“Wait a second,” Jen blurted. “John Franzen learned what?”

She was distracted from her bewilderment by the adorable twitch that took over Sam’s lips as he placed her newly poured glass of Cabernet in front of her, atop the counter separating the living room from the kitchen of the rustic two-bedroom house Nellis had set him up in for the duration of training. Outside, just beyond base perimeter, the last rays of the setting sun kissed the top of Sunrise Mountain, and a blessedly cool breeze ruffled the palm trees in the backyard. But the scenery was the best in here, where that arrogant smirk threatened to turn the triple flip in her stomach into a quadruple special. The man himself was rumpled and gorgeous in a plain white T-shirt and jeans, having finished several early morning hops, six grueling hours of debriefing, and then the mountain of personnel paperwork she’d thrown at him—which had been, as every other interaction they’d had in the last three days, a tantalizing mixture of function and flirtation. Every signature he’d given up had come with a price: a subtle reminder that while he was happy to do her bidding in the confines of her little office, he was damned and determined to repeat a night—or more—of her doing his bidding elsewhere.

And so, as the saying went, one thing led to another.

Especially as the man had scribbled his final signature right as the clock officially ticked over into quitting time.

And he’d looked up at her, face a mass of smoldering intention, saying he had a lonely bottle of Cab back at his place, all but screaming that it wanted to meet her.

And now he regarded her, his gaze about as Thor-meets-Loki as she’d ever seen it. Drenched with his hammer-god intensity but sparkling with his mischief-god flippancy.

Which turned her answering gape a hell of a lot more interesting. “Okay, now I just don’t know whether you’re messing with me or not.”

“Now, mouse, I mess with you about a lot of things—”

“You don’t say.” While they’d dropped a lot of innuendo on each other over the last three days, their dynamic had eased into casual ribbing that indeed included the man messing with her threshold of disbelief.

“But this is a bit different than makin’ you believe my tale about the Demon’s Penis.”

“Well, if you’d stopped after proving that the mountain exists, rather than telling me you climbed it in nothing but your kilt and a beanie, in the February…”

“We’re digressin’ from the point.”

“You mean the one where you make me believe stories that aren’t true until I hunt up real facts and discredit your ass?”

He scowled over the rim of his own wine. “You like my ass.”

“Your ass is mighty fine, Captain.” She arched a brow while taking a sip as well. He had been right about the Cab. The wine was a perfect blend of berries and spice, making it a great choice for an autumn happy hour. “But not when it’s helping your mouth as you stand there trying to tell me that Franzen found out there’s a secret kink dungeon hidden in the Scene Lounge at the Nyte Hotel and offered a hundred bucks to the first guy who goes and finds out.”

He trailed a finger along the bowl, and then the stem, of his glass. Though his expression barely changed, Jen could feel his watchful wolf prowling past Thor and Loki to lurk closer to the surface of his urbane demeanor. Holy shit. The man did attentive wolf better than anyone she knew.

Perhaps because she knew he meant it.

“Might be a pure rocket way to make a hundred spondoolies.”

She was damn glad she decided not to get in another sip of wine. “Spondoolies? Hold on. Let me get you some free shevacadoo to go with those.”

“Huh?”

She gloated without remorse. It was a rare but fun moment when she knew a meme and he didn’t. “My point exactly.”

“Which is what?

“Hmmm.” She canted her head and grinned, unable to ignore the pull of the new grin he attached to that. Regrettably, it did nothing for the Sam-the-Wolf Fan Club’s dance party in her belly—taking inspiration from the larger dance she was doing with him. “What am I saying?”

He tilted his head the same direction she had, hiking the opposite eyebrow. On any other guy, it’d be weird. On him, it was more fodder for the fan club factor. “That you’re up for the challenge of checking out Scene with me?”

And there it was, all but written in black and white—making her feel like she’d had a lot more to drink than two sips of really good Cabernet. So what now? Sam wasn’t going to kick her out if she backed up the truck and just said she was comfortable with dinner, Netflix and chilling—which was still a win-win for him, considering he’d been clear about his intent in telling her the Cabernet was “really ready to be devoured” and had “a stiff opening of berries” that promised a “robust, rousing finish.” But was comfortable what she wanted from this…from him? Nothing about Sam Mackenna, even just being in the same room as him, had ever been comfortable. He’d given her every speck of uncomfortable she’d ever craved—and because of that, she’d never felt more alive. The last two weeks had been a couple of the happiest in her life.

Who the hell was she kidding?

They’d been the best of her life.

Especially those two hours he’d given her, on the night of Tess and Dan’s party.

Would returning to the scene of the sizzle add an even better chapter to their story or just hasten the “awkward goodbye” ending that would be coming in a couple of weeks anyway? And why was she even brooding about that and not trusting that any time she spent with Sam was going to be incredible? Wouldn’t she rise to his challenge if he said he was searching for the tackiest tourist shop in Vegas? Arguably, that would take hours longer than this mission…

“Oh, mousie…”

His singsong prodding had her thoughts circling back to the moment and her backside scooting off the barstool.

“I…I…”

And her mind utterly unable to make a damn decision about this.

“I…have to pee.”

