Taking unreservedly.
Being taken unreservedly.
But as he sensed their climax roaring down on them, as the wave of release reared, about to crash, as her body clung to his, abandonly enticing, he realized…
Then she screamed his name and shattered, and her release brought on his own, and all thought was drowned beneath an orgy of sensation.
Bliss rolled in on a heavy wave of aftermath.
In the instant before he succumbed, he acknowledged defeat.
She hadn’t drawn back. She hadn’t been frightened-not the faintest lick of even reticence had touched her.
She’d loved every minute, every intense second.
On a long-drawn groan, he slumped on top of her.
He’d achieved the opposite of what he’d intended-and more. Worse.
Only one thought, one reaction, managed to surface in his exhausted brain.
He should have guessed she’d revel in the power, the passion, the intensity. She was like no woman he’d ever known, ergo…
Some untold time later, when he’d managed to lift from her and settle them in the bed, with her curled beside him, he lay staring at the shadowed ceiling-thinking. Of what, beneath all the heat and fire, courtesy of the power, the passion, and the intensity that had undeniably ruled, had actually occurred.
Had happened.
There was no going back.
It had definitely not been what he’d intended-almost certainly not what she’d expected, either. But she’d stubbornly brought it on, engineered the encounter, and it had happened, come to pass, and so here they now were.
Somewhere they hadn’t been before.
He’d thought that being so dominant a personality, she’d recoil from being dominated-that she wouldn’t like it, would draw back from it. Instead, she’d gloried in his possession, welcomed and embraced it, and him, and wrapped him in something akin to heaven-an angel’s embrace. He’d thought she’d run screaming, at least figuratively. Instead… he was the one conquered.
The one now addicted.
She’d satisfied every dream-every potent desire-he’d ever had.
Even if he dreamt up more, and he could-definitely could-he felt certain, now, that she would happily fulfill them.
After what had happened… things between them had changed. Irreparably, irretrievably. He wasn’t going back, could no longer step back. Not now he knew what it was like to touch heaven and come to rest in an angel’s arms.
Even if she was, very definitely, no angel at all.
Seven
Linnet woke, once again, to the sensation of being filled, of being swept away, smoothly, irresistibly, on a tide of pleasure and quiet passion, of being taken, whisked high, and shattered, drained, then suffused with indescribable glory as she sank to rest, sated and blissfilled, in her lover’s arms.
As she slipped, helplessly, back into slumber, Logan slumped by her side, and felt his lips curve. His new direction was irrefutably right. Satisfied, reassured, he surrendered to the combined lure of her warmth and his satiation and let sleep have him again.
He woke as Linnet slid from the bed. Opening his eyes, he raised his head, looked at her. Arched his brows.
Linnet stared into his dark blue eyes-into the smug, distinctly masculine, self-satisfied expression inhabiting them-and nearly panicked.
She never panicked.
“Don’t get up-it’s early yet. You should rest.”
Better. She could still feel his gaze-all over. The flimsy chemise didn’t dull its edge. Donning her shift helped, gave her a touch more confidence.
Enough to ignore him as he rolled over the better to watch her dress.
She’d told him to go back to sleep, so she wasn’t going to talk to him. Talking could wait until her mind was working again.
It was early, earlier than usual, but she had to get away. Had to get out of sight of him, out of reach of him, before she did something stupid.
Like grab him again, demand he make love to her however he wished again.
Foolish,
Before satisfying every last iota of that need with mindbending pleasure.
Her mind had definitely been bent. She didn’t think she could trust it to work again, not where he was concerned.
She kept herself facing away from the bed. Yet-damn it-she was already thinking, mentally flirting, with notions she shouldn’t. Like imagining what it would be like to keep him in her life. To have him there to satisfy… all he’d shown her, the deep cravings she’d never known she had.
Now she knew, and she couldn’t undo the damage. She would know she craved that-preferably with him-for the rest of her life.
Her lonely, largely solitary life. The life that stretched before her, much as the life she’d had to date-the one without a large, naked, entirely capable man in her bed.
Without a man by her side to share the day’s burdens… oh, this was not good.
On a personal level, she was alone, and always had been. She’d survived before, and she would again-once he’d left and she’d recovered her equilibrium.
Annoyance and irritation came to her aid. Annoyance at him for being all she’d never known she desperately wanted, irritation at herself for wishing for something that could never be.
Pulling a dark navy gown from her armoire, she yanked it over her head, tied the laces as she headed for the door. She was almost surprised to reach it without some comment from him, but she told herself she was inexpressibly grateful.
She put her hand on the knob-and glanced at the bed.
Arms crossed behind his head, like a dark Adonis he lay watching her.
“I’ll see you at the breakfast table.” Opening the door, she stalked out, and shut it carefully behind her.
Any day-perhaps today-he would remember the missing pieces of the jigsaw of his life, and then he would leave.
That was the one thing above all others she had to remember.
The one thing she couldn’t afford to forget.
Logan lay in her bed, lips slowly curving in a knowing smile.
It might not have been obvious, but his angel who was no angel had been flustered-that’s why she’d beaten
