True Colors by Thea Harrison Page A

it in check, and the tenderness and heat in his eyes made the easy swell of her tears spill over. She nodded jerkily.
    He bent and nuzzled at her breast, and whispered, “I’ll make it better.”
    He pulled his penis out of her hand. “No,” she said, and she twisted to try to take hold of him again.
    He avoided her grasp and moved down to settle between her legs. She propped herself on one elbow and took him by the arm, trying to urge him up again. He bit the heel of her hand in a quick stinging nip. “Stop that.”
    “You won’t listen,” she gasped. “Get back here already.”
    He growled. “Don’t make me pin you down.”
    Wait, did she hear that right?
    They both froze. He looked unutterably gorgeous, unapologetic, mischievous and half feral, poised as he was with his broad shoulders between her thighs. Stunned passion pulsed and she blazed with heat all over again.
    She said, “You better not.”
    His eyes narrowed.   He looked down her body and licked his lips. “Or what?”
    It could have been a fun game to play but then her hungry clitoris throbbed so hard her knees drew up in reaction, and she lost all composure. She whimpered, “I don’t know.”
    His hands snaked out, faster than sight. He gripped her by the insides of her knees and yanked her legs as wide as they could go. The shock of the movement, the sense of extreme vulnerability, was such that she emitted a shaking groan.
    Then his head dove down. He put his mouth on her and she went downright nuclear. He licked and suckled at the stiff little nubbin cloaked by the folds of her private flesh. His mouth was so sure and confident, so urgent yet gentle, that her knees tried to draw up again, but those big hard hands of his encompassed her knees and held her wide open for his ravishment.
    The pleasure was insane. It was too much to take. She flung out her hands in a blind search for something, anything to hold on to as he drove her body into a sharp crescendo. She felt the climax roaring toward her and then it slammed into her body with such intensity her torso arched off the floor and noise broke out of her, a high, thin, out-of-control scream of incredulity.
    He held his mouth on her, steady and hot, his pale gaze drinking her in as his tongue massaged every last pulse of pleasure out of her, and the sight of him working her with such patient, sensual intent hurtled her into another one. She flew into it, hotter and harder than before, and the tendons in her neck distended as she tried to scream again but she had flown so high the air was too thin, and she couldn’t get in a breath to make any noise.
    And all the time, he was whispering inside her head. Beautiful, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful. God, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I want to see you do it again.
    I can’t! I-it’s too much—Gideon, PLEASE—
    Then she lost the words for even telepathy. She held out both hands to him in mute entreaty. And his control broke.
    He lunged up to her, guiding the head of his thick penis to her entrance with one hand even as he kissed her, his lips hard and urgent. His mouth was slick with her pleasure. She tasted him, tasted herself. An animal sound came out of her.
    She was already climaxing again, her interior muscles rippling, as he slid into her all the way to the hilt, and it was so fucking perfect, she was so fucking perfect, he went on a hopscotch skip straight into the land of crazy.
    He poured his own climax into her welcoming body, a helpless shuddering gush. But it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t even close to enough, it only fed his hunger. A deep growl broke from his chest. He took her by the wrists and pinned her down, and he drove into her in hard, pounding strokes, as she ate eagerly at his mouth and met every thrust of his hips with hers. He came again, and again, and each time she came with him, until at last she lay limp underneath him and he had no more to spend.
    He might have slept, hands loosely clasped on