Her body arched. She clung, desperately held on-desperately wanted to feel every fraction of an inch of him as he thrust deep and hard into her heated, helplessly willing, mindlessly needy body.
As she felt her sheath stretch, greedily taking him in, all the hard length of him as he forged deep, she hungrily clutched, held him to her. With her arms, with her body, she wrapped herself around him and held tight.
Heard his guttural groan as he came to rest deep within her, then he lowered his head, found her lips-and she tasted her nectar on his lips and tongue as he kissed her ferociously. Then his spine flexed, powerful and sure, and his erection pumped within her, his hips driving in a steady, pounding rhythm…
She couldn’t hold on. Couldn’t hold back the tide that rose up and crashed over her, surging again before barreling through her.
Ecstasy smashed into her, a tidal wave of sensation that streaked down every vein, down every nerve, to explode in brilliant glory.
Shattering her, emptying her, draining her, then filling the void with glory-tinged bliss.
A bliss that only deepened, only strengthened when he stiffened, then she felt the warm rush deep within, and he groaned and slumped in her arms.
She held him close and marveled, drifting in the aftermath-one deeper, more profound, than she’d previously known. Hands weakly shifting in his hair in an instinctive caress, she lay relaxed and boneless beneath him, beyond amazed at the depth and intensity, the sheer vibrancy of feeling that with him the act had encompassed, had contained.
Never, ever, not in any of her three previous attempts, had the act been anything like this. Not even a weak echo of this.
Logan knew he should shift, that he was pressing her into the bed and she probably couldn’t breathe, but… he could feel her hand in his hair, gently stroking, and some part of him didn’t want to let the moment go. Not yet.
She’d wanted slowly, so he’d gone as slow as he could. Not so easy given that the instant she’d melted into his arms, he’d known he would have her again-that her body was his to take again-and his baser self had been fixated on that, on achieving that as quickly and as blatantly as possible.
Why that last was so important-why some part of him had been so urgent to reimpose, reenact, reiterate his possession of her-he didn’t know. He liked women, liked indulging with them, yet never before had he wanted to do more than physically enjoy them. Possess them? No. Not him.
He wasn’t a possessive lover-or at least he never had been… for a moment, he wondered how he knew, yet consulting his deeper feelings, he knew he was right. He’d never before felt the need to mark a woman as his.
Yet he felt that way with Linnet Trevission.
Perhaps being clouted over the head had changed him?
Yet… why her?
Admittedly she felt better beneath him-fitted him better, suited him better-than any other woman he’d ever known. Still…
Perhaps when his memory fully returned, he’d lose this primitive urge to tighten his hold on her and never let her go.
Perhaps.
Dragging in a breath, he managed to lift his body from hers-reluctantly separating skin from slick skin-then he left himself down gently on his back beside her. He was well aware the gash on his side had not yet mended; he’d felt the stitches pull during his recent exertions, but was fairly certain none had popped.
Chill air played over his cooling skin. He hadn’t noticed the temperature before. Reaching down, he snagged the covers and flicked them up over them both. She lifted a hand weakly to help.
Grinning to himself, he lay back and simply rested. Sensed that it was a long time since he’d just lain back afterward like this, and let the warmth of aftermath lap, then gently recede.
He couldn’t raise his left arm and gather her in, not without stretching his wound. Eventually, even though he sensed she was awake, he turned carefully onto his side and slid his right arm over her waist. Felt insensibly comforted by having her beneath his arm, within his hold.
She shot him a quick glance, but immediately looked away, confirming she was wide awake. He knew why he was-he was basking, savoring the moment too much to succumb to slumber and miss it-but he knew he’d satisfied her, thoroughly, deeply, and utterly completely, so by rights she should be comatose… except she was thinking. Pondering.
He suspected he knew about what. Weak light from the distant candle played over them, well enough for eyes adjusted to the dimness to see reasonably well. Keeping his lips straight, his expression blank, letting his lids fall so he could only just see through his lashes, he murmured, “Your other lovers-I take they weren’t as… inventive as I.”
The look she shot him was faintly shocked, but even as he watched, that faded. Clearly assuming his eyes were closed, she studied his face, frowned. “I wouldn’t have said inventive. I suspect experienced is closer to the mark.”
He could smile without giving away that he was watching her. “I see. How many were there?”
Why he wanted to know was a mystery-he never had with any other lover. But with her… he wanted to know.
She continued to frown. “Three.”
“Only three?”
“Three before you.” Folding her arms over the covers, snugging them beneath her breasts, she acerbically added, “Three was enough to convince me that there was little in the activity to recommend it to me.”
“I wasn’t about to further indulge them if I got nothing from the event.”
“Nothing?” His mind boggled; she’d been gloriously, uninhibitedly responsive. “They must have been clods.”
“They weren’t.” She shrugged. “Just… not as imaginative as you.”
He held her gaze, inwardly held his breath. “Am I to take it, inventive, imaginative, and experienced as I am, that you won’t be averse to indulging with me again?”
She hesitated, but now he was piecing her situation together, he wasn’t all that surprised. He knew well enough not to push, but merely wait; she was, after all, a gently bred female, so that she’d indulged at all with anyone…
He narrowed his eyes. “How old are you?”
She narrowed her eyes fractionally back. “Twenty-six.”
When his expression relaxed, she frowned. “Why? What does it matter?”
“It doesn’t, but it does explain why you’ve indulged at all-twenty-six is getting a trifle long in the tooth.”
“Indeed. As you can clearly remember, twenty-six is more or less on the shelf.”
“And they-local society-expect you to marry.”
“Yes, but that’s not why I decided to take a lover. We weren’t courting-there was never any question of that.”
He inwardly frowned. Either customs had changed radically, or he was missing some relevant fact.
Before he could think of what question to ask, she said, “I’d already decided I would never marry.”
He let his frown materialize. “Why not?”
She arched her brows, haughty again. Even naked, she could pull it off. “For the same reason Queen Elizabeth didn’t.”
Oddly, that made perfect sense. “Ah. I see.”
Linnet was surprised. Indeed, she doubted he truly had, but then he confirmed it.
“The question of power.”
“Yes. My position here is essentially that of liege-lord, a hereditary position I’ve been bred to fill, and I have no inclination whatever to give it up.”
He held her gaze for a long moment-so long she wondered what was passing through his mind. Then he said,
