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Did he know? Did he have any idea that she was his in every way that mattered? She met the urgency of his kiss eagerly. The hunger that consumed both will and reason no longer frightened her.
She would have followed him into hell for the chance to have him again, to know the searing touch of his hands on her damp flesh.
He was inside her jeans, his big hands cupping her bottom, drawing her tight against the hard, pulsing ridge of his erection.
“Trent. Oh, Trent.” She wanted to say more, needed to say more. But it was all she could do to remain standing.
They ripped at clothing, hers and his, unashamed to be naked beneath the gentle afternoon sun. Bits of shade dappled their bare skin.
She barely noticed when he drew her to the soft caress of the quilt. He went down on his back, taking any discomfort from the rocky ground and making it his, while she sat cradled astride his hard thighs.
His thick, eager erection was impossible to miss. It lifted boldly between them, filled with life and purpose.
The gleam in his eyes made her blush. “Stop that,” she hissed, unable to hold his gaze. She looked around, knowing they were alone, but feeling bashful nevertheless.
He gently traced the curve of one breast, lingering to coax the nipple to hardness. “Stop what?”
The innocence in his question might have been more convincing if he hadn’t simultaneously brushed his finger in the wetness between her legs. Where his touch trespassed, her body went lax and soft, ready to take him. Eager for more.
She cleared her throat. “I thought we were going to talk,” she said. It seemed as though one of them should make an effort to be sensible, but it was difficult for a woman to be taken seriously when she was sprawled in erotic abandon beneath a cloudless sky.
A shadow darkened his face for scant seconds, but he shook it off, his hands clenching her hips hard enough to bruise.
“Later,” he groaned, rolling on a condom and lifting her to align their bodies. “Watch us,” he muttered. “Don’t close your eyes.”
He entered her inch by inch, and though she squirmed and shivered, her gaze never wavered from the spot where his hard flesh penetrated her. The act was as elemental as the cry of the hawk overhead, as life-affirming as the advent of new life in the wild.
He filled her completely, his mighty arms straining as he lifted her repeatedly. Her knees burned, her thighs ached. The intentionally lazy tempo drove her mad with longing. She bore down on him, squeezing, pressing his shaft so he would go faster.
But Trent Sinclair had an iron will, and his control was frustrating for a woman whose patience unraveled with every upward thrust of his hips. She was so close to the moment of release, she held her breath.
Acting on instinct, she lightly touched his copper-colored nipples, circling them and making Trent flinch and groan hoarsely. Within her, he grew. Harder. Longer. More insistent.
She was stretched. Impaled. Held captive to the madness that drove them both to the brink of insanity. And it was insane. There was no future for them. No hope for a positive conclusion.
All they had was the present.
She put her hands on his shoulders. He reached behind her, and with a brutal twist of his fingers, snapped the band that held her ponytail. The long silky strands tumbled over her breasts and onto his chest. He stroked her hair with wonder and reverence in his gaze.
Then his hands fisted in the silken fall and he dragged her down so his mouth could ravage hers. Teeth and tongues and clashing breath. His sweat-slicked chest heaved, her thigh muscles quivered. He tortured them both, making them wait, drawing out the anticipation of the end until she wanted to scream at him and scratch his bronzed muscles with her fingernails, anything to hasten the promised pleasure that shimmered just out of reach.
He seized her face in his hands, his fingers sliding into the damp hair at her nape. His rapier gaze locked on hers. “You should have been mine, Bryn. He didn’t deserve you. You should have been mine.” Something in the rough, aching words made her heart hurt. But then he kissed her again, and the joy returned.
They were helpless, lost in the windswept eroticism of the moment. He laughed at her, laughed at them both. Nothing could have torn them apart. She lay on his chest, exhausted. The new angle sent tingling sensations from her core throughout her body.
