She nearly upended them both off the bed, but he managed to wrap around her and roll. Even as he sank into the next kiss, her hands got busy on his shirt. “You’ve got such great shoulders. I just want to—” She dragged it off, pulled the thermal beneath it up and away.
r /> She made a sound like a woman licking melted chocolate from a spoon as her hands ran over his pecs, up to his shoulders, down to squeeze his biceps.
“You’re so strong.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
She laughed again, no nerves this time. “I’m not going to promise the same.”
Agile and quick, she reached back, unclipped the clasp of her bra. “Made it easy for you.”
“I’m up for difficult work.” He drew the bra aside. “Now be quiet, so I can concentrate on it.”
In a moment she couldn’t think, much less speak. So many sensations rushed over her like his hands that thrilled, that took, that tortured. Those rough, workingman palms, the prickly stubble of a daylong beard—thrill over thrill on her quivering skin.
Boys, she realized. Every one who’d ever touched her had been a boy compared to him. All too smooth, too easy, too practiced. Now she had a man who wanted her.
He wasted no time peeling her out of the jeans, exploring her body, feasting on it.
She’d brought the whirlwind in the woods. Now he stirred one inside her just as reckless and wild.
She gave to him, with no hint of restraint or shyness—a bounty of delights and demands that aroused him beyond reason. Her gasp or groan fired more needs, her willful hands sparked nerves over and under his skin. And her mouth, restless and hungry, stirred in his blood like a drug.
Mad for her, he took her hands, drew her arms back until they both gripped the spindles.
When he drove into her, he thought, for a moment, the world exploded. It shook him, the force of it, blinded him, the brilliance of it. Left him, for that breath of time, utterly weak.
Then she rose up to him, taking him deeper on the sigh of his name.
And he was strong as a god, randy as a stallion, mad as a hatter.
He thrust into her, again, again, again, crazed for all that heat, all that softness. She matched his frantic pace, her fingers twining with his, her hips slick pistons—driving and driven.
He felt himself flying—an arrow from a bow—the helpless glory of it. Heard her, dimly, let out a sobbing cry as she flew with him.
He collapsed, mindless of his weight on her. His mind still whirled; his lungs still labored. And something in his speeding heart pulsed like an ache.
She quivered beneath him, trembling limbs, pinging muscles. She wanted, badly, to wrap around him, to stroke and nuzzle. But she didn’t have the strength.
He’d just hulled her out.
She could only lie there, washed in heat, listening to his rapid breathing and the slow patter of rain.
“I’m smothering you.”
“Maybe.”
His own muscles shook as he pushed himself off, then just flopped over on his back. He’d never been so . . . caught up, he decided.
What did it mean?
She took a couple of deep drinks of air, then curled over to nestle her head on his chest. There was a simple sweetness in that he couldn’t resist, and he found himself drawing her in a bit closer.
“Are you cold then?”
“Are you kidding? We generated enough heat to melt the Arctic. I feel amazing.”
“You’re stronger than you look.”