“Was I on time, Josie?” His voice was a choked whisper, and in his eyes she saw the torment of the doubt. The question burning his insides that he didn’t dare voice.
“You were,” she said without hesitation, not wanting him to suffer even a second of torturous doubt.
“Oh, thank God.” She heard his relief in the stuttering exhale.
He had been on time to stop the pasha from raping her. But it had been close. So close.
She shivered with remembered revulsion at the memory of the pasha’s hands on her. She needed to erase those memories. Needed to erase his touch now or fear would swallow her whole once again.
Grabbing hold of Michael’s head, fisting her hands on his hair, she brought it down for a desperate kiss. She took his lips without finesse, without care. Her movements were frantic,clashing her mouth against his, biting his lips, opening her lips to his in desperate need.
He didn’t protest, simply gave in to her need. His arms tightened, holding her closer while his breathing picked up. For a few blissful moments, he responded to the kiss. But then he was disengaging, pulling apart.
“Josie, wait. You are in shock…”
“No!” It was an anguished plea and a command. “I need you. I need you to vanquish the fear. Replace the memories of terror with better ones. Kiss me, Michael.”
He didn’t have to be asked twice and blanketed her mouth with his. But his kiss was tender, reverent almost. She needed more. Grinding her bottom against his crotch, she felt the stiff evidence of his desire. Rejoiced in it.
He groaned and lifted her from his lap. “I’m sorry, Josie. Give me a moment to control my rude cock.”
She was having none of it. “Don’t apologize. Don’t ever apologize for desiring me,” she panted while tearing at his clothes with urgent fingers.
“But it’s inappropriate after what you suffered. I don’t want to scare you—”
“You don’t scare me. I want this.” She kept opening buttons, undoing his necktie, sliding her hands under his shirt to touch the warm skin of his chest.
Yes! This was the reassurance she needed. Her man. Her lover. Her love. He groaned and buried his face in her neck.
But it wasn’t enough. She needed all of him. Needed the reality of him to overwhelm the memories. If she let the fears return now, they may never leave her. Turning in his arms, she straddled him. His overbig coat parted, revealing her nakedness. His hands found a way inside, sliding up her thighs, molding over her hips to grab her backside and pull her roughly against his hardness. His warm touch made her moan in ecstasy.
Grabbing hold of his hands, she placed them on her hips.
“Don’t let go,” she ordered.
“Never,” he vowed. And she had the impression he was talking about more than this moment.
The pleasure, the rightness of being like this with him soothed her soul. She could find completion just by rubbing her aching core against the hard ridge in his trousers. But she wanted more.
Her fingers undid the fly of his trousers, freeing his erection. It sprung into her hands. Warm, hard, ready. She squeezed, tearing an agonized groan from him. His head fell back, exposing the strong column of his neck. It was a temptation she couldn’t resist.
Without letting go of his rod, she leaned forward and deposited an open-mouthed kiss on the side of his neck, her tongue licking the saltiness of his skin. Tasting him. A little bite. A small suckle. His growl was almost feral.
“Josie, you are driving me wild,” he panted. It enticed her even further.
Without a hint of hesitation, she lifted herself up on her knees, poised his member at her entrance, and sank home. His groan harmonized with hers as they joined as tight as two human beings could be.
She rolled her hips, and his hands tightened on them with bruising force. She welcomed it. Reveled in it. In the strength of his body under her, around her, in her.
“Fuck, Josie. You are going to make me lose control.”
Control? What control? She may appear to be controlling this coupling, but in truth, she was being driven by a mightier force. Her need.
“Good. Let go. Surrender to me, my mighty warrior.”
And then she rode him. Hard. Their bodies arching, straining, and clashing with animalistic need. This was mating at its most raw. All pretense of finesse or control stripped. She took hismouth, bit his lip, clawed at his scalp as her hands fisted in his hair.
His hands never left her hips, but did not control her movement. Rather, it seemed he was holding on to her as he drove his hips up, slamming into her in a powerful rhythm. She brought his head down to her chest, and he nuzzled through the folds of the greatcoat to uncover a breast, closing his lips over the furled nipple and drawing hard, pulling on the edge between pleasure and pain.
