Her maidenhead had been a mere cobweb. That hadn't surprised him; she'd been riding astride all her life and still did. So there'd been no pain, only pleasure as he'd filled her-as he withdrew and filled her again.
His muscles flickered under the strain, but he kept his rhythm very slow so she could grow accustomed to the intimacy, to the slide of his body into hers, to the flexing, regular rhythm, to the elemental repetition.
His breathing sounded ragged in his ears; he was so tense his lungs felt tight. But now he was, at long last, inside her, and she was so tight and hot, and so accepting, he was determined to prolong the sweet torture to the full.
She was very wet, scalding hot; her thighs eased about him as he loved her. Then she wriggled, pressing closer. Clinging to his shoulders, clamping her knees to his hips, she arched, and picked up his rhythm. She matched him, warm and pliant, a female body more delicious, more rewarding, than any he'd known. They could barely breathe, yet their lips fused and held, melding to the same beat as their bodies, the same beat as their hearts.
She was used to riding; he realized what that meant as she continued to meet him, her body supplely flexing in his arms. She could very likely last as long as he could-which was a thought to make a strong man weak.
It only made him more rigid, more engorged. Her murmur as she adjusted was not one of complaint. So he held her lips with his, held her steady before him, and gave her what she deserved-a long, slow ride to delight.
Flick followed his lead eagerly, delighted to find that she could. That the steady rhythm hadn't overwhelmed her, although at first she'd thought it would. That first instant of feeling him deep within her-even now, she gasped at the sensual memory. She still felt their joining keenly, the internal pressure, the fullness that was so strange, especially as she'd never felt empty there before. But now he was riding so smoothly, so deeply, so effortlessly into her, some part of her wits had reengaged.
Certainly not all of them. It was as if the heat between them had reached a new level, another plane, leaving her reeling in pleasured delight but with enough wit to appreciate the sensation. As for her body…
On a gasp, she pulled back from their kiss to draw in a labored breath, aware of her body arching in his arms-aware to her toes of why. Her skin radiated heat, as did his. But aside from the heat, it was very like riding. She hadn't realized it could be done like this-she was finding it quite easy to cope.
He ducked his head; she felt his lips sear her throat. She clung to his broad shoulders and tipped her head away so he could sear as he would. She lifted her heavy lids to regauge their position-she pressed her hips closer, gripped his hips more tightly and splayed her hands over his back.
And caught sight of the mirror on the wall by the door. Directly opposite.
The reflection in the mirror stole her breath, focused her wits and transfixed her attention. In utter fascination.
She could see his naked back, down to his calves, see the flexing of his spine as he drove into her, see his buttocks clench and ease in time with their riding rhythm.
The view was enthralling.
She couldn't help but remember Bletchley in similar circumstance-which left her feeling like the cat who'd secured the prize cream. There was absolutely no comparison-not at any level. Not in the long, taut, steely muscles flexing in back and legs, not in the tight muscles that bunched and thrust, not in the steady, effortless rhythm, and certainly not in the powerful result.
Each deep thrust filled her completely, each movement effective, efficient and seemingly effortless-the outcome of harnessed, concerted power. Controlled power.
Bletchley had flailed and thrashed on top of his woman. In complete and stark contrast was the way Demon filled her. Deeply. Relentlessly. And oh, so repetitively.
Watching him thrust, feeling the result deep within her a s
plit second later, focused her mind on the sensation, and drew her back into the maelstrom. Into the heat, and the swirling build of sensation.
Her lids were falling, her eyes almost shut when he changed his movement into a rolling thrust. She saw it-then felt it. She shut her eyes tight to better savor the moment-then quickly opened them again. To watch, and match her anticipation more acutely to his rhythm, to be ready to make the most of each sliding thrust, to shudder in his arms as he drove more deeply-to eventually let her lids fall as their glorious heat reached a new peak.
It was like riding at flat gallop through a fire.
Excitement, tense and searing, gripped her-along with a driving, compulsively urgent need. They were both breathing hard, both reaching deep-for the energy, the strength, to make the final dash.
He turned his head and their lips touched, but only briefly; she felt his hand slide, hot as a brand, up under her chemise. Skin to hot skin, he closed his hand about her breast. His fingers shifted; he found her tightly furled nipple. And pressed.
She cried out-the sound, laden with sharp delight, echoed through the room. His hand shifted on her flesh, and she was burning, burning-incandescent within.
Heat and flames were everywhere, raging through her-molten rivers of pleasure and urgent need flowed, a hot tide, from where they joined. The tide swelled, reaching ever higher, consuming her body, buoying her mind, her senses-lifting them high on a rush of pure passion.
Higher-ever higher.
His hand slid over her fevered flesh, from breast to hip, then around to her rear. He caressed her there-with a smothered gasp, she locked her arms about his shoulders and lifted slightly; instantly, his hand slid lower, caressing her bottom knowingly, evocatively, possessively, then reaching further to trace the line beneath the tight globes.
She shuddered-and felt like she was shattering. Blown apart by the heat and the burgeoning frenzy. He set her down and tipped her back, his hands once again at her hips. He angled them; without thought, she lifted her legs and wrapped them about his waist.
Instantly, he filled her deeply, completely; as he drew back, his fingers slid into the damp curls between her widespread thighs, straight to the nubbin of flesh he'd earlier teased.
He touched her there-and reality shook. She clutched tight-in desperation, she tried to cling to her wits, to her spiralling senses…