The offer hovered between them like a great big swelling balloon.

His eyes dilated, the deep brown darkening nearly as black as his irises. Not a sound passed between them. The air in her lungs froze, trapped.

Did she really just say that?

She opened her mouth to retract the words, to pop that balloon, to say anything to take them away or erase what she had just said. But no sound escaped.

His big hands dropped to span her waist. “You want me to ruin you?” His gravelly voice rolled over her. “I can do that.”

She squeaked as he lifted her up off the ground. Before she realized his intent, he was carrying her into her house. He walked them right through the front door, kicking it shut behind them.

He plopped her on her kitchen table. She was suddenly intensely grateful that she’d purchased a high kitchen table. They fit perfectly. He wedged his body between her thighs, his hands sliding up the outsides and under her skirt.

“Nice skirt.” He lifted his head to look her over. Reaching between them, he flipped the silky flounce along her collar. “And blouse. You dress like this for him?”

“I dressed like this for . . . a date.”

“You look expensive. Untouchable.” His gaze left a blistering trail as it roamed over her. “Not the kind of girl I usually touch.”

But he had touched her. And then he said he wouldn’t again. But he was now. So what were they doing? She didn’t know how to respond. Her chest was too tight, an invisible fist squeezing her lungs. Fortunately, he didn’t seem concerned with her reply. His hands kept moving, fingers diving under the outer edge of her panties, skimming along her hips and down to the crease between her thighs and crotch.

“So tell me about it.” Gripping her hips, he yanked her closer, dragging her against the front of him, where his member already bulged against rough denim.

“About what?”

“Your date.” The drawl of his deep voice scraped over her. “Did he kiss you? Touch you here?” He cupped her sex, his palm searing hot over her folds.

She opened her mouth and made a gurgling sound. She couldn’t even form coherent words when he was touching her.

His thumb dipped, tracing the seam of her lips.

She gasped sharply.

“So slick,” he said thickly.

And she was already wet. Embarrassingly so.

His thumb parted her, pressing into her wetness, easing a fraction inside her.

“Your bedroom?” He jerked his head toward the staircase.

She nodded jerkily.

Again, he picked her up like she wasn’t the Amazon she knew herself to be and marched up the stairs, her legs solidly wrapped around him.

He didn’t even hesitate to survey her room. Not that there was much to assess. He dropped her down on the bed and then stood back. He reached behind him and pulled his shirt over his head in a smooth move. He moved like some kind of jungle cat. Effortless and graceful. Her heartbeat quickened. It was crazy. This big beautiful man with his ripped-up body and dragon tattoo wrapping around his torso was nothing she had ever visualized standing in her room, over her bed, over her.

Her eyes locked on the stark beauty of his features, the intensity of his liquid dark eyes. She tore her gaze away. She fixed her stare on his chest, too overcome with nerves to look at his face again. But then she was just left staring at all that hard, golden skin and that did absolutely nothing to help her runaway nerves.

“Done staring, sweetheart?”

She nodded and shook her head, heat slapping her in the cheeks.

“Good. Because I need to get my hands on you again.” He came down over her, his arms caging her in, hands tangling in her hair as his head dipped toward her. “And while I’m at it . . . my mouth, too.” His lips descended and everything else was lost except this. Him and his blistering-hot lips.

His hands shifted to cup her face, each finger a searing imprint. She gasped at the hot press of his palms on her cheeks. His hands. His mouth. His tongue stroking her bottom lip. She was full of the taste of him, the sensation. His weight melted over her, sinking her deeper into the bed. There was no mistaking his power, his strength. It radiated off him in waves. It was heady and a little frightening.

He kissed her long and hard and deep, his lips coaxing and persuasive. He was a drug and she was addicted, kissing him back, matching his movements, growing bolder. Her lips went tingly-numb and still she kissed him. Hard. All her barriers just dropped away like insubstantial dandelion seeds lost to the wind.

“North,” she moaned as he tore his lips away and dragged them down her throat. Her head spun. Somehow his fingers undid the buttons on her blouse. He shoved the fabric over her shoulders with a whisper of sound.

