“I’d rather stay around if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t. Not at all. But I want to know that I please you.”
“You do. Very much. You never struck me as a woman who needs reassurances.”
“Whether or not a woman needs them, she likes to have them.” She skimmed her fingers over his chest. “I like touching you.”
“I like you touching me.”
She furrowed her brow. “I wish you hadn’t had such a harsh life.”
“There are those who had it much harsher. Some still do.”
“That’s the reason you’re working toward prison reform.”
He shrugged. “I will once my peers accept me, but that’s not pleasant bedchamber conversation.”
“Well, then, what is?”
“This.” He lowered his head and kissed her, relishing the eagerness with which she returned his attentions.
She knew the very worst about him, and yet still she came to him. Knew the very worst about him, yet still she welcomed him. No hesitation, no turning him aside because she feared his world or worried that she wasn’t good enough.
He didn’t want anyone else in this bed with them. Catherine deserved to be the only one on his mind, the only one he thought about, the only one he wanted to please.
She was the only one he wanted to please.
At that moment, no one else mattered. Nothing else mattered. Not the possible danger that might be rushing toward them. Not the innocents who needed to be protected. Nothing mattered except Catherine, now, in his bed.
The musky scent of heated sex mingled with her sweet rose fragrance. He inhaled deeply, filling his nostrils, savoring the unique perfume they created together. Kissing her deeply, he slid his hand along the concave of her stomach, tangled his fingers in the springy curls nested between her thighs. She was wet and hot, ready for what he had to offer her.
He ran his hand up to her hip, trailed his mouth along her throat.
“Oh, God, please don’t stop,” she gasped.
He nestled his face in the curve of her shoulder, pressed a kiss just below her ear, and rasped, “Have you fantasized about this?”
“More than you’ll ever know.”
“How did you know what to fantasize?”
She rolled her head from side to side as though lost in ecstasy. “Instinct I suppose. Must we talk?”
Chuckling low, he embraced her and rolled to his back, bringing her with him, listening to her tiny squeal as she landed atop him, straddling his hips, looking down on him, while her glorious, abundant hair formed a curtain around them. He threaded his fingers through the golden strands, brought her mouth down to his, and kissed her eagerly, hungrily.
He loved the way she held nothing back, didn’t pretend timidity. She wasn’t embarrassed by her nakedness. Somehow he wasn’t surprised by that. His dear, bold Catherine was in this bed with him now, just as she’d been in Dodger’s back room beating him at cards, just as she’d been in that alley fighting to save him, just as she’d come to his library in the middle of the night to make him a daring proposition in order to protect a friend.
He’d never known anyone like her, never known anyone who mesmerized him as she did. Had never known anyone he wanted more.
Tearing her mouth from his, breathing heavily, she stared down at him. “Can we make it work this way?”
He grinned. “We can make it work any way we want.”
She ran her hands over his chest. He cradled her breasts, adoring the weight of them in his palms. There was no aspect to her that he didn’t adore.
Raising her hips, she wrapped her fingers around him. He groaned low in anticipation.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“God, no.”
She slid down, enveloping him in her silky wetness. He almost spilled his seed then and there. Instead he clenched his jaw, fought for control. He ran his hands up her slender back, slid them back around to her breasts, and began to knead her soft flesh.
Dropping her head back, she moaned. Then she began to ride him as though her life depended on it.
He thought he would die from holding back—but he’d not give in to his own release until he’d given her hers. But she felt so wonderfully good, her passion igniting the blood rushing through his veins.
She rocked against him, her cries escalating. He pumped his hips as she drove herself down. Her fingers were digging into his shoulders, his fingers were holding her hips, each of them holding on for dear life. He’d never experienced anything this intense.
He had to hold back, for her, for her—
But his body wouldn’t be held back. He bucked beneath her, his deep feral groan nearly drowning out her cry of satisfaction, her back arched, her face carved in an expression of awe and wonder. Shudders wracked his body as the pleasure coursed through her.