But nothing prepared him for the feel of her climax as she tightened on his shaft and came apart in release. He held her close, feeling the aftershocks that quivered in her sex like endless ripples of sensation.
When he knew she was at peace, he lost it. Slamming into her without finesse or reason, he exploded in a white-hot flash of lust. He lost a few seconds in the aftermath, his mouth dry and his head pounding.
Barely conscious, he tried to spare her most of his weight. He had come twice in quick succession, and his brain was muddled, incredulous that he wanted her still.
Phoebe stirred restlessly. “We should get some sleep.” Her words were barely audible, but he caught the inference.
No way. She wasn’t leaving him. No way in hell. Rolling onto his side, he scooped her close, spooning her with a murmur of satisfaction. Though her soft bottom pressed into the cradle of his thighs, his arousal was a faint whisper after two incredible climaxes. The need he felt was more than physical.
Her head pillowed on his arm, he slept.
* * *
He couldn’t mark the moment consciousness returned, but he knew at once that he was alone. Sunlight peeked in around the edges of the drapes, the reflection strangely bright. He could hear the furnace running, and although the fire had long since burned out, he was plenty warm.
Sitting up with a groan, he felt muscle twinges that came from a night of carnal excess. Thinking about it made him hard. He cursed, well aware that any repeat of last night’s sexual calisthenics was hours in the future.
Phoebe had put away all the bedding she had used on the sofa. But on the kitchen counter he saw a pot of coffee steaming. He stood up, feeling as if he’d been on a weekend bender. Grabbing his robe that had gotten wedged beneath the edge of the sofa, he slid his arms into the sleeves and zeroed in on the life-saving caffeine.
After two cups he was ready to go in search of his landlady. He found her and Teddy curled up on Phoebe’s bed reading books. She sat up when she saw him, her smile warm but perhaps tinged with reserve. “I hope we didn’t wake you.”
He put his hands on top of the door frame and stretched hard, feeling the muscles loosen bit by bit. “I didn’t hear a thing. Has he been up long?”
“An hour maybe. I gave him his bottle in here.”
They were conversing like strangers. Or perhaps a married couple with nothing much to say.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand. “Good morning, Phoebe.”
Hot color flushed her cheeks and reddened her throat. “Good morning.”
He dragged her closer for a scorching kiss. “It sure as hell is.”
That surprised a laugh from her, and immediately he felt her relax. “Have you looked outside?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. Why? Did it snow?”
She nodded. “We got three or four inches. Buford’s grandson will plow the driveway by midmorning. I know you were expecting some deliveries.”
Shock immobilized him. It had been hours since he had checked his email on Phoebe’s phone or even sent his brother a text. Never in his adult life could he remember going so long without his electronic lifelines. Yet with Phoebe, tucked away from the world, he had gradually begun to accept the absence of technology as commonplace.