Which wasn’t a lie. And bought her the space she needed to get her damn head screwed on straight—or to twist it the way it needed to go, if that was the case. Just to get to a decision not based on how breathtaking he was, so muscled and messy-haired and stubbled, bearing wine and a smirk and a double-dog dare that terrified but thrilled her…

Okay, so not anywhere in there had the man mentioned “dares.” Not verbally, at least. If she counted the Loki-lupine tease in his eyes, however…

It was a damn good thing she’d had to pee.

Before she even shut the door, she started to make columns and comparisons in her head.

He was halfway through his time here. So if tonight went awesome? Major win. They’d have two more weeks to float through heaven. Maybe even some damn fine social time to really get to know each other. He owed the kids at VVE another visit, after all.

But if not?

How was she going to keep her disappointment and despondency off the public shelves? How would she pretend all was—how did he like saying it?—pure dead brilliant, when it really wasn’t? Worse, how would she be able to stay civil in five days, knowing Tess had openly invited Sam to join in their wedding celebration but having to watch Mattie and Viv move in all over him with their classic man-eater tricks?

Did she draw the line, or didn’t she?

Did she run with his double-dog dare or protect what was still left of her heart?

What did she continue to keep locked up in her emotional cabinets?

But the ambient lights in his bathroom, flickering to life as she entered, already shattered those cabinets to pieces.

No. Not the lights.

What they illuminated.

A set of clothes, hanging perfectly from the hook on the back of the door.

A dress blazer in dark gray. A white silk shirt to go beneath it, along with a brocade vest in hunter green. The same green was woven with red and white to form the plaid design of the pressed wool kilt. Tucked into a corner, as if freshly polished, was a pair of black leather boots with ornate silver buckles. They’d probably hit Sam at midcalf, where his well-formed muscles would push at the leather, emphasizing his physical power…

“Ohhhh, God.”

She had no idea she’d also groaned it aloud, until Sam’s urgent call came through the door. “Mouse? You sure you’re awrite?”

She yanked the door back open.

To surrender her breath to shock once again.

He’d peeled off his T-shirt. To make matters worse—or better—he’d also unhitched the top button of his sinfully fitted denims. The line of tawny hair down the center of his torso, so perfectly framed by the dual ridges of his happy V muscles, joined with a thicker, curlier patch she could just glimpse at the place where his zipper started to part.

“Damn.”

Out the word tumbled before she could help it, though the syllable was more a breath than an exclamation. She longed to repeat the word, more as a curse this time, as Sam lazed against the doorjamb, clearly and maddeningly aware of what he’d done—and pleased as a cocky knight-errant about the outcome.

“My pardons, lady.” As he drawled it, he folded his arms—once more, knowing exactly what he was doing. The new pose magnified the boulders of his biceps, the striations in his forearms, the ripples of his tightening abdomen. “I was just thinkin’, no matter what you decide, that I’d get out of these tatters, and—”

“Stop.”

Sam froze his fingers on the tongue of his zipper—though not before he got the teeth separated far enough to expose the clear fact that he was commando under the denim. “Right here?”

Jen gulped. Fought like hell to rip her gaze away from the Sam-style goodness that lay beneath his fingers. That beautiful, hard ridge, already pulsing so hard that she was certain his poor penis was gaining some interesting new indentations…

Thank God she had something else to focus on. His outfit was gorgeous, like a costume created for a Highland book boyfriend. If the vest was replaced by a sash and the kilt secured by a sword belt instead of snap closures, she could even turn that setting into something from hundreds of years ago, where he was the laird of his own clan. If they’d lived four hundred years ago, could she have been his lady? Lairds were a lot less picky in the 1600s. Curves, curls, and a talent for rocking high heels were a lot less important than leadership, business sense, and the ability to reload a spring-action stapler in less than thirty seconds. Surely a flintlock pistol wasn’t so different.

She pushed the fantasy—make that a few new fantasies—aside in order to answer his query. “Yes,” she blurted. “There.”

His gaze narrowed with fresh intensity. “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”

She copied his pose. Ordered her scrutiny to stay on his face, no matter how valiantly his crotch was trying to sway her determination. “Aye, Captain,” she said, though she lifted a stiff finger. “With conditions.”

His brow furrowed. “Conditions?”

She stunned him—and, frankly, herself—by managing a little laugh. “Well…one.”

He was persistent with the majority of the frown, though the silver flecks reappeared in his eyes, highlighting his flirty tease. “I like conditions.”

Her breath snatched again—especially as the man unfolded his arms and took a step toward her. Sultry intent surrounded him like the glow around a candle flame, only with bulging muscles and burnished hair…

Fire that would burn her, if she let it.

But maybe she wanted—needed—to let it.

And suddenly, the idea of actually finding that dungeon, on the arm of this beautiful flame of a man, turned her nervous system into a thousand blazing comets of arousal. What would Sam really do with her, to her, if they were alone in a play room together? If she were kneeling before him, picking out a safe word for him? If he were no longer Sam at all but purely and wholly her Sir?

One prolonged look in his eyes, and she already saw the possibilities swirling through his mind too. The promise of the new ways they could be together and open each other. The brilliance of what they could share…

Crazily—or maybe all-too-appropriately—her mind was emblazoned with a classic pilot’s inspirational quote. The sky is no longer the limit.