At least she was wearing one of her prettier bras. Not that he was about letting her wear it for very long. He reached behind her and unhooked the clasp in a deft, experienced move.

He tugged the bra down, freeing her breasts. She didn’t even have time to feel self-conscious. He closed his lips around a nipple, tugging the peak into his warm mouth and rolling it between his teeth and tongue until it was pebble hard and aching. She gasped and arched. He turned and lavished his mouth on her other breast, leaving her thrashing and wild on the mattress. Her sex clenched and throbbed so intensely tears leaked out from her eyes.

She was barely aware of the hands sliding under her skirt—and then he gripped the edge of her panties, stepping back from the bed so that he could pull them down her legs. Then she was wholly aware of things happening south of the border.

She propped up on her elbows, watching as he unsnapped the buttons on his jeans. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before, but here, in the full light of her bedroom, it was new. It was all for her and it was everything and she couldn’t even blink for fear of missing a moment of it.

He was fully aroused. His erection jutted forward, even more intimidating up close and personal. She wet her lips nervously, but even as nervous as she felt, her sex clenched eagerly, hungry and ready for that fullness inside her.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet before sliding his jeans the rest of the way down. He kicked them aside as he pulled a square foil packet from his pocket. Of course he was prepared. A guy like him would be. He was good at this and she was about to find out just how good.

She inched back on her elbows, but he came down on the bed, crawling toward her with a predatory gleam in his eyes, his cock pointing in a straight arrow for her.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you want me to ruin you?” The words should have sent a stab of alarm through her, but she only felt a hot bolt of lust.

She nodded almost savagely. There was no going back now. In fact, if she even tried to stop now she just might die.

“Then try not to look like you’re about to be sick everywhere.” His knees wedged her legs apart. His cock brushed the inside of her thigh. The bristle of hair scraped her tender skin.

She swallowed. God, she felt like a virgin. Everything about this was uncharted territory.

He stilled, all of him freezing except his fingers. They skimmed the side of her face. “You’ve done this before, right?”

She released a nervous puff of breath and nodded, replying too quickly. “Of course!”

He nodded in turn, but his gaze was dubious. “Good.” He took the foil condom and ripped it with his teeth. She jumped at the sound. “You seem a little skittish.” He reached between their bodies, rolling on the condom.

“I’m not.” She swallowed and tried to steady her shaking voice. “I’ve done this lots of times . . .” Her voice faded at the bald-faced lie.

“Yeah?” He settled his elbows beside her head and pressed a lingering openmouthed kiss to her neck. “How many times?” There was a teasing quality to his husky voice that told her it didn’t matter one way or another to him. He wasn’t judging her. He just doubted she was telling the truth. And he would be correct. She might not be a virgin but she was hardly an expert at this kind of thing.

“Well, I never kept an exact r-record. I’m not you. But I’ve done it oh, plenty of times with my ex-boyfriend.”

“Yeah?” His teeth sank down on her earlobe and heat shot straight to her core. She moaned, arching up against him. “You and this ex did this a lot?” he growled.

She felt him then, directly between her thighs, prodding and rubbing against her sex. The throb only intensified there. It occurred to her that it probably wasn’t a good idea in this moment to appear more experienced than she was. He would have evidence to the contrary soon enough.

His mouth nibbled along her jaw and then he was kissing her again.

“Maybe not a lot,” she admitted between messy, gasping, decadent kisses. “And it’s been a while—”

He stopped rubbing and prodding. Her eyes flared as she felt the fullness of him pushing inside her. She stiffened against the sudden invasion, her hands flying to his arms. She’d never felt anything like him before. Not that her frame of reference was so extensive, but this was shattering. She felt stunned at the sensation. Her fingers dug into his biceps, probably leaving scars.

“It’s definitely been a while,” he growled. “God, you’re tight, sweetheart.”

She released a huff of breath, feeling herself stretch to accommodate his size.

“Almost there,” he added, his voice strained, almost unrecognizable.

“Almost?” she choked. “You’re not going to fit.”

