The world spun, a dizzying glimpse of moonlight spilling through filmy curtains, white sheets on a bed. She bounced into the pillows, then Keenan’s body landed on hers again, just as hard, just as unrelenting, just as dangerous.
He wasn’t being nice. Or tame. Thank God. Rather than coddling her, he expected her to keep up. Right now she was as turned on as she’d ever been in her life. She arched, craving the sweet grind of his hips against hers. He pushed back, obviously just as desperate for friction and pressure, his hand in her hair, hips to hers, the weight of his body charging up the nerves in her skin. When his hand went to the button on her jeans, she helped him, loving the way his strong fingers brushed against hers, then against her belly.
“Oh, fuck, this is going to be good,” he murmured into her hair as his deft fingers opened the button. He worked his hand into the slight opening. Her awareness narrowed as his fingers moved down, brushing her mound, then the top of her folds. With a grunt he spread his legs, spreading hers. She panted, the nerves in her clit and sex quivering in anticipation.
Then two fingers slid to either side of her clit and into the slick heat drawn from her body by the fight. He didn’t stop but slid inside, as deep as he could go in this position, caressing the sensitive tissue just inside her opening. She groaned, involuntary and helpless.
Impossibly, his body got hotter, heavier. “Fuck, oh, fuck,” he said, half-laugh, half-growl. He thrust against her hip, a quick, opportunistic grind, his fingers teasingly circling her opening, stimulating the damp flesh until an answering throb in her nipples as she undulated under him.
Then he pulled his hand free, using her body’s shock at being abandoned on the peak to sit back and work off the rest of her clothes. Cool air brushed against her heated skin. Eyes closed, she absorbed the sounds of a man getting ready for sex, his zipper rasping down, then the distinctive sound of a condom packet opening. She simply lay there and let waves of arousal wash over her, until he straddled her and set the blunt head of his cock against the folds of her sex, prodding at her until he slipped inside. It was as sudden, shocking, and arousing as the first time, forcing a hitching moan from her throat into the darkness.
Then he started to move, short, sharp thrusts that worked the head of his cock over that shivery hot spot inside her. She was on the edge again, legs straining to open, taking it.
He paused, leaving her sheath to ripple around him, and pushed her shirt up and over her head, trapping her arms. The cool air was once again a relief, then his chest came to rest on her back, hot and slick, muscles shifting as he started thrusting again.
It was going to tear her apart. He was going to tear her apart, at his pace, in his time. It became about the moment-by-moment experience, his skin against hers, her hair clinging to her hot cheeks as she tossed her head back and forth on the pillow, his cock inside her, cotton sheets damp under her back, the growing strain in her legs and the way that fed the fire inside.
He took his time, his soft huffs and rasping breath as erotic as the way his cock stretched her, stimulating the nerves until she was tense, quivering, tightly strung. The gliding, stretching friction drove her up, up, until she exploded. His mouth stifled her sharp cries, and then she free-fell into blackness.
*
Cool air drifted against her skin. She drew a deep breath and registered the absence of heated skin, the ability to inhale. Sensation came back next, the raw, sensitized skin of her sex, tingling and swollen. She stretched luxuriously, cataloging every tender spot and ache in her body. “That was, hands down, the best sex I’ve ever had,” she said when he came out of the bathroom.
His pants hung loose on his hips, exposing a really gorgeous strip of muscled abdominal wall, a tuft of hair. He folded his arms across his chest and smiled. “Yeah. You okay?”
The smile hadn’t reached his eyes. “I am fine,” she said with a sigh. “Really, really fine. So fine, in fact, I don’t want to move.”
“So don’t.”
“I can’t,” she said with genuine regret. Her room was only two doors down and across the hall, but with the adrenaline subsiding and her body’s sudden, enthusiastic appreciation for sleep, it might as well have been back in Cappadocia. Or Lancaster.
Where this wouldn’t happen. Ever. Suddenly her mood matched his, distant, withdrawn.
Her bra and shirt were rucked up around her armpits. She tugged them down, then sat up to disentangle her jeans and underwear and wriggle into them. Fully dressed, she paused when the room tilted a little. In two steps he was at her side, holding out his hand to help her to her feet.
“Thanks,” she said.
He kissed her then, a sweet kiss that felt as stolen as the ones in the hidden rose bower at Ephesus. “Rose,” he started.