For too long, she’d been defined by the reaches of what she thought her sky could be. What always would be. But then she’d met this man, and he’d showed her how to fly in his sky. A sky, she sensed, that he’d forgotten how to soar in as well.

So maybe they both needed this adventure.

And maybe she had to realize that—for both of them.

With a zealous sweep, Jen whipped the clothes off the hook. As she did, Sam pushed away from the doorframe. Good thing, since she shoved them against the two main slabs of his chest. “We’re going on a dungeon hunt—but you’re going to wear this to do it.”

“All right.”

The corners of his mouth inched up along with the slow, sultry release of his drawl. Jen stood back, savoring the fact that she’d already pleased him with her decisiveness, watching the ease with which he pulled the shirt off its hanger and then stabbed his arms into the sleeves. The entire time, his stare didn’t leave her face. He kept watching, lips quirking, as he buttoned it. Didn’t relent as he slipped on the vest, removed his jeans, and then wrapped the kilt around his lean hips. Once the snaps were locked, he smoothed the whole outfit into place—and then swept a gallant bow toward her.

After he rose, he chuckled. Jen didn’t laugh. How could she, when her lungs desperately rationed breath? She attempted to school her features but was certain she looked ridiculous, fighting a suddenly dry throat and a womb clenching so hard she trembled.

She needed to jump at him. On him. To mold every inch of her naked body against his and beg him to slam her to the floor, hike the kilt up, and then fuck her like the self-respecting Scot he was.

Which didn’t exactly keep with the nobler plan here, did it?

“Shit. Shit.”

Once more, she let the gray matter exclamations spill over her lips. Once more, Sam was ready with a smirk that actually made smug humility a thing. “Changin’ your mind about wantin’ to claim Franz’s fortune?”

“Ssshhh.” She pushed three fingers against his lips. “With you looking like all my wet dreams, I can’t handle you sounding like them too.”

He twisted his head enough to capture her middle finger between his lips. Then slid his tongue to the crevice at its bottom. As Jen gasped, he whispered, “Did you just mention wet dreams while standin’ here in my bathroom, dressed in that bonnie fine dress, and—”

“Shit!” Her repetition was stripped of its raspy arousal, thanks to the horror that slammed her like the hull of an aircraft carrier.

“Mouse?” Sam murmured.

“My dress.” She moaned it while looking down, realizing she was still wearing her basic red shirtdress and matching pumps from the day. While the color of the dress favored her skin tone, it was still about as boring a look as they came. “This doesn’t exactly scream ‘show me the epic dungeon you’re hiding out back, guys.’”

“Speak for yourself, woman.” Sam rocked back on one heel, appraising her with a gaze that had gone the shade of a mysterious sea. Not the dangerous, ship-destroying kind. The tempestuous kind that crashed up against the lighthouse where Jen envisioned him taking her and then fucking her in that hotter-than-hell, better-than-the-pages-of-a-book outfit. “On better thought, let me speak for you.” He dipped a decisive nod. “The dress is sexy as fuck, woman.”

She rolled her eyes. Watched the responding tension at the corners of his own but didn’t let it deter her from muttering, “The dress is meant for a military base accounting office, Sam, not a—”

Her own gasp was her interruption—though it coincided with the one-two swoops of his hands, one at her neckline and one near the hem, each twisting free a couple of buttons. He concluded his “alteration” by grabbing the clip that held her hair off her face and then tousling his long fingers across her scalp, bringing a bunch of her thick waves across her cheeks.

“Errmmm…” She bit her lip but flashed a grin. “Okay, then.”

Sam stepped over, pressing himself against her and nuzzling her neck suggestively. “Not ‘okay, then,’” he rasped into her hair. “You’re not just fuckin’ okay, Jenny Thorne. You’re perfect. Especially right now.”

She sighed. For a moment, just enjoyed the feel of him again, so huge and hard and defined against her…and damn near around her. She inhaled him, forest cedar and ocean spice joined by the starch in his shirt and the musk of his skin.

Holy God, how she wanted him. Yes, this damn swiftly. Yes, this damn badly.

The yearning only got more intense as he cupped the sides of her face and husked, “All better?”

“Hrrrmmm,” Jen mumbled. “Yeah. I…I think.”

“You think?” Sam pressed his fingertips into the indents just below her ears. “Not acceptable, sweet mouse. Come on, now. What is it?”

“Oh, ugh,” she rasped. “It’s really noth—” But she realized writing herself off like that would only darken the tempests in his eyes at this point. “Cripes, Sam. I mean, look at us! You’re…You’re a freaking book fantasy come to life, and I’m—”

“Goin’ to get your arse pummeled a lovely shade of carnation pink, if you don’t stop with this silly mince right now.”

But it was too late to prevent the blush that felt exactly that shade. Jen somehow sucked together the rest of her composure and used the fortitude to push away from the hunk in her arms. Well, to attempt to. When Sam didn’t relent, she protested, “I’ll be fine, okay? Just give me a second to—oh! Sam!”

Sam clutched her waist tighter, securing her balance as he bent to finish what he started with his other hand: whipping her panties down, all the way around her ankles. “Mmmmm,” he rumbled. “Now look at that bonnie sight.” With a sultry look up over his shoulder, he speared her with eyes gone the shade of molten silver. “Still think you’re not ‘hot’ enough now, missy?”