“Don’t worry, baby. You’re made for me.” He slid all the way home with a groan, dropping his head into her neck, his voice rumbling against her skin. “Faith,” he breathed her name against her skin. “You feel so good—”

She inhaled a bracing breath, adjusting to the sheer size of him throbbing in her.

He looked down at her. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yes. Just been a while.” She inhaled and exhaled a few times. “And you’re . . . different than what I’m used to.” Bigger.

He grinned his sexy smile that made her stomach flip over. “You’ll get used to me.”

You’ll get used to me.

And that only made her stomach flip again. Heat spread across her face, like ants creeping down her neck and chest.

She didn’t have time to consider that and what it meant. There was only action and reaction. Pleasure and sensation.

She fidgeted under him, cutting off whatever he was going to say. She was past the point of needing time to acclimate to the size of him. Right now she just wanted friction and pressure. Inner muscles she’d never even known she possessed clenched around him.

It was all the prompting he needed. With a groan, he lifted his head and withdrew to plunge back inside her. She cried out, and then he was thrusting again, hammering deep, giving her no time to recover. It was a constant barrage of sensation.

And he didn’t stop there. He bent his head, lifting one breast and drawing the nipple deep, sucking and scoring it lightly with his teeth.

Her sex hugged the pulsing length of him, and she moaned at this incredible fullness wedged so tightly inside her that she felt like he was a part of her. As though there was no deciphering where he ended and she began. She arched her throat on a moan.

“Ah, is this what you wanted?” he spoke against the curve of her breast.

She nodded and rolled her head, tangling her hair under her. “Yes.” This was everything she had wanted.

Her ruin and salvation.

“You are milking my cock, sweetheart,” he panted.

She tossed her head in a wild nod and worked her hips under him, willing him to move faster, harder, to give her more. “Yes.”

He watched her darkly as he pinched her nipple between strong fingers, sending an arrow of lancing sensation right to where their bodies joined.

She cried out.

He pulled out and then pushed back inside her. Still controlled. Still steady. He kept it up, creating an even tempo of friction that had her writhing and moaning beneath him.

“What?” His voice grew harder, louder in her ear. “What do you want, Faith?”

“Harder.”

His eyes darkened. It was like he was waiting for her to say that.

His hands seized her hips and his pace increased. He pounded into her, the headboard rattling against the wall with his every thrust.

She shouted his name and clawed his back. His grip on her hips tightened, fingers hard and deep, biting into her flesh.

He lifted her by the hips until her backside was up off the bed, his cock diving deep, hitting that elusive spot until he shattered her. She came, her body jerking violently. He continued to hammer into her, relentless as a machine, crying out loudly. Yes, he was loud. And even in the throes of her passion that startled her. She had never heard him. Never with other women. If he had shouted like this she would have been able to hear it through the walls.

Something swelled in her chest as she took this as proof. She was different than the others for him.

Foolish or not, she believed that. She wanted to believe that . . .

His hands slid from her hips to grip her ass. He massaged the rounded swells like he couldn’t get enough of the feel of her. He was still not finished with her. At this particular moment that felt like a blessing and a curse. Her vision glazed as he drove in and out of her and she felt the wave of another orgasm.

“I—I c-can’t,” she choked. “It’s too much.” It wasn’t possible. She never had more than one before. She was lucky to have just the one. This didn’t happen. It was too much . . . the pleasure almost bordering pain.

“Shh, sweetheart.” He bent down and took her mouth in another blistering kiss.

“I can’t . . . I never . . .” Her voice cracked and her fingers dug harder into his arms.

“Yes, you can. You’ll see.”

She arched, responding to something in the hard authority of his voice. He was raw power and strength and she had never had that in a lover . . . hell, never in a boyfriend. He was her fantasy. A man who could take command in bed and dish out all the hot, sweaty sex she could handle . . . more than she could handle.

Incredible sensations shot out to every nerve ending before firing back to that sweet spot he hit again and again.

