Her tight passage gripped him, causing sweat to break out on his forehead. The snug fit was incredible, making his head swim. He gripped her ass, trying not to lose control. “God, Winnie. I can’t get enough of you.” Slowly, he began to move. She caught his rhythm immediately, lifting and lowering in a lazy dance.
She inhaled sharply when he changed angles.
“You like that?”
She nodded, mute.
He buried his face between her breasts and inhaled the warm scent of her skin. No woman had ever made him feel like this, young and carefree, as though all of his past had been erased and life consisted of only this one perfect moment.
Sliding his hands up to her waist, he rocked her, feeling the way her thighs pressed against his, hearing the way her breathing labored as he drove her higher.
“Say something,” he muttered. His bed partners were usually more vocal. Winnie’s silence piqued him, made him wonder what she was thinking.
She bounced experimentally, and he cursed as the added stimulation sent him careening toward the end. “Winnie…”
“Can’t speak…finish it…” She leaned to one side, took his earlobe in her teeth and nipped it hard enough to make him shiver as the combination of pain and pleasure shot through his veins like a drug.
His arms locked around her waist, his hips thrust upward and he gave a muffled shout as his climax grabbed him without warning and tumbled him in a never-ending wave. Winnie came, too. He heard and felt her release. But after that, all he could do was slump into the sofa and try to remember how to breathe.
* * *
Winnie’s bottom was cold. And the muscles in her legs trembled. She lay sprawled on top of Larkin in a position that could only be described as immodest. But she couldn’t find the strength to care. Larkin’s heart thudded beneath her cheek, the beat steady, strong.
The euphoria of physical release faded as she acknowledged the painful truth. She had fallen in love with a lone Wolff. Holding him now, with no one to see, no one to care, was the most exquisite pleasure she’d ever experienced. Everything about him was admirable. In the faces of his family she saw love and respect for him. Even back in Nashville she had noted the caliber of his employees and the deference with which they spoke to him.
How would she ever be able to walk away? But she had no choice. It wasn’t as if she could stay and fight. He had told her from the beginning that he liked his life as it was. And if she truly cared for him, she would do the right thing and leave. No regrets. Surely a man who had suffered as much as Larkin had growing up deserved a time of peace.
His hand toyed with her hair, curling it around his fingers. When his fingers brushed her neck, she shivered. “Shouldn’t we get dressed before someone discovers us?” she said.
He tickled her lower back. “I don’t think I can move.” The deep, drugged satisfaction in the words told her that he had felt the same incredible connection that still bound them both physically and otherwise.
Clumsily, she levered herself up and off him. With his tousled hair, his bare chest and his…um…manly parts on display, he looked like what he was, a charming, sinfully attractive multimillionaire. It was odd, though, that she seldom thought of Larkin as being wealthy. His down-to-earth approach to life matched hers. And she liked that about him.
Though she tried to dress quickly, Larkin’s appreciative scrutiny made her hands fumble. Her underwear ended up inside out, but she left it that way, anxious to be fully clothed. At last, he stood up, dealt with the condom and readjusted his boxers and pants. He yawned and stretched. His chest was beautiful…smooth and tanned and rippled with sleek muscles. A thin line of hair bisected his chest and ran down to his belt buckle. She knew how silky that hair was, and where it led.