“Sam.” It was a plea, a rebuke, and a gasp in one, the latter happening as he nimbly maneuvered the lace around her heels and then up into his inner coat pocket. “Come on…”

“What? I don’t get to have one of my fantasies come to life?”

“One of your—” Her jaw plummeted. “You’ve had fantasies about me?” She lifted it again, battling to work moisture back into her lips and throat. “L-L-Like…this?”

“Without any panties?” He had to be a Highland god about filling that in, his posture so focused and his grip still undaunted. “In a dress the color of your nipples when I bite and suck them…and the sweet, tender bits between your thighs when I—”

“All right, all right!” She held up a hand, trying to laugh but sounding like a constipated goose instead. “I get the picture!” And dear crap, how that was the truth. She shoved down a deep breath, certain that if she actually wore the underwear now, they’d be soaked. “Can’t say I’m actually comfortable about it, but I’m also not sure I get a choice about that.”

“Of course you get a choice.” He stepped back, already seeming to sense how she needed the space for clear thought. “You always get a choice. Say the word, and the lace is yours again.”

Jen smoothed her skirt. Realigned her posture. Neither move compensated for what she’d felt when he was close. The primal sense of being protected. Safe. Cherished. Thoroughly female, balanced out by the massive presence of his masculinity. To be a damn greeting card about it, she already missed him. But the ache was eased by knowing he still carried a little “gift” from her. A token that been cupped around the most intimate part of her…

“No,” she finally rasped. “I…I want you to keep them.”

An extended rumble resonated through him as he reclosed the space between them and dipped a kiss along her forehead. “Tell you what?” he said, deep pleasure threading his voice. “Show of solidarity from the smitten dafty in the room. Tonight, I’ll wear my kilt in the manner befittin’ a proper Scotsman.”

She laughed again. It sounded more human but felt a lot more like it’d come from another creature: a woman much more confident and carefree and sexy than Jennifer Josephine Thorne could have ever considered in her existence. At once, she inwardly blamed and thanked “the smitten dafty”—while acknowledging that could only be the start of what she owed the man, in all his incarnations. The more of him she knew, including tonight’s Dom and dafty, the more she longed to give so much more to him than her damn panties.

Because, she openly admitted, the more he kept giving in return. Like this latest twist—throwing her into incredulity that must have shown on her face, if his resquared shoulders and resecured feet were any accurate reflector.

Into their little moment of shared amusement, she finally charged, “You’re—you’re serious, aren’t you? About us doing this?”

“You’re astute.” He twisted his lips until his dimples were deep accents in his cheeks. “But I already knew that.”

“I’ve…I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“You don’t say.”

Fast glower. “Smartass.”

“Hey, first times are fun to share with friends.”

She pulled in a breath and frowned. But only for a second. His rejoining smile was enough to shred any resistance Jen had left. In that moment, she wondered how the man had really ended up as a pilot. His ability to push a jet to Mach speeds was nothing compared to his ninja mind trick of disguising utter naughtiness as casual conversation.

So what was their “chitchat” going to be like in a real public setting…like the Scene Lounge?

As Jen watched him tuck her panties deeper into his pocket, a polite smile on his lips but silver fire blazing in his eyes, she finally wrapped her head around the fact that she was truly going to find out.

And that the experience wouldn’t be one she soon forgot.

“Sam?”

“Hmmm?”

“What happened to the pact we made in the car?”

“The pact?”

“About being good at least for an hour?”

The assertion seemed in need of a visual jab as well, so she set her wine down and stole a glance up at the man. It was a hell of a dirty job, but someone had to do it. Possibly again and again and again.

She could only hope.

Dirt, mud, sludge, muck… She’d take it all if it looked and felt and smelled this stunningly good.

His scent, all rain and sun and man together, consumed her aroused senses. His size, enforced by the plaid draping one of his shoulders and the vest custom-cut for his chiseled shoulders, welcomed her roving gaze. His formidable profile was given more definition by the bar’s dim lighting against the ginger stubble along his jaw. Despite all that, his face on the whole was open and congenial, even exchanging an approving smile with a guy who’d ordered the same dark ale as him. “Of course,” he murmured. “Good. One hour. I remember.”

“So squeezing my knee under the table—”

“Isn’t bein’ good?”

“There’s a difference between being good and feeling good, Captain.”

“But why?” He tilted his gaze in toward her. Gone was the funny guy from his bathroom who used silly Scottish nicknames on himself and smirked while he hid underwear in secret pockets. From the moment they’d walked in here, Sam had become all Dom, all the time—and damn it if that, along with all the kisses of fresh air up her skirt, weren’t turning her most sensitive parts into one mass of bare, quivering arousal. “Besides,” he went on, his gaze lowering and his lips curling, “I’m not squeezin’ your knee. Not anymore, at least.”

He was right. It was no longer her knee. It was her lower thigh and then the middle of her thigh. If he didn’t stop, it’d be her upper thigh and then—

“Sam.”

He set down his beer and laughed softly, as if she’d just told him a private little joke. The gleam in his eyes was brilliant; the focus on his face was indisputable. “How’s that for good, lass?”

