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It was torture. It was bliss. It was torture. It wasn’t fair. He needed to subject her to this same dizzying pleasure, to yet more pleasure.

He pushed her off him, levering himself up with one arm, kicking out of the breeches. He settled between her legs, pinning her beneath him. The length of his cock pulsed against her quim, the soft slickness parting around him. He kissed her, rocking his hips, and her cries fetched up his most wicked smile. Yes, this. This, forever. It could kill him perpetually, and he’d love every second.

She gripped his biceps, fingernails slicing the skin.

She gave a tremendous push.

His heart pinched. He froze. She pushed again. He let her dislodge him, propping himself beside her, so he could study her face.

“Do you want to stop?”

But she was already pressing his shoulders to the bed, twining her legs with his, kissing him deeply, dominating him with that bossy, impossibly delicious mouth. She rode his thigh, using him bluntly for her pleasure. A spike of unbearable excitement stiffened every fiber of his being. His bloody heart felt erect. Each throb of his cock threatened to break him into pieces. He could succumb now, to her onslaught, or he could retaliate.

He gave an animal growl and rolled them both, dragged her beneath him again. He caught her wrists, trapping them on either side of her head, testing her strength.

She was strong. She fought him, and he surrendered, falling again onto his back. Then they were wrestling in earnest, straining against each other, the flex and burn of his muscles heightening every erotic sensation.

His shoulder banged the foot of the bed. She threw herself across him with a throaty laugh. They were both glistening with sweat, struggling to catch their breath.

She put her hands on his shoulders. Her thighs hugged his hips. She didn’t crow her victory. She was staring down at him with a tenderness that made his heart hang upside down and motionless inside his chest.

“I thought this bed was preposterously large.” She panted between each word. “But it’s just the right size. We’re the right size.”

“All of this is right,” he said, and reached out to trace the side of her face.

“I love you,” she said. Her long black lashes swept down, fletching the arrow of her gaze. It shot straight through him.

Christ, he was lost.

She raked her nails over his chest, down the ridges of his stomach. Without ever taking her eyes from his, she wrapped her fingers around his cock and positioned herself over him.

She sank down, and he knew again where he was. He was exactly where he needed to be.

“James.” Tib sighed as her thighs met his. His cock was hard and big, perhaps too hard and big. She felt . . . stretched, full. The pressure struck at her core, made her insides molten. She quivered in place, every muscle drawn tight.

What now?

She had a giddy, spiraling feeling. There was no retreating. No way to safer ground that didn’t involve a shattering leap. She’d reached the edge of her life as she’d known it.

But she hadn’t come to this brink alone.

“James.”

He was staring up at her, dazed. She rotated her hips, a tentative movement, seated herself more firmly. A cry tore from her. She clenched around him, and he pressed his head into the counterpane, the cords in his neck standing out. His eyes closed. She scratched his flat nipples, and his eyes shot open. His gaze met hers. His look was searing. Heat flickered where their bodies joined.

She moved again, bracing her palms on his chest, rising and falling. His fingers bumped down her ribs. He gripped her waist with one hand. The other worked between them, fingertips rubbing the tight, aching, center of her sensation. She shuddered, legs loosening. She was melting, flesh transforming into liquid. When he turned over, she went with him, boneless. She splayed out beneath him, vulnerable, exposed. And also—powerful. He was looking down at her, his face tense, transfixed. He devoted all of himself to this moment, to her pleasure.

She clutched his shoulders, urging him on. His lips curved, and he thrust, his cock sliding deep, pushing out her breath. His eyes shone, brilliant between the black curves of his lashes. He moaned into her mouth, hooked her leg over his hips, and began to stroke inside her, slow and steady. His strength was her strength, and it thrilled her. She surged, pushing each time he pumped his hips.

“More,” she gasped. “Don’t hold back.”

He gave her more. He gave her everything. Her breasts flattened beneath his slippery chest. She felt her heartbeat in the palms of her hands, in the soles of her feet, between her legs, its intensity doubled, multiplied by his. He thrust harder now, faster. She glided her hand down his tensed back, his flexing arse. She wanted to penetrate him, to fill him as he filled her.

“Yes.” He gave a hoarse cry as her finger probed his arsehole and slid inside. He sucked the thumb and forefinger of her other hand as she shoved them into his mouth. He was coming undone, grunting as he thrust, the strokes wild and clumsy, and she met them with her own desperate need, arcing up and yes, there . . . She screamed as the crisis hit her, wave after wave. She was convulsed, rings of pure pleasure rippling from her belly.

His forehead met hers. He thrust in rhythm with every pulse, extending her pleasure until she quaked, the very boundaries of her being dissolved into bliss.

He tried to speak through his groans. “I. Love. You. Mo⁠—”