What Price Love?

He stifled a groan, and forced his arms to, if not relax, then at least not act. Refused to let his other self rule enough to lift her…just that little way.

Good God! How had they come to this pass?

She’d insisted…but he knew damned well she hadn’t meant her persuasions to go this far. Or at least, no further.

He was literally in pain, yet…if he took her now, like this, let his baser self loose and did as he wished-as she’d invited-and ravished her, took her aggressively in an act of primitive claiming, how would she react later?

Would she understand?

He could barely follow his own reasoning; he had no confidence he could follow hers.

But how could he let her go? How could he pretend he didn’t want her? She wasn’t as innocent as he’d thought; she knew what he wished of her, and would wonder…what she would wonder he had no clue.

She stirred in his arms; his body reacted instantly. Not just expectant, not just eager, but clamorous.

Gritting his teeth, he held back the driving need, could all but hear his baser self whisper that having her now would give him a hold he could use to bind her later…

She started to lift her head.

Jaw clenching, he reached for her hand, took it in his, then drew it down. Her eyes opened, locked on his, then widened as he closed her hand about his rigid length. His control shook; he couldn’t breathe as he battled the effects of her touch.

Her eyes, wide and lustrous with reawakening desire, gave him the strength to hold his beast at bay.

Long enough to drag in a breath, and say, “Your choice.”

Pris blinked. The temptation to look down, to examine what her fingers were wrapped around, was great, but she resisted, held by something in his dark eyes.

Once again she had cause to rue the dark, that she couldn’t see well enough to read his emotions. They were there, roiling in the depths of his eyes, but she had to rely on senses other than sight to define them.

“Why?” That seemed the most pertinent question.

His lips quirked. He was clinging to his usual persona, but the wild and reckless man who understood her craving for excitement and thrills was very close to his surface.

“I want you-obviously. But it wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of your…”

He broke off.

Eyes narrowing, she supplied, “Weakness? Female frailty?”

His lips thinned. “I was going to say ‘inexperience.’”

She suddenly felt insulted, in a strange and peculiar way. “I started this, if you recall.”

He met her gaze. “Precisely. You started it-it’s up to you to decide how far you want to go, how you want to finish this.”

Whether it was her temper, her normal response to a challenge, or something else that rose up and swamped her, she didn’t know, couldn’t tell. The end result was the same-a reckless abandon she knew quite well.

She had started it, and she remembered why. Recalled very clearly her wish to experience the thrills and excitement with which he was so intimately acquainted, but which she had yet to savor.

He’d taken her part of the way, whetted her appetite-did he think she’d balk?

She knew what he thought was her reason for seducing him, but she knew the truth.

And had discovered another in the last heated minutes-she truly did want him.

Wanted to know, wanted to experience, wanted to savor physical intimacy-with him.

She’d been stroking, lightly tracing the hard rod beneath her palm, very aware it had grown considerably harder in response to her touch.

Her eyes holding his, she closed her hand.

She didn’t have to shift much to reclaim her position astride him; she found it easy enough operating purely by touch to guide the blunt head of his erection to her swollen and surprisingly slick entrance, ease it between her nether lips, then push back a little, then a little more, sliding him into her…

He was large; now that he was partway inside her he felt thicker than she’d thought, but the look on his face was worth every second of the discomfort she felt as he stretched her.

She pressed lower. His dark eyes were fixed on her as if he’d never seen a naked woman before, never had one do to him what she’d done. Was doing.

Slowly.

He’d stopped breathing; suddenly, he sucked in a huge breath, his chest swelling dramatically, then he reached for her hips.

She swore and intercepted his hands, had to sit up to do so-immediately felt the hardness of him butt against her hymen.

She closed her eyes, gripped his hands tightly, rose slightly, and swiftly bore down.

Felt a stab of pain, sharp but mercifully brief as her maidenhead ruptured. Felt an indescribable sensation as she assimilated the feel of the thick, hard reality of him buried deep inside her.

The pain started to fade.

That other sensation grew and intensified.

She cracked open her lids and looked down at him. He was still staring at her; his expression wasn’t one she could interpret-he looked stunned, as if she’d clouted him over the head, and he hadn’t seen the blow coming.

Of course, he now knew; that much she could read in his wide dark eyes.

She narrowed hers at him. “If you value your life, say nothing at all.”

Something flared in the darkness; his jaw set. “You are the most damnable, incomprehensible female.”

The words were bitten off, so low, so gravelly, she could barely distinguish them. “Rather than debating my reasoning, could we return to the matter at hand? I wanted this-so why don’t you give me what I want?”

He looked at her for a moment, then his eyes blazed.

“You really want this?”

The words were low, gravelly, but now held a hint of something more. Something faintly menacing, something dangerous. A skitter of excitement slithered down her spine. She knew beyond doubt that she’d lured the wild and reckless soul, had brought him to her.

“Oh, yes.” She settled more fully on him, fought to suppress a wince, boldly reached for him, grabbed his shoulders, and yanked him up to her. “This,” she breathed the words over his lips, and shifted just a little upon him again, “is precisely what I want.”

She leaned in to kiss him, but he kissed her.

Ravenously.

Utterly and completely without reservation.

Every inhibition she’d ever possessed went up in flames as his hard hands found her body and ruthlessly claimed. Relentlessly possessed. Every curve, every inch of skin, every sensitive, intimate place.

She tried to push her hands over and down his shoulders; his coat and shirt got in her way.

He swore, a guttural expletive, then brusquely shifted, shrugged out of coat, waistcoat, and shirt, and hauled her to him.

Crushed her body against his, her swollen and aching breasts pressed tight against that magnificent chest, to skin that burned.

Surrounded by steely arms, by a strength that wouldn’t be denied, with every nerve quivering with fevered anticipation welling from the knowledge they were intimately joined, from the overwhelming sensation of him hard and rigid thrust so deeply inside her, Pris exulted and surrendered, wrapped her arms about him, and gave herself up to the wild and reckless, to the passion and desire and the driving need that rose up and consumed them both.

Dillon couldn’t believe what she’d done, could barely comprehend the power, the sheer driving need that gripped him. That she had unleashed.

Her body was hot, flushed silk, restlessly urgent, recklessly greedy as she shifted in his arms. Her sheath was a tight glove, scalding and slick, clamped hard about him. His lips on hers, his tongue dueling with hers, he fed from her, and blatantly, forcefully, gave her back the raging tide of fiery desire she and all she was sent racing through