She pushed her legs together to keep his hand from sliding higher. He chuckled quietly again, finally withdrawing it—

Only to replace it with the other one, meaning he was now fully turned, nearly blocking her view of the glamorous place with his shoulders. The Scene Lounge was a round room, where old Hollywood glam had been masterfully meshed with a Marrakesh brothel. The designers hadn’t skimped on the red leather, gold tassels, ornate accents, and nuanced dimness of the ambiance.

Sam smiled down into her face. Jen pressed her legs harder and attempted to glower back. For a moment, he looked adorably nonplussed, as if they were standing in her office and she’d cut him off in the middle of a one-liner, ordering him to sign off on flight assignments. She refused to remember that in most of those moments, she’d yearned to have him in this kind of a moment.

Different times, different circumstances.

Much different.

“Okay now. Stop.” She would’ve attempted to squirm free, but where did that take her crotch except closer to his fingers? Her utterly naked pussy…his completely determined hand…

To her shock, he acquiesced. “You win, beautiful.” Dutifully, he even tugged her skirt back into place. “For now, at least.” One swig of his drink later, he added, patting his pocket, “But only because I’ve got the bargaining chip.”

She sipped at her wine, a Cabernet as wonderful as the one they’d started back at his place, before returning coyly, “You going to reveal another fantasy involving my panties, Captain? How many of those do you have waiting in the wings?” She cocked her head, battling to copy his slick seduction though she was sure she probably came off more like the socially awkward Muppet who just said “meep” over and over again.

“I’ve tried not to dwell too much on my fantasies about you, mouse.” Though he leaned over close enough to grate it into her hair, his gaze struck out across the room again. “Mistakin’ one’s cock for the control stick can be a fatal mistake in sixteen tons of speedin’ steel.”

She clutched her wineglass. Hard. “I was seriously just kidding.”

“I wasn’t.” So gruff. Heavy. A sough of pure lust.

“So…you really do have fantasies?” she managed. “I mean, the kind that…”

“Fairly soon after the first moment I met you.” He dipped his head, peering closely at her again. “That’s fashin’ you fiercely. Why?”

“Why?” She arched both brows. “Because I’m a dweeb, Sam. I walk around with my nose in books and my head in the clouds.”

“But I like you that way.”

“I like me that way too—except when I’m yanked out and have to be reminded that I can’t take three steps in dress shoes without falling flat on my face. That sometimes—most times—I have the social graces of an orangutan. Like when I can’t stop babbling stupid shit like this, around someone like you, and—”

He borrowed her move from his place, flattening several fingers across her lips. “Haud your wheesht, darlin’. Someone like me? What the bloody hell does that mean?”

She turned her head, freeing her lips. “Sam…please. Don’t even try to tell me that you’re unaware of it.” She arced a finger, encompassing the room. “You turned every woman’s head—and half the men’s—just by striding in here a half hour ago.”

“And your point is what? That I inherited great bone structure and have decent hair?”

“It’s a little better than decent.” Much better, actually, but she didn’t push the subject. He’d started to steam about this. “But no, that’s not my point. It’s not what you have here.” She relished the chance to glide a touch down the side of his face. “It’s what you are in here.” She dipped her caress to the middle of his chest. “You’re something special, mister. People see it, know it, everywhere you go.”

He lifted a hand to cover hers. “And you’re not?”

His words still sounded like an accusation. Beneath their weight, Jen squirmed. “I don’t light up rooms everywhere I go. I don’t fly to the stars and then bring them back down for the earth to revel in.” The glow from a wall sconce was a perfect fixation, invoking a vision of Sam’s jet against a sunset sky. “That’s another fantasy of mine, you know,” she said wistfully. “To know what it’s like to fly with you.”

“Don’t change the subject.” His retort was instant. Too much so. Her confession had touched him a little, and Jen was glad of it. It was her honest assessment, not some ploy to get him up her skirt—despite how he’d already been there once tonight already. Besides, he was right. She nodded quietly, conceding to that.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “You’re right.”

“Damn right I’m right.” Though returning her gaze to his face yielded the fast recognition that they still weren’t on the same page. Sure enough, he growled out in challenge, “How the hell can you not see what I do in you?”

She pursed her lips. Tried not to get pulled back in by his stare, which was filled with the fiercest predator focus she’d seen in it yet, to the point that her inner radars were already screaming with the man’s missile lock on her. “Whoa.” She used both hands to T-stab the air. “I thought we were here to find the secret dungeon.”

“First things first.” He pushed in closer. Issued a low growl so close to her ear, it trailed shivering heat down her neck, between her breasts, and straight into the enlivened nerves at the crux of her thighs… “Answer me.”

“First things first?” She twisted her head to find him waiting with obvious expectancy. “I thought the dungeon hunt was the first thing…”

“You’re evading.”

“You’re evading.” But when he didn’t let up on his solid silver scrutiny, she dug in her heels on her own stare—though, just thirty seconds later, became the first to relent, diving her gaze back toward her wine. She didn’t want to admit to the subtle shift that had just occurred between them, although every hormone in her body wasn’t so forgiving. So many instincts screamed at her to turn and duck her head against him and then just pour out every misgiving and insecurity she’d ever had to him. But her will held out, at least long and strong enough to keep her head up and her voice steady as she declared, “You know what? We’ll have to agree to disagree on this, buddy. You’re a damn good man, Sam, but you can’t change what simply is. Even if we didn’t live halfway around the world from each other, we’d be living in different circles. Different worlds.”

