She moaned, lifting her hips and straining toward him as much as her position would allow, eager to be filled by him. He fitted the head of his shaft against her slick opening and pressed into her an inch, just enough to tease her. She sucked in a breath, wished she could open her legs wider, yet the clench of her thighs made for a tighter fit, a more erotic possession.

He leaned over her again and braced his arms on the mattress at her sides. His mouth skimmed her cheek, his breath hot, heavy, and moist on her skin. "Is this what you want, wench?" he rasped.

"Yes," she begged shamelessly. "Oh, yes."

He thrust the rest of the way into her, lifting her feet off the floor as he drove her hips up onto the bed, the size and hot, silken length of him stretching her as he impaled her to the hilt. She bit back a sharp cry, and he groaned and withdrew before plunging forward yet again, and again, moving against her, over her.

No mercy, he'd said, and he granted her none. He scraped his teeth along her shoulder, nipped at the side of her neck, and she whimpered as fiery, exquisite sensations spiraled down to her sex. His fingers tangled in her hair, and he turned her head, forcing her to look at the mirrored closet doors across from them.

"Watch me fuck you," he demanded huskily.

She couldn't have looked away from their reflection even if she wanted to. The sight of them together, playing out such a carnal fantasy, mesmerized her. As did the sight of him mounting her from behind, half dressed, his body pinning hers down, making her a slave to anything and everything he desired.

His face was taut with restraint, his unshaven jaw clenched, his expression a little savage. His hips pumped against hers, the muscles in his arms and down his back shifting and bunching each time he thrust deep. Digging her palms into the mattress, she lifted her bottom and pushed back, giving as good as he gave. A growl rolled up from his throat, and the length of him shuddered. Fisting her hair tighter in his hand, he locked an arm around her waist, holding her still, in ultimate control of her body, their movements, and her pleasure.

His hand glided lower as he continued to drive into her, slipping over her mons and working his fingers between her tethered thighs, where she was wet with wanting and aching for a more explicit touch. The first illicit stroke along her clitoris made her tremble and melt. The second skillful caress tore a low, ragged moan from her throat. His mouth opened on her neck, his tongue laved her skin, and then he sank his teeth into the tender flesh where the curve of her shoulder began. The triple sensual assault of his mouth, his cock, and his fingers manipulating her body shattered her defenses, and she came on a long, shockingly intense orgasm.

Her inner muscles clamped around him, milked him, and he panted, sucking air into his lungs as he pushed into her higher, harder, deeper. Relentlessly. With a low, primitive growl he finally surrendered to his own climax. He tossed his head back, thrust into her one last time, hard and fast, then stiffened. Her name tumbled reverently from his lips as his scalding release sent him over the sharp edge of pleasure and straight into the realm of mindless physical sensation.

Chapter 12

Liz rolled onto her back and stretched languidly, feeling amazingly rested, considering that Steve had physically exhausted her last night. A dreamy smile touched her lips, and she buried her face into the soft pillow, inhaling the musky scent of sex and the familiar, manly smell that was Steve's alone. A combination of heat and leather, with a faint overlay of the citrus aftershave he wore.

She opened her eyes with a sigh and was disappointed to find that she was alone in Steve's bed, then remembered him waking her at dawn with the slow caress of his hands on her breasts, his mouth on her throat, and his body easing over hers. She'd stirred beneath him, automatically spreading her legs to accommodate his hips as he sank into her and began to move.

Unlike last night's fast and frenzied joining, he'd taken her slowly and lazily, nuzzling her neck, threading his fingers gently through her hair, and arching into her so that his pubic bone rubbed her just the right way. He'd lifted his head, their gazes locking as he watched her expression as he stoked the fire between them. The buildup of her orgasm had been gradual, a tingling, sublime sensation that crested through her in undulating waves of bliss. He came with her on a long, low groan that rumbled his chest against hers.

It had been a lovely way to wake up.

She remembered stroking her fingers down his back and over the muscled slope of his firm butt and recalled the sleepy, instinctive words she'd spoken: "I should go."

