“Ruin me?”
She sat back on her heels. Fox sounded so angry, and he’d averted his eyes, as if she was unpleasant to look at. But minutes ago, he’d had a finger in her most private of parts.
Perhaps the pleasure had addled her brain, and the lack of pleasure had addled his. She reached again for his fall, and he pulled her hand away.
“You don’t understand. I don’t know if I can—”
“Control this great manly rod?”
He grimaced.
“I see.” That was it. She’d seen stallions at work. He was afraid to unleash that wildness, that mad desire.
In her center, miraculously and without any touching, the pleasure had started again. Fox’s mouth parted hungrily. His eyes had gone completely black and feral in a way that sent tension spiraling through her.
Whatever tomorrow might bring, she wanted this tonight. She wanted ruination. She wanted Fox.
She reached for his damp boots and yanked off first one and then the other. His wet trousers clung so to his narrow hips and long, muscled limbs, he might have been naked. He was as beautiful as an Italian marble, and in his own way, as vulnerable as she tonight. Except that she was fully naked.
A lock of his unfashionably long hair touched his cheek, and in his eyes, need and hunger flashed while his tight fists bunched the bedclothes.
They had come to a crossing point.