His lips twisted as if he contemplated having to kiss a snake. “What? So you think a woman like Mattie belongs on my arm instead?”

Jen grasped his hand between both of hers, an unspoken plea for calm. “Maybe not her, exactly,” she conceded. “But…someone like her.”

“Like her?” He leaned away. Yep. Avoiding the snake.

“You know what I’m trying to say,” she snapped. “Why are you making this so hard?”

His eyes bugged. “I’m makin’ this—” He interrupted himself, inhaling sharply. Finished with just as harsh a nod. “All right, then. If I belong with someone like Mattie, who do you belong with?” He swept an arm out. “Go on. Here’s a nice room, full of chaps to choose from. Who among them is like the guy you need to be with?”

Jen flinched. What other choice was there, in reaction to the venom in his voice? “Who the hell poured salt into your beer, Mackenna?”

His gaze narrowed. “Excuse the fuck out of me?”

“You heard me,” she countered. “Why are you acting like I black-eyed your ego? You’re a hell of a lot sturdier than this, Braw Boy.” Okay, using his call sign was aiming a tiny bit under the belt, especially in the same sentence she’d mentioned the strength he was more proud of than his looks, but he really was behaving like a bruised boyfriend instead of an out-of-her-league lover. So logically, that led to a pair of conclusions. Either he’d been truly hiding one hell of an ego over the last two weeks, or—

Or the guy really did care for her beyond the realm of just a couple of friends with epic benefits.

As they said where he came from: horse shite.

There had to be some other explanation.

“Okay, Captain Mackenna,” she finally mustered the courage to charge. “What the hell’s going on?”

Sam finished off his ale. Pounded the glass to the table. “That wasn’t an answer to my question.”

Fine. Two could play this game.

Jen scooped up her glass and chugged the rest of her wine.

And instantly regretted it.

After crashing into her empty stomach, the wine was instantly shot into her racing nerves and whipped into a cyclone in her head. “All of them.” Liquid courage, don’t fail me now. “There’s your answer, Captain. Because every man in this damn room wants to be with a cute little catch like me, right?” Her throat snagged on the sarcasm, making it possible for her pain to seep through. She pushed on, having no choice if she was to save any kind of face. “Damn. I’m so glad you’re here, because I’d be beating them all off with sticks if that wasn’t the case. Story of my life. Men, men, men. Everywhere I turn, it’s—agghh!”

Her yelp popped out as Sam thrusted to his feet, hauling her right behind. Still reeling from chugging her Cabernet, Jen careened forward. He caught her easily, despite the dark fury still claiming every inch of his mien. While settling her balance, he beckoned a cocktail waitress.

“Captain Mackenna,” she murmured politely. “Will you be transferring the evening to private status now?”

Sam’s smile was perfunctory. “Fuckin’ bet I am.”

“Transferring the—” Jen darted her gaze between him to the waitress. “‘Private status?’ Huh?”

“Very well, then.” The server, a leggy beauty with trendy cat-eye makeup, spoke like Jen had commented on the weather. “Right this way.”

“Right this way where?”

Sam gave her no solid rebuttal but his tighter hold and his harder stare. Jen was able to summon her own glower before he pivoted back around, following Leggy toward a portion of the bar’s stylish wall that actually turned out to be a swinging door.

“Hold on a second,” Jen blurted. “Sam…is this…did we…” She caught sight of the electronic pad in the hostess’s grip, realizing that the screen didn’t appear at all like the seating chart of the round room they’d just left. Instead, she spotted an icon of a lock, with the label VIP beneath it. But stumbling along behind Sam, Jen didn’t feel very “VIP.” Skittish colt instincts to the rescue. She backed away until she couldn’t—held back by a six-foot-something fighter pilot with launch rockets blazing in his eyes.

“Room three,” said Leggy.

“R-R-Room three?” Jen raced her gaze between the hostess and the man still clamping her in an unretractable hold. “Room three of what?” But as soon as she really regarded Sam again, she knew. The rigid set of his face, along with the new authority in his stance… “You knew,” she gasped, identifying the coalescing logic in her mind. “You knew from the second we got here, didn’t you? Maybe even before that?”

Nothing about his aura faltered. If anything, his composure smoothed in proportion to the higher flare of her hackles, working in tandem with the wine to confuse her even more. “I would never deliberately deceive you, mouse.”

“No? Then what the hell is this?”

“Someone beating you guys to the spanking bench by ten minutes.” The interruption, erupting from behind them, was tied with an all-too-familiar ribbon of humor. Familiar, as in a tone she’d known for over twenty years—ever since it was used to comfort her after Tansie Owens pushed her off the swings on the kindergarten playground.

Sure enough, she spun around to behold the treasured grin and twinkling fairy gaze of her best friend—though Tess’s smile and eyes were about the only recognizable aspects of her face. The woman had made up her face so she really did look like a fairy—of sorts. Maybe a naughty fairy. The glam shades of red, orange, and black were angled to make her look wicked yet innocent—at least to her neckline. From there, the sparkled shades spread out to cover the tops of her breasts, which were barely concealed by a tight red corset. Beneath that, layer upon layer of red and black tulle sprung out in a skirt—though again, the description barely fit the look. Tess’s naughty bits were barely covered by the frothy flair, from which Jen rapidly averted her gaze. She had a feeling that was exactly the idea. She also had a feeling that her friend’s panties were hiding in one of Dan Colton’s pockets—though the man slated to become her husband in five days, now strolling out into the hall behind his woman, didn’t appear to have a pocket with enough room for the task. The man wore nothing but black leather pants, and they perfectly outlined every damn inch of his—errrmmm—assets.