"It's already five in the morning. Go back to sleep for a while." His lips drifted affectionately across her cheek, and he withdrew from her soft, satiated body. "I'll take you back to your apartment later."

She'd been unable to resist his sweet, caring suggestion to rest a bit longer, and snuggled back beneath the warm blanket and comforter. She heard him get up and take a shower, but she was too tired and replete to wake up fully and join him, despite how much the thought tempted her. Instead, she'd fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep. And now, as she glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, she realized it was a quarter past eight, when she was normally up by six A.M. to start her day.

She wasn't worried about The Daily Grind. Her morning shift could handle the early Monday rush without her. But she did have an appointment with Antonio today, a meeting she wasn't about to be late for or to miss, considering all that was at stake.

Tossing off the covers, she reluctantly sat up on the edge of the mattress and shivered as the cool morning air hit her bare skin. She found a men's long-sleeved shirt draped over the end of the bed and assumed that it was for her to wear, since Steve had shredded her blouse last night. She slipped into the soft cotton and cuffed up the sleeves a few times since they hung past her fingertips. She had no idea where her panties were, so she went sans underwear, grateful that the hem reached mid-thigh.

She padded into the bathroom, finally seeing his bedroom in the light of day, and took care of business. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she grimaced. Her hair was a tousled mess, and her eye makeup was smudged-a morning-after look she'd been able to spare Steve until today. She used his brush to untangle her hair and restore some semblance of order to the unruly strands, then scrubbed her face clean.

She spotted a packaged, unused toothbrush on the vanity and studied it for a moment, her mind conjuring up all the reasons why Steve might have an extra stash of toiletries on hand. She chastised herself for making a big deal out of the fact that he was prepared for overnight guests, and tried to ignore the stab of jealousy that hit her squarely in the chest, before snatching up the toothbrush, ripping off the wrapper, and using it to scrub her teeth.

But that persistent ache remained, right in the vicinity of her heart-a tenderness and yearning that seemed to grow with each encounter with Steve. It was as if she gave a little part of herself to him each time they were together, each time they had sex.

Last night they'd definitely had hot, uninhibited sex. But this morning… dear God, this morning it had felt like they'd made love in its purest, most intimate sense. Stunned and shaken by the realization, and feeling overwhelmingly vulnerable, she pressed a hand over her rapidly beating heart, struggling to contain the emotions rioting within her. Emotions she was helpless to deny.

But how she felt about Steve didn't change anything-not their arrangement, their business deal, or their temporary relationship.

With that reminder fresh in her mind, she gathered her composure and headed downstairs to face Steve.


***

Sitting at the kitchen table, Steve flipped through the Monday morning paper, reading the features and articles but not really processing them. His thoughts were on other things… like the woman he'd left sleeping in his bed upstairs. The first woman he'd wanted to wake up to in the morning since his divorce.

He knew he could have easily taken her back to her apartment after their tryst last night, but he'd been completely satisfied to keep her snuggled so trustingly in his arms, her warm, silky body entwined with his. And when the gray shades of dawn had roused him from slumber and he'd opened his eyes to find Liz sleeping beside him, he hadn't panicked or freaked out. Instead, he'd reached out and gently caressed a hand over her hip, and her automatic response to his touch had fired his blood all over again.

Having her in his bed all night long had felt amazingly, perfectly right.

Standing, he went to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot he'd just percolated. He'd been content to live the life of a carefree bachelor the past six years, dating when the urge struck him, without commitments or promises. Keeping his emotions out of the equation had been easy, but this morning he was struck with the realization that it was a matter of finding the right woman who evoked those needs. There was something to be said for a monogamous relationship and having one special woman in his life.

And for him, that woman was Liz.

Their short time together was no longer just about great sex and how compatible they were in bed. Yes, she was his perfect match sexually, open for anything that gave them pleasure, just like last night's erotic fantasy. But it was becoming increasingly obvious to him, with each day that passed, that being her temporary lover wasn't going to do it for him. He wanted-needed-more than a short-term affair with her.