Steel's Edge

She swallowed and pulled away.

Richard stopped.

Her confidence evaporated. She felt so vulnerable sitting there with her shirt off, painfully self- conscious.

Richard swallowed. She sensed he was about to step back and grasped his hand. “No.”

He stopped.

“I want you,” she told him. “I . . .” She tried to make sense of the tangled ball of feelings.

Richard crouched by the bed. “A woman once told me to use words.”

“I’m barren,” she said with brutal honestly. “Sex was about making children. I want to be loved.” She sounded so needy and desperate. “I’m afraid.”

“Of me?”

“Of intimacy.” She swallowed. “I need it to be different than it was with him.”

She killed it. She ruined it, she brought the shadow of her ex-husband into the bedroom, and now Richard would have the burden of being different from him without knowing what it was like. It was unfair and selfish. He would walk away from her.

“Do you want me?” Richard asked.

“Yes.” He had no idea how much.

Richard pulled off his tunic. Underneath, his body rippled with strong, carved muscle, his bronzed skin lightened with old scars. She watched mute as he took off his shoes. His pants followed. He was aroused.

Oh gods, he was so aroused.

Richard sat on the bed, leaned against the carved wooden headboard, and rested his muscular arms on its top edge. His spare, hard body looked almost decadent against the sheets.

“Come,” he invited.

She stared at him, her eyes wide.

“You want it different. Come, make it different.”

“Me?”

“You.”

He was giving her control. She wasn’t sure what to do with it.

She would do something.

Charlotte stripped, shook her head, letting her blond hair fall over her in a cloud, and sat on the bed.

He was looking at her with such unrestrained, almost feral need, that she blushed. All of his brakes were gone. This was Richard without manners, without proper etiquette, without restraint. She thought he was ice. She had no idea he was fire.

The awkwardness fled, leaving sheer excitement.

“What can I do?” she asked him.

“Anything you wish.”

Anything she wished. She raised her hand and touched his chest, drawing her fingers along the narrow hollow between the hard panes of his pectoral muscles. He strained, his body tightening under her touch, but kept his hands on the headboard. She felt so free and . . . wanton. Yes. That was the word.

Charlotte slid her fingers lower, caressing the hard bulges of his abdominal muscles, sliding her hand lower, past his navel, tracing the long line of dark hair pointing down.

“Richard?”

His voice was strained. “Yes?”

“How good is your control?”

“How good do you need it to be?” His voice sounded strained. His biceps bulged as he gripped the headboard.

“Can you keep your hands on that headboard?”

“If you want me to, yes.”

She touched the smooth head of his shaft, and he flexed in response, raising himself slightly off the covers.

“Let’s find out,” she whispered.

She stroked the hard length of him and lowered her head to kiss his neck. The rasp of his stubble scratched her tongue. She tasted a hint of sweat and soap. He groaned. She smiled and kissed him again, his lips, his chest, running her tongue over his nipples, over his hard stomach. An insistent liquid heat spread between her legs. She really could do anything. He would let her. She had complete control. Her excitement spiked.

She trailed a line down from his navel with the tip of her tongue, feeling the muscles tense, like hardened steel under the skin.

She slipped his shaft into her mouth.

His back arched, as he flexed his arms, lifting himself and her. The headboard creaked.

She licked him, testing his discipline. His body shuddered. He groaned again. “You may not want to . . . do . . . that. It’s been a while for me.”

“For me, too.” She straddled him, her breasts inches from his lips. She felt him press between her legs. He was looking at her, his gaze like a heated caress. Everything about him was so unbelievably erotic, from his strong muscular body, to the way his skin, warmed by the fire, burned under her touch, to the way he looked at her.

She tilted her hips. The hot hard length of him slid inside her in a rush of pleasure, stretching her from the inside. Charlotte gasped, arching her back, feeling the full extent of him inside her. She felt tight, but flexible, pliant, warm, and so impatient for more.

“Gods, I want you,” he growled.

She began to rock forward, sliding over him. It felt like heaven, but she wanted more.

“Touch me now,” she whispered. “Please.”

He pushed off the bed, grasping her hips, grinding up, deeper into her. His mouth found her breast, then her nipple, still cool from the shower. His tongue slid over it, and she tightened in response, the rush of sensation so intense it almost hurt. He sucked on her, and she shivered atop him, bending back, riding him faster. Her joints turned liquid.

He slipped his hand down between her legs and touched the sensitive knot of nerves there. Bliss cascaded through her.

“Please,” she moaned. “Please.”

He kept caressing her, his fingers skillful, adding just the right amount of pressure, matching her movement. The combined sensation overwhelmed her, lifting her higher and higher. Her head swam, but she felt every moment, every caress, as she was hovering on the precipice.

Her breath was coming in quick whimpers. His body was so hard under her, each muscle taut with strain. He let out a masculine half growl, born of pure lust. It triggered some deep feminine instinct inside her that told her his pleasure was as intense as hers.

And then the waves of euphoria crested inside her, met, and she fell over the cliff. All the strength went out of her spine. She slumped forward, her eyes wide, lost in erotic bliss.

He flipped her back onto the covers. She kissed him, running her hands down his back. He pinned her down, pretending to keep her from moving, and looked at her, her mouth, her breasts, the swell of her hips. There was something so deeply gratifying in the look of male satisfaction on his face. She realized that he must’ve wanted her for a long time, and now he had finally gotten her.

“I want you,” she whispered.

“Are you mine, Charlotte?”

“Yes.”

“You should’ve said no. Now you’re mine, and I won’t let you go.”

He thrust into her, building to a smooth, rapid rhythm. She melted, matching his thrusts, once again desperate for that peak of pleasure. She didn’t close her eyes. She watched his face, drinking in every moment of his pleasure. He kept thrusting, his whole body taut with tension, the muscles of his back strong like hard cables under her fingers. He reveled in her. Moments later, she climaxed again, the aftershocks of an orgasm rocking her. His body went hard, a tremor gripped him, and he emptied himself into her with a satisfied male groan.

She held on to him, not wanting to let go. He turned, shifting his weight onto the bed, and they lay wrapped