“Okay,” Jen heard herself mutter, tossing her stare all the way to the floor. “Whoa.”

Tess giggled. Giggled. That was enough to bring Jen’s gaze back up for a second. Tess wasn’t the giggling type. On the other hand, she’d never known Tess to be the naughty-fairy-in-a-tutu type, either. “Well, hello to you too, missy.”

Jen managed to return her friend’s fast hug. Kind of. She didn’t hug hard, afraid she’d squeeze too much in the wrong places and she’d see more of Tess than she wanted to. Rephrase. She’d already seen more of Tess than she wanted to. “Wh-What are you guys doing here?” The woman had half of Atlanta’s society page in town for the wedding and a brain-exploding to-do list. Jen had been trying to help out where she could, but Tess’s mom turned “control freak” into an art form.

“What does it look like?” Tess replied easily as the guys grunted, fist-bumped, and murmured to each other in ways that made Jen nervous and aroused at the same damn time. When obvious Doms started muttering mysterious things, it was time for submissives to pay attention, wasn’t it? But Tess went on as if they were just standing on the corner of Flamingo and Vegas Boulevard, waiting along with the tourists for the light to change. “Franz told Dan and the guys about this place, and we jumped on a reservation as fast as we could. We both need to get away from the wedding insanity—like, now.”

“Right.” That part, she could give with sincerity. A girl didn’t put a ring on it with one of the world’s most prominent businessmen, in the middle of Las Vegas, without there being some crazy fanfare.

“Got a bonus from the whole thing too. Turns out we won some kind of a contest among the guys from acting so fast, so Master picked up a new paddle and told me to splurge on the new play gear. Like it?”

Master? Paddle? Play gear? “Uhhh…sure,” Jen all but choked. “Pretty.”

“Hopefully it’ll match what he does to these.”

“Oh my God.” So much for pretending they were standing in a mob of tourists. Or for the way her eyes bulged as Tess turned and flipped up her skirt, exposing the very firm and very bare globes of her backside. It was official now. She had seen too damn much of her best friend.

Apparently, and thankfully, Dan seemed to agree. The man reacted to his sub’s playful “show” with the speed of a tiger tamer with a wildcat, sweeping over by a powerful step and then hauling her against his side with a powerful pull. Once she was there, he dominated her mouth with a crashing kiss until she visibly melted and audibly moaned.

“Sorry to cut social hour short, gang,” he growled once they dragged their mouths apart. “But a certain little ruby needs to be reschooled in showing herself off in the hallway without her Master’s permission.”

At once, Tess erupted with a cute little yip. While Dan’s gaze never wavered from her face, his hand had disappeared beneath her tulle—no doubt giving a subtle preview of what he had planned for his fiery fairy. “Oh yes please, Master. Teach me a very good lesson.”

Jen watched, fascinated, as Dan only reacted by tightening his gaze and clenching his jaw. But the lack of outward signs aside, the energy—the power—flying and flowing between the two was like a blast of sheer electricity on the hushed air of the hallway. Just being a witness to the whole thing, Jen admitted she was fascinated. And enflamed. And so fucking turned on…

Which made it doubly strange when Leggy cleared her throat and arched her sculpted eyebrows Sam’s way, a silent request to keep them moving on down the dim corridor. How the woman could still look so bored, after the tease of tantalization Dan and Tess had just given them all, needed to be catalogued as a new mystery of the cosmos. Not that Jen even thought about it once Sam moved back next to her, his eyes filled with silver intensity and his presence radiating more of the potent Dominant flow she’d just experienced from Dan Colton.

She was intoxicated—and it had nothing to do with the wine.

She was soaked—and it had everything to do with him.

She was limp—and it was due entirely to his hold on her. With his hands around her wrists, not his fingers threaded with hers. With his forceful efficiency in pushing right into her personal space, hauling her up against his chest, and dipping his stubbled jaw into the sensitive crook of her neck.

“What do you say now, mouse?” he gritted. “It’s still your choice now… Will we have a few more cocktails or a lot more fun?”

Somehow—she really had no damn idea how—she got in a huge swallow. But once her throat oscillated against his prickly jaw, her self-composure was done. Even her irritation with him had vanished. All she could feel was the man’s heated focus…his full, thick, lust-driven attention…his desire to give her everything she’d just witnessed between Dan and Tess and maybe more. Oh, so much more…

“Holy…shit,” she rasped as he swept around to bracket her body from the back, locking her wrists using just one of his hands and yanking her against him with the other hand at the front of her neck. Not in a stranglehold. He didn’t need one. This was right where she wanted to be. Right where she’d dreamed of being. She just hadn’t realized it…until now. “Ohhhhh, holy fuck.”

So much for pruning the lust from her gasp. Or feigning that his responding hum, rich and deep and low, didn’t affect her in exactly the same way. “Might just happen, sweet one…if you’re good.”

