Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 by Christine Rimmer Page A

him.
    Making her moan. She eased her free hand between them and wrapped her fingers around him, stroking. Oh, he felt so good—his powerful body pressed close, his mouth covering hers, the long, hard length of him held tight in her grip.
    He kissed her endlessly, kissed her and caressed her, his fingers tracing magical patterns over her skin, teasing her breasts, first cradling them so gently, then catching the nipples, rolling them, so that she moaned some more. He seemed to really like it when she moaned.
    He made a wonderful growling sound low in his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Like that?”
    She couldn’t say “Yes” fast enough. So she said it again, moving her hand up and down the thick length of him. “Yes...” And again, “Oh, yes, Quinn. Like that...”
    And then his hand went lower, all the way to the feminine heart of her.
    She cried out as he stroked her, opening her. She felt her own wetness, her readiness for him. She didn’t want to wait a second longer. She couldn’t wait...
    â€œI...” She got that word out, and then couldn’t for the life of her remember what she’d meant to say next.
    â€œYeah?” He was kissing his way along the line of her jaw, biting a little, licking some, too. Below, his fingers kept up their clever, thrilling play on her wet, secret flesh.
    Oh, she was lost in the best way, totally gone. She kept her left hand wrapped around him, holding on for dear life. In her right, she still clutched the unused condom. She kind of waved it at him. “I...” Just that word. Nothing more. It was the only word she seemed to have at her disposal at the moment.
    And apparently it was enough. He took the condom from her. She opened her eyes and stared up at him, dazed. Transported.
    He lifted the small pouch, caught the corner between his teeth and tore the top off, all the while staring directly into her eyes, his other hand continuing to do amazing things to her below.
    â€œHere,” she whispered, holding out her free hand. He gave it back. She let go of him to use both hands, removing the wrapper and dropping it on the little table next to her pearls. And then she rolled the protection down over him. He moaned. And she granted him a small, triumphant smile. “There.”
    He reached for her, clasping her waist. She gasped in surprise. His right hand was slick and wet. It was
her
wetness, her desire. She was shocked at herself, at her own complete abandon.
    Shocked. Amazed.
    And gratified.
    It was the same as that other night. Only better. He took her, claimed her, carried her right out of herself. He just swept her away—at the same time as he made her feel that she’d somehow come home, that nothing and no one would ever hurt her again.
    And then he was lifting her. He did it so effortlessly, as though she weighed nothing. She grabbed for him, hungry for the feel of him, for her flesh pressed to his flesh, hot and tight and hard. She wrapped her arms and legs around him.
    He whispered her name.
    â€œQuinn,” she whispered in return. “Oh, yes.” She sank her teeth into his neck and when he growled at her, a dark, hot laugh escaped her. He bent to nuzzle her and she turned her face to his and claimed his mouth.
    The kiss went deeper, wetter, hotter. And he was moving, with her all twined around him like a vine. He went to the short section of bare wall beside the entry closet, just walked her right up to it.
    And then he lifted her, positioning her just so...
    She felt him there, nudging her, right where she wanted him. And she pressed down.
    He made the deepest, hottest, hungriest sound then, as she lowered herself onto him. He was wonderfully thick and large. Still, her body took him easily, gliding down around him until he filled her all the way.
    They froze. She let her head fall back and her eyes drift shut. He had her perfectly braced, with the wall to give them stability. He canted