that she was a virgin should have cooled his ardor—she’d only confirmed what he’d already suspected—but the thought that he would be the first to show her pleasure this way gave him an unreasonable rush of satisfaction.
He told himself this wasn’t making love. It was just sex. Lust. Fucking in its purest form. But that didn’t explain the tendrils of affection that had become entwined with the attraction. He wanted to both conquer her and protect her. To capture her and keep her safe. He didn’t even begin to understand it.
She must have taken his silence for hesitation. “Changed your mind, Harland?” she whispered, and he could hear the breathless challenge in her tone, alongside the bravado.
Cheeky little minx.
He tilted his hips and entered her just a fraction, and felt her tense. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He wanted to plunge forward, to bury himself to the hilt, but he forced himself to keep his promise. He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted her to experience the same heart-bursting pleasure he did. But God, the feel of her.
He slid his hand beneath her thigh, lifted her to a better angle, and clenched his teeth as he slid forward another inch. He withdrew, then pushed into her again, and this time, he heard her gasp. Her fingers encircled his wrists like manacles. She squeezed, and he found he loved the sensation; she held him captive with only a touch.
He hated that he couldn’t see her. Being completely blind was his worst nightmare. It reminded him too forcefully of those moments right after the battlefield blast that had stolen part of his vision. He’d lain stunned on the ground, his ears ringing, all other sounds muffled by his perforated eardrums. For a moment of utter panic, he’d thought he’d lost his sight completely. Then his vision had cleared, and he’d seen smoke, and sky, and Seb stumbling toward him, blood streaming down the side of his face. Never had he been so glad to see his friend.
And now here he was, in the dark with Emmy Danvers, and his worst nightmare had suddenly become his hottest fantasy.
The darkness should have allowed him to pretend she was someone else, but it was impossible to forget who he was with. The maddening scent of her filled his nose. The taste of her skin was hers alone, floral and delicious. It was inescapably her pinned beneath him. Emmeline Danvers, the bloody Nightjar.
She wriggled, impatient, and he entered her full-length.
“Fuuuuck,” he groaned.
He sucked in a breath, determined to give her time to get used to his body’s invasion, but she squirmed beneath him again, and his brain went a little fuzzy. He rocked back and forth until he slid in easily, and reveled in her hum of delight when he found the perfect rhythm.
His usual finesse abandoned him. He was hungry for her. Desperate. Her hands roamed over his body, threading through his hair, clutching at his biceps. Her nails scored his back with a pleasure-pain that made him shudder.
“Who has you?” he heard himself growl.
“You,” she panted, “Alex Harland.” Her voice held a delight and disbelief that mirrored his own.
He increased the tempo, and she ground against him, unconsciously seeking her own climax.
“It’s always been you,” she choked out.
Alex caught his breath. He hadn’t heard that right. He couldn’t have done. But still, it almost sent him over the edge. Her body clutched his as she reached the peak again, and he was about to finish himself when sanity made a brief reappearance.
Not inside her. With a hoarse cry, he pulled out of her and spent himself on the bedsheets.
Chapter 26.
Emmy lay sweaty and panting against the rapidly cooling sheets. She stared into the darkness as her thundering heart slowly resumed its natural rhythm.
What had she done? That had been such a glorious madness, an impulsive flurry of passion. Everything Sally had described and more.
She wanted to laugh crazily, and maybe cry a little too. She felt shaky-limbed and breathless, as if she’d stumbled near the edge of a cliff and managed to right herself at the very last moment, just inches from the drop.
She was no longer a virgin. In society terms, she was ruined, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. What did social standing matter when she was about to be incarcerated and tried for robbery? The gravity of that certainly put things in perspective.
Still, she had no regrets. If this was to be her one and only experience of