He shuddered; his lids started to fall, but then he forced them up. Impaled her with a burning blue gaze. “Yes. Definitely. This time…”
She sensed rather than heard his inward curse, saw the fight he waged to try to regain his control—then his fingers wrapped hard about her wrist and he drew her hand from him. “Wait.”
He sat up and swung his legs off the bed. Coming up on one elbow, ready to protest if need be, she watched—relief and a surge of giddy anticipation flooded her when she heard the dull thud of one boot hitting the floor. The second followed; he glanced back at her as he worked the buttons of his waistband free, then he stood, stripped his breeches down, stepped out of them as he turned, kneeled, then fell back on the bed beside her.
Her heart leapt, swelled, ached. He was beautiful, fully aroused, elementally male. Her mouth was dry. She couldn’t drag her eyes from him, from the evidence that his desire for her hadn’t, yet, waned. She reached for him, traced lightly, trailing her fingers up the burning, baby-fine skin, then she closed her hand about his length, felt the weight of him fill her palm.
He groaned, the sound heartfelt. “Damn! You’re going to be the death of me.”
He caught her hand, lifted it from him, and rolled, coming over her, pressing her into the bed, nudging her thighs wide and settling between. Ground out as he shifted, “We’ll take it slowly next time.”
Caro’s lungs seized; her heart leapt to her throat. The time had finally come; her question hovered, about to be answered. Unequivocally.
Her senses locked, focusing on the soft flesh between her thighs, feeling it throb as he reached down between them, with his fingers stroked, then probed, then parted her folds.
The broad head of his erection touched her, pressed against her, then eased in a fraction.
She nearly cried out; hips lifting in wordless entreaty, she closed her eyes, bit her lip, willing him to enter her. Every particle of her being strained, held poised on an emotional edge higher than any she’d previously climbed, acutely aware of the drop below her, of the ocean of disappointment that waited to swallow her if he didn’t…
Spreading her hands over his back, she held him to her, pressed her hips nearer, urged him on.
Beneath her hands, the long planes of his back flexed. With one slow, powerful thrust, he joined them.
Eyes closed, savoring every inch of her scalding sheath as it stretched, took him in, and enclosed him, Michael noticed the tightness, then the constriction as he thrust through it; caught in her sensual web, he might not have understood if it hadn’t been for the pained gasp she tried unsuccessfully to smother, and the telltale tensing that gripped her, held her.
Stunned, dazed, opening his eyes he looked down at her, into her eyes, molten silver looking back at him. Understood in that moment all she’d hidden, all she’d never told, him or anyone else.
Finally understood the truth of her past, the true reality of her marriage.
She was waiting, breathless…tense, nervous…he suddenly understood what she was waiting for.
Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew a fraction, then reseated himself fully within her.
Saw her eyes flare—with wonder, with a joy so profound he felt his own heart turn over. But this was no time for words or explanations. Bending his head, he covered her lips with his, and spun them both into the fire.
Into the intimate dance they both craved.
He didn’t spare her, didn’t try to be gentle, realized that that, assuredly, was not what she wanted, more, was very definitely not what she needed. He sank into her body, drove deep, then withdrew until he was almost free of her clinging heat and her fingernails had sunk into his skin, desperately holding him to her, before thrusting into her again, slowly, inexorably, so she could feel every inch of his throbbing erection as he buried himself inside her once more.
She pulled back from the kiss. Her sobbing gasp, echoing with relief, with pure happiness, urged him on.
He took her mouth again, pulled her ruthlessly back to him, back into the kiss, let his weight pin her, then sent one hand sliding down, around over her hip to cup her bottom, gripping, anchoring her at just the right angle beneath him, then he settled to ride her, to let his body plunder hers as he and she both wished. Let the driving rhythm take over, binding their heated bodies in an orgy of elemental lust, driven by desire, by the passion that swirled about them, unleashed and almost tangible.
She met him, matched him; not at any moment did he doubt that she wanted this. Every bit as much as he did.
It might be her first time, yet she was no wilting virgin; quite the opposite. She was a quick study; as their tongues tangled and their bodies strove, within minutes she’d learned how to meet his thrusts, how to most effectively ride them, how to clasp him within her body and drive him wild…he dimly realized that for her, this was a long-sought-after release—a freeing of all she’d held within her, trapped inside, denied outlet for so long.
A catharsis of passion, of desire, of the simple need for the intimacy of human mating.
He gave her all she needed, took all he wanted in return, conscious she surrendered it—all he wished to take—gladly.
It was certainly not his first time—he’d had more women than he could truly remember, all of them experienced ladies if not outright courtesans—yet as he sank into her body, into her mouth, plundered and gloried in her open welcome, there was something new, something different in the act.
Perhaps it was the simplicity—they knew each other so well, so completely in so many other ways, understood each other so instinctively that knowing each other in this way, skin to skin, hands searching, gripping, mouth to greedy mouth, tongues tangling, gasping, loins to heated loins, plunging, driving…all seemed so natural.
Meant to be. Without any veils or masks to disguise it.
Power, fueled by their joint passion, welled up, spilled through them both and took them.