She started to tremble as he pumped in and out, his big hands kneading her bottom in a way that just got her hotter and made that invisible fist tighten and twist low in her belly. She was close again. Strange little sounds fell from her lips. Strange sounds more animal than human tore from her throat. She dropped her hands and seized fistfuls of her comforter, her movements turning clumsy in her desperation.

Her second climax swelled up inside her, starting deep. She curled her toes into the mattress and pushed up, lifting her hips higher.

It was like he knew her. Knew every place to touch. Knew exactly what to do to make her body sing. One hand left her ass to find her clit, his fingers rubbing and pinching the oversensitized nub as he slid in and out of her.

That’s all it took. At last the tension snapped. She shattered, coming again, quivering under him as his pace increased to a frenzy, their bodies smacking loudly.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” His breathing changed, too. His movements became less graceful, more urgent as he drove to his own release. He cursed, surging deep, holding himself still as he came inside her, releasing a guttural groan.

He gave another short thrust, his hand dropping to splay on her belly in a way that made her feel marked, her body claimed in a way that was new. New and not unwelcome.

Removing his hand from her stomach, he dropped onto his side beside her, breathing heavily.

Euphoria clung to her, leaving her slightly dizzy.

So this was what she had been missing.

The instant the thought entered her head she wondered how she would ever go without it—without him—again. Euphoria or not, she wasn’t blind to the weirdness factor. She’d just had mind-blowing sex with her neighbor.

Oh, and he happened to be an ex-con.

She held very still beside him, unsure how to react. What did one say in a situation like this? Would he get up and leave now? Would they resume like this never happened? Should she get up and put on her clothes and offer him a drink?

His arm reached out, wrapping around her waist and hauling her close, tucking her to his side. She snuck a glance at his face. His eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn’t sleeping. His chest moved up and down too quickly. She waited several moments to see if he was going to say anything.

Nothing. After a while, she stopped waiting and eased from the bed.

“Where are you going?” His hand shot out to close around her hip.

She looked over her shoulder. “There’s a yummy dessert downstairs . . .”

He sat up on one elbow. “Sounds good.”

She smiled. “Wait here. I’ll go get us some.”

Bending, she slipped on his T-shirt, reveling in the cool cotton, in the scent of him. Feeling his gaze on her, she padded out of her room and hurried into her kitchen, where she cut a large wedge of tiramisu. Her heart raced and she felt giddy as she carried it back up to her room.

She had a great, strapping, sexy man in her bed and they were about to eat dessert together. It felt very . . . couple-like. A dangerously good feeling, but there it was nonetheless.

He was waiting with an arm tucked behind his head, propped up on two pillows.

She settled down next to him and handed him one of the two spoons she brought.

He sat up and took it, then looked at it as though he didn’t know what it was. “Seriously?” He tossed it aside. It thudded to the carpet.

“Why did you do that—”

“We just had sex. We can share a spoon.” He scooped up a bite of the creamy deliciousness and held it out to her.

She opened her mouth and he inched the spoon toward her but at the last second he swerved and fed it to himself.

“Hey!” She lightly punched his arm.

He laughed until the taste of the tiramisu fully settled on his tongue. “Damn. What is this!? It’s amazing.”

“Tiramisu. Remember?” She stared at him.

He stared back at her blankly. She giggled a little and added, “You don’t know what tiramisu is? Where have you been living all your life? Under a rock?” The moment the words flew from her mouth she felt like an idiot. She closed her eyes in one long blink and reopened them to stare at his face. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

He shrugged. “It’s okay. I have been living under a rock for a solid part of my life. Pretty much literally.”

She felt even more of an idiot right then. Yeah. He had been living under a rock. At Devil’s Rock Penitentiary.

She moistened her lips, unsure how to talk about this with him, knowing she should. She wanted to. Really. “That must have been really hard. I can’t imagine—”

“No.” He cut her off. “You can’t imagine. You couldn’t ever imagine it.”

His words weren’t hard necessarily, just firm. Even so, they stung a little.

He held the spoon up to her mouth, grinning at her. “C’mon, baby. Your turn.”

