palm…in numerous places. The dampness between her legs glistened in the light of the fire.
Those dimples at the base of her spine winked at him.
God.
God.
He could have stared at her for hours. For days. But his body was hard and hungry, his lust a snapping, slavering hound. He intended to stroke her, tease her, bring her to the edge once more before he shoved in and drove home…but she glanced over her shoulder at him, her expression a moue of impatience. She waggled her ass. “What are you waiting for?” she asked in a taunting tone. And then, because she knew it would inflame him, she added, “George.”
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
That one word, one thought, one blinding urge whipped through his mind.
He yanked down his pants and his skivvies in one jerk, fisted his cock and stepped behind her. Her eyes widened, her nostrils flared. She pooched out her bottom, as though to meet him in this incursion.
Ah. God.
He set one hand to her hip to hold her still, and guided his cock to her entrance. Her heat, the slick kiss of her cream made his eyes cross. She was so ready, so hungry for it.
So was he.
He drove deep. Plowed into her in a savage thrust. She screamed, wailed, came. Her body rippled around him, clutched, flailed. She tossed back her hair and braced herself on the table, holding onto the sides with white-knuckle intensity.
The tight walls of her sheath clung to him, caressed him, sucked at his cock. It was magnificent. She was magnificent. He never wanted to leave this heaven, this hell.
But he had to. The urge to move and move madly was upon him. He gripped her hard then, with both hands. Sank his fingers into the flesh of her hips and pinioned her, held her still as he pulled out. Then he plunged again. And again. And again in a manic flurry of agony and bliss.
His tension rose to unbearable heights. He closed his eyes and worked her, reveling in the feel of her body gripping his with each withdrawal, the warm wet welcome with every lunge. Something coiled at the base of his being. His balls contracted, his world, his universe, his soul. Everything shrank down to that hard nugget of existence, to the place they joined, to the tumult they shared.
His thrusts became harder, harsher, wilder. He pummeled her with his passion, driving her higher, transforming her into a savage beast like him. Transforming her into his mate.
Sweat prickled on his brow as he worked her, holding back, torturing himself as he willed her to come and come again. He found a spot inside her that made her shudder and wail, that made her melt, and he targeted it, lancing it again and again in a relentless barrage.
When she collapsed on the table, when she quivered and panted and loosened her hold, he knew he had taken, given, all that he could. All but one thing.
He had one thing left to give.
He slowed, changing from a manic rhythm to slow, powerful, measured drives. She warbled a cry and whipped her head around, met his gaze. He held it. Held it captive as he held her. And then, he lifted a hand and let it fall.
The sound of flesh against flesh echoed through the cabin. She did not cry out—her voice was too broken and ragged—but she did come again. One more time, a slow ripple, a wave of rapture…for both of them.
Because that final clench did him in. Staring into her eyes, he came, succumbed, surrendered. Yielded all.
It rose up in him, a seething tide. His passion, certainly, but more as well. Something unnamable and unnamed. Something he had never known before. An emotion so powerful, so frightening, it nearly brought him to his knees.
As he stared into her beautiful eyes, he realized, she was not the captive here.
Not in the least.
But he was.
When it was over and done he took her in his arms and carried her to the bed and laid her down. Settling beside her, he kissed the tears from her cheeks and held her, caressed her, soothed her as she fought her way back to the world.
They didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
Hell, he couldn’t have spoken if his life depended on it, he was too far gone. Drowned in it. Wallowing in it.
What they’d shared had been a tumult. A conflagration. A redemption.
And Michelle?
She saw him. She knew him. She took all he had to give, and more.