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She set their pace, taking him and teasing him in turn. Bringing them both to the edge, then retreating, until he couldn’t tell if it was a game, or revenge, or some glorious combination of both.
And he couldn’t care, not while he was inside her again.
Everything in him urged him to throw her over on her back and ride them both into oblivion.
But instead, Crete filled his hands with her round breasts. He pulled her face down to his to sample the bow of her mouth. He gripped her hips. And all the while he let her do as she would, drawing it out until it seemed the knife’s edge they balanced on cut them both.
Deep.
And when he felt her go over, he watched it move through her. Timoney arched back, her hair all around her, beautiful beyond measure as she shook and shook and cried out his name to the steel beams far above.
Only when she slumped down against him, her open mouth to the crook of his neck, did Crete wrap his arms tighter around her and find his own, hard finish.
And it still wasn’t enough. He was deep inside her, her wildflower honey scent all around him, and it still wasn’t nearly enough.
When he could move, sometime later, he lifted her up again and carried her across the length of the penthouse toward the master suite. He ran her bath, then joined her in it.
And he took her there, too, sitting there behind her. It was a sweet, shattering joining in all that heat.
But that, too, wasn’t enough.
Later, after he’d finally taken her back to their bed and tied her to it—as much to make a point as because it was fun—he gathered her in his arms when they had both finally exploded, and held her there while she fell asleep.
It still didn’t feel like enough, but he let her sleep. He let her burrow her face against his shoulder and murmur what sounded like his name in her sleep.
Such provocation, but all Crete did was stay awake.
He didn’t dare take his eyes from her. There was some part of him that worried that this was some rare dream. That he had never left the flat tonight. That Christmas morning was coming up fast and she would wake in that cursed old house, pull on a white dress, and marry that horrid old toad.
He stayed awake because he wanted this to be real, not a dream.
Because he was beginning to understand that when it came to Timoney, he would never, ever get enough.