She opened her mouth. “Mmmm.” She moaned at the first taste, covering her lips with her fingers.

A corner of his mouth kicked up as he spooned himself some dessert. “You make that same sound when I’m inside you.”

Heat flamed her cheeks. “Stop.”

“You’re blushing now? After what we just did?”

“You’re bad.”

He snorted and scooped up another bite for her. “You already knew that before we fucked.”

She winced. He paused and looked at her, not missing her reaction. “What? You can’t hear it or say it but you can do it?” He laughed lightly. “You’re such a good girl, Faith Walters. Too good.”

She sniffed and started to pull back. “I’m not that good.”

He plucked the bowl from her hands and set it aside. “Oh, baby, you’re good.” He grabbed her around the waist and rolled her onto her back. She yelped, unable to blink, staring up at him with eyes that felt wide and aching in her face.

His head dipped and he kissed her hard and long. He pulled up for air, speaking against her lips. “You, Faith Walters, are very, very good.”

“Yeah?” She breathed raggedly against his mouth, shocked to feel him again, hard and ready against her thigh.

“Definitely.” Lowering his head, he kissed her again until she wasn’t blushing anymore. Until she wasn’t doing anything except gasping yes and pulling him closer.

Because North Callaghan making love to her felt like the most natural thing in the world.

North never once let himself fall asleep beside Faith. He’d surrendered to everything else his body craved, but not that. He clung to consciousness and that was something new. Those rare instances where he spent the night with a woman or a woman spent the night with him, he instantly conked out after sex, exhausted and replete, sinking into the tempting pull of oblivion. Not so with Faith. He felt wired. His mind awake, skin alive and jumping with awareness of the woman beside him.

She was the temptation, far greater than anything oblivion offered him. Unsurprising, he guessed. Everything with her was different; why not that, too?

His fingers walked over her skin. He drew small circles on her arm, his stomach churning and knotting in an unfamiliar manner. For the first time being with another woman, being with her, filled him with a sense of wonder. Like when he was welding and creating something from nothing. Correction. Creating something beautiful from nothing. God. He was almost poetic, and that was a joke. He was not a poet.

He stroked his hand down her arm and stopped at her wrist. He hesitated a moment before lacing his fingers with hers, letting their palms kiss while she slept.

As the air in the room faded to a murky blue, he tried to sort out his feelings when it came to Faith Walters. Moments ticked into minutes and the answer became no more clear-cut. When it was time for him to finally get out of bed, he had no clearer idea what those feelings were. He only knew that one night with her wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to do this again. Except doing this again meant talking . . . and that would lead to defining what it was they were doing. The define-the-relationship talk. No thanks. He didn’t do those. The moment a woman wanted the DTR, he took it as his cue to go. Although that would be tricky business when he lived next door to her . . . And she happened to be the sheriff’s sister. Yes, he had known that before last night. These had been the reasons he told himself to keep his hands off her.

Not that those reasons had stopped him. Still, he regretted nothing. He would change nothing.

But it had to stop now.

He had to stop.

He slid his jeans on and reached for his T-shirt. He pulled it over his head and caught a whiff of Faith. The coconut scent of her hair. He cursed softly. He needed to wash the shirt as soon as he could.

The sheets on the bed rustled and he glanced down as she rolled onto her back, bringing the sheet with her and unfortunately covering up her nakedness. “North?”

Her voice was groggy with sleep and seductive as hell. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to climb back into that bed with her. To spend all day with her, touching and loving every inch of her body until he had her memorized.

He couldn’t do that though.

“I gotta get ready for work. Go back to sleep,” he said, his voice gentle.

She settled back into bed. She was exhausted. He’d kept her up late. She probably wouldn’t even remember this verbal exchange later.

She’d asked him to ruin her, but she didn’t really mean that. She didn’t know what that meant. He knew. He’d seen it firsthand. He’d lived it. He still was living it. He had to leave her alone before he actually inflicted wounds that went too deep and became irreparable. Before they became scars.

Before it all became more than words between them.

Before he wrecked her like he did everything else in his life.