After Bridget helped Turner out of the rest of his clothes, he lay naked on her bed and watched her strip.

She wasn't trying to be sexy. She didn't need to.

The fluid grace with which she did everything was mesmerizing, and the best analogy he could come up with was something between a predatory feline and a dancer.

It was a revelation how much the combination of Bridget's powerful body and even more powerful mind turned him on—a surprise for a dominant man who never thought he would enjoy relinquishing control to a woman and enjoy it.

His natural dominance wasn't about the physical, it was about the mental. Turner always dictated what and how things were done and expected his partner to submit to his will. He wasn't a selfish lover, though, and he listened to what his partners wanted or needed from him, but he couldn't conceive of ever being led by another.

With Bridget, however, he was perfectly satisfied to lie back and let her take charge. The question was, whether she was satisfied with that as well.

It was hard to tell.

The woman had a dominant streak a mile long, but that didn't mean a thing, as proven by the many powerful and successful men who enjoyed being sexually dominated by women, or other men as the case may be. He was sure it was true of successful women as well, but in his line of business, Turner dealt mostly with men.

At the start of his career, when he'd run background checks that included the target's sexual preferences, he'd been surprised to find out how diverse they were, and it seemed that the more affluent and influential the guy was, the more he indulged in activities that were considered outside the norm. Naturally, this wasn't something anyone wanted to be known about themselves, and Turner had often used what he'd found out to his advantage. Sometimes years later. Any information he gained, he stored for future use.

Turner had no moral qualms about that either.

Even though his life and his profession were steeped in secrecy, his motto in life was not to do anything he would be embarrassed about or give someone a weapon to use against him.

He took ownership of his choices and his decisions.

Except for those fearing persecution, like gays in days past or backward countries of today, anyone who was ashamed of their sexual preference shouldn't engage in it.

Either do it and own it, or don't.

Dropping the last article of clothing on the floor, Bridget climbed on the bed and snuggled up to him, her breasts soft against his chest.

He wrapped his arm around her. "You have an amazing body."

She smiled. "So do you. Not bad for an old man."

"I wish I were in better shape, so I could show you what this old man can do."

"You are in amazing shape, and you did and then some. No complaints here."

For some reason, her comment reminded him of Andrew, shooting a bolt of jealousy straight down to his gut. "Tell me about Spivak."

Bridget grimaced. "I don't want to talk about him. Can we drop the subject?"

"Do you still desire him?"

There was no hesitation. "No."

"Why not? You can't just turn off attraction. It was there before he found Nathalie, and I don't believe it could've magically evaporated."

Letting out a breath, Bridget turned to lie on her back. "When Andrew met Nathalie, I was visiting Julian and met someone as well. He just beat me to the dumping."

"Tell me about that other guy."

Bridget cast him a hard stare. "If you want me to tell you about every guy I’ve ever been with, I'll still be talking when the sun comes up the day after tomorrow. I'm an immortal female with a healthy appetite for sex. I'm also not into self-denial."

He'd pissed her off. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to do with this jealousy. It's not something I'm familiar with."

She turned sideways, propping herself on her elbow. "Nice move, smoothing the offense with flattery."

"It's the truth."

She narrowed her eyes. "Would you've liked it if I asked you about past lovers?"

"I told you about the only one I had—Douglas's mother. I don't think random hookups and paid escorts count as lovers."

"True. But my history is just as uninteresting as yours."

"What about Julian's father?"

"I think of him as a sperm donor. I don't know which one it was, but I'm grateful for the gift he gave me."

Talking about Julian seemed to put Bridget in a better mood, which provided Turner with the perfect opportunity to change the subject and get back to lovemaking.

"I would like to meet your son. He must be an extraordinary guy," he said.

Her face brightened. "He is. And I would like to meet yours as well."

"Let's see how things turn out first." He leaned forward and kissed her, gently nibbling on her lower lip and then licking inside her mouth. Following the exquisite curve of her body, his palm swept down her waist.

With a moan, Bridget closed her eyes and pressed her body against his. As her small hands gripped his ass cheeks, her fingers digging into his flesh, the strength of that grip bordered on painful. But instead of taming his arousal, her aggression fueled it.

His cock swelled against her groin, and if he were uninjured, he would have pulled her under him and entered what he knew was wet and hot and welcoming.

It didn't take much to get Bridget going. She was like a Ferrari, going from zero to sixty in under three seconds.

"I want you in me so badly that it hurts," she said.

That did it for him. He was going to give her what she needed even if it meant reopening his wound. After all, he was with a doctor who was perfectly capable of stitching him back up later, and if needed, performing resuscitation.

So yeah, there were other positions that could've been more accommodating to his injured back, but he was in the mood for an old-fashioned missionary.

With his arm still wrapped around her, he rolled on top of her and took her mouth.

Bridget made a sound of protest, but her grip on his ass didn't loosen, and the thrust of her tongue into his mouth wasn't gentle. Their passion for each other was too combustive for slow lovemaking. This was going to be a fast and furious fucking.

His back was on fire, but he didn't give a damn. It wasn't the first time he'd been injured and plowed through the pain to keep going, only this time it was about pleasure and not survival.

Except, the urgency of his need to get inside her and fill her up until she was overflowing with his essence felt as if his survival depended on it.

It was primal, and it was necessary.

"Guide me inside you," he said.

Bridget shook her head. "Not safe. I'll pleasure you orally."

She might have meant what she'd said, but her body was in disagreement with her mind, as evidenced by the restless churning of her hips, and the clawing grip of her fingers on his ass.

"If you don't do it, I will."

Her eyes sparkled with an evil gleam. "Then do it. Prove that you're well enough to fuck me."

"Challenge accepted."

Moving his shoulder to reach between their bodies was going to hurt like hell. Turner regretted not taking the painkillers. But that wasn't going to stop him. Not now. Greeting his teeth against the pain, he reached for his erection, palmed it, and guided it into Bridget's smoldering heat.

"Yes!" she gasped, parting her thighs wider and inviting a deeper penetration.

"Fuck," he groaned as he pushed all the way in. Motionless, he concentrated on the sensations bombarding every part of him. From the tight grip of her sheath to the heat radiating from her and suffusing him in healing warmth.

Dimly, Turner was aware that he wasn't thinking rationally. The pain had receded because of the endorphins, and not because of Bridget's magical healing capabilities, but for once he didn't care whether things made sense or not.

His hands on her hips, holding her down even though she had no intention of going anywhere, he started pumping. Slowly at first, he rolled his hips to give her the friction she wanted, but that didn't last long. As much as he would have loved to prolong the pleasure, spending hours torturing them both with a slow, erotic burn, his control wasn't strong enough.

With a curse, Turner let himself go.