. The proper Laura Templeton with the surprising, and flexible, steam engine of a body. Who'd have thought it?"
She certainly hadn't, and she raised a brow. "I can't say that I or it has ever been described quite that way before." Her lips quirked. "I think I like it."
"Since you're in such a good mood, why don't you tell me now why you came here tonight."
"To see the foal." Fastidiously, she picked hay out of his hair, then shifted her gaze back to his. "On the way to you. You knew I'd come."
"I was counting on it. If you hadn't I'd have had to breach the castle walls and drag you out. I don't know how much longer I could have done without you."
"Michael." Moved, she laid her hand on his cheek. "Would you have ravished me?"
"Sugar, I did ravish you."
"It's the first time anyone has." She waited a beat, watched her own finger trace down his throat. "I hope it won't be the last."
"I wasn't looking for one quick romp in the hay."
Satisfied with that, she nodded, smoothed his hair again. "Then I'll come back." She lowered her mouth to his, lingered over it. "I should go now."
He merely shifted their positions, pinned her again. "Laura, you don't really think I'm going to turn you loose tonight."
She felt the quick, hitching thrill of being overpowered. "You aren't?"
"No." That rough-palmed hand slid up, closed over her breast, and his mouth became busy at her throat. She arched under him, shuddered out a sigh. "Good."
Still, she hadn't meant to stay until morning. Hadn't meant to fall into twilight sleep in a pile of hay with her body curled around his. Hadn't realized she would awake fully aroused with his mouth on hers, and his hands… his hands.
"Michael." And when her eyes fluttered open, he slid slow and deep inside her. Moved inside her with long, lazy strokes that had dreams misting over reality.
He watched her face, that lovely flush from sleep and sex that warmed her cheeks. The eyes smoky and dazed. The mouth, swollen from his, that trembled on each breath.
They would look at each other now in the light, see as they took each other up with a rhythm soft and silky.
Hay motes fluttered in the fragile light of morning, danced in the quiet air. Night birds gave way to the lark. In the stables, horses began to stir, cats stretched and hunted up sunbeams.
And her hands reached for him, cupped his face, guided his mouth once again to hers as they gently slid over.
"Michael," she said again.
"I can't keep my hands off you."