He wanted to slow and savor the sensation, but the urgency, the compulsion to have her, to take and possess, rose in an unstoppable wave and roared through him.
What followed was a barely controlled frenzy; he lifted her and thrust into her scalding heat, and she used her strong thighs to lever herself up and ride him, her inner muscles clamping and releasing, spurring him to ever more rapid and powerful thrusts. At one point, she caught his face between her hands and kissed him, initiating a searing exchange that whipped fire through them, relentlessly driving them on until their bodies were slick and their muscles were trembling, and they still hadn’t had enough of each other.
She gasped and clung and urged him on—wanting, demanding, unendingly giving.
Struggling for breath, he crossed the few paces to an expanse of uncluttered wall, braced her spine against the silk wall covering, and pounded into her.
She raised her head, desperate for air as he pushed her up and on. Her hands turned into claws, her fingernails sinking into the backs of his shoulders.
From beneath weighted lids, he watched her face as he pressed deeper between her thighs and thrust harder, faster.
And finally, on a gasping scream, she shattered and flew.
The wash of ecstatic joy that passed over her features nearly brought him undone.
Determined to wait, to make the moments last, on a shuddering breath, he thrust deep and buried himself inside her—and held still. He bent his head and pressed his face into the scented silken mass of her wildly disarranged hair.
His breath was coming in rasping pants; he breathed deeply, the swell of his chest cushioned by the firm mounds of her swollen breasts. Every muscle he possessed remained as rigid as iron.
Wanting.
Waiting.
She was close to boneless in his arms. Gathering his wits, he plotted his next move.
He was fairly certain that conventional wisdom held that one did not engage with one’s wife in such intemperate fashion. Luckily, he gave not a whit for conventional attitudes, not with her, not in this.
Then she drew in a deeper breath, and her hands, until then lying lax on his shoulders, drifted in a gentle caress.
Strengthening his hold on his ravenous impulses, promising himself that satiation would not be long delayed, he tightened his hold on her and straightened, lifting her away from the wall.
She murmured incomprehensibly and pushed her arms farther over his shoulders, helping him balance her weight as he carried her to the bed.
The mattress was high; he’d long ago ensured it was just the right height.
He set her hips on the edge, then reached for her arms and drew them from his shoulders.
On a soft huff of delight, she obligingly fell back to sprawl across the silk counterpane. A knowing little smile of anticipation curved her swollen lips, and he caught the silver flash of her eyes from beneath her long lashes.
He grasped her hips and anchored her as he rolled his hips, seating himself more fully between her widespread thighs. Her smile deepened, and she started to lift an arm as if to beckon him close, but he withdrew from her heat and thrust home again, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth.
He repeated the movement, powerful and sure, and her hand fell limply back to the counterpane, and her features smoothed as, in response to his call, desire again welled and her body rose to meet his.
During all such encounters to date, as far as possible, he’d kept the reins in his hands, but tonight…there were no reins. He’d thought he was plotting their play, but as instinct claimed him and his body reacted, he realized he’d already been swept away, his will suborned by a power, a need, he had no hope of controlling.
Obeying the compulsions that pounded through him, he leaned forward, planted his hands on either side of her shoulders, and leaned his weight on his braced arms. Hanging over her, his body plunged deeply, rhythmically, into hers, and she responded and writhed, then raised her knees, wrapped her legs about his hips, set her hands to his chest, and with reckless abandon, drove him on.
Sensation swamped him, and he struggled to draw breath past the vise locked about his chest.
Need soared, and passion seared and whipped and demanded.
Never had the moment—the ineluctable drive for completion—been more intense. More fundamentally important.
More all-consuming.
He tipped his head back and gave himself up to it—surrendered to what now lived within him.
Anchored beneath him, her body dancing to the rhythm of his thrusts, Therese watched in fascination as passion claimed his features. Claimed his wits, his mind. His surrender was there, in the planes of his face, in the tautness of his features, writ large and displayed for her to see, and he made no effort to hide it.