“G-G-Good?” Jen stammered back. “H-H-How?”

“That’s my secret to know and yours to find out,” he supplied in a soft snarl. “Now, she said room three. Walk.”

Once more, Leggy was the picture of baffling boredom. She watched their entire exchange from heavily kohled eyes as if she were just wiping off plastic menus and they were a normal couple having a tiff. Jen wasn’t sure if that made it easier or tougher to comply with Sam’s order, but she did it, even admitting to all the tingles of erotic expectation through her body as she did.

Down the alluring, thick-carpeted hall they stepped, past numbered rooms that couldn’t even be written off as specialty spa suites. No way could Jen ignore what the rooms were there for. After passing room two, the picture was crystal clear. Heavy moans bled through the door. Then a series of distinct smacks, like leather meeting leather. Then more moans and a man’s baritone voice crooning distinct words. Good girl. That’s my good girl.

As they passed, Sam fitted his lips once more to her ear. “You ken what I’m sayin’ now, mouse? Good girls get rewarded around here.”

She almost snapped around to tell him that good girls usually had more than three seconds’ notice to discover they were going into the hidden dungeon with their sexy-as-hell Doms, but it had been an hour and a half since she relinquished her panties to the man, more than implying that she trusted him for whatever crazy turns the night took. But more importantly, she kind of liked that part. When was the last time she’d been someone’s “good” anything? Even the subject of their little spat was kind of cool. He’d been so bent about her trying to talk him out of considering her so special, it had taken him right into full-on fury.

She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever cared enough to get pissed at her.

And once Sam pushed open the door to room three, no way could she deny how he planned to prove it to her even more.

The space was lighted even dimmer than the main room. There was a canopied bed fit for a king, framed in mahogany tapestries and piled with endless pillows. A three-sided mirror stood in the corner with a multilevel stool in front of it, serving a purpose Jen could only imagine—though right now, her imagination ran pretty damn wild.

“In.”

His voice was harsh, twisting into her like a newly heated poker, needing no embellishment for her compliance.

But he’d given no stipulation about doing it meekly. “Damn it, Sam. We should talk about this, right? I mean—”

It was impossible to say anything else, with the man’s tongue suddenly in her mouth.

Passionate. Powerful. Consuming.

Ohhhh, damn.

“Your safe word is fantasy. Now in.”

After he finally freed her from the next openly carnal kiss, a moan exploded up Jen’s throat. She wanted to—needed to—resist but couldn’t. Her lungs struggled for air as her stomach battled for the right way up. Her head fought a silvery, lusty fog. Her whole body burst to life, as if this was the first time she and Sam had made out like this.

Dear God. He really was a dream come to life. Every amazing romance hunk she’d ever fallen for, rolled into one magnificent package. Turning every feeling she had and sensation she felt into something new and brilliant, incredible and illicit…

Especially as she walked all the way into the room and he rammed her back against into the thick bedpost. And kissed her with hard, ruthless possession all over again.

She met his desire with a matching groan of urgent need, hiking a leg around his waist. To her shock, Sam pushed it back down. When he tore his mouth away, she let her face drop into confusion.

“For the record, it isn’t acceptable that you’ve compared yourself to the scum on my shoe and then even hinted that—” Whatever he was going to say stunned him into silence. He stabbed a hand through his hair. “Arse and fuckin’ parsley, Jenny. We’ve shared a lot of bloody things with each other in the last two weeks! Do you really think that I would be even half attracted to someone like—”

He interrupted himself with another growl. The violence of it curled into Jen’s blood, making her instinctively reach back, clutching the bedpost with one hand.

A lot of good that did.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, grabbing her free wrist. “I’m tired of tryin’ to sweet-talk this into you.”

“That was sweet talk?”

Bad move. The three seconds she took for the sarcasm were all the time he needed to pivot her around and then lift her other hand to clasp the post. In another flash of motion, he pulled on something hidden in the canopy. A pair of padded wrist cuffs dropped from seemingly nowhere. Holy shit. Did every piece of furniture in this place come with kinky booby traps?

Not that she cared about the answer—especially as Sam wasted no time in latching her into the cuffs.

The second he was done with that, he hiked her skirt up. She was exposed—and completely turned on—from the waist down.

“Ahhhhh!”

And then turned on and screaming—as the man delivered a sharp spank across the center of her bottom.

“Sam! Oh!”

Then a second smack.

Holy crap!

“What the—”

He cut her short by spinning her back around and kissing her again. Delving deeper. Sucking on her harder. He didn’t relent, compelling her head to drop back so he could assault her mouth—doing it as brutally as he squeezed both globes of her ass, rubbing in the heat from the pain he’d just dealt. And God help her, Jen let him—not just because he gave her no choice but because she wanted to. Because somewhere, in her wildest and naughtiest dreams about this man, she’d envisioned him like this. Tearing into her mouth. Razing into her senses. Firing up her pores and skin and nerves…

Exactly…

Like…

This.

By the time he pulled away, her chest heaved, her blood throbbed, and her sex clenched tightly enough to make her moan again.

Especially when he delivered a third blow to her bottom.

A fourth, at twice the impact.

A fifth, intensifying more.

“Shit!” she finally managed past the screams.

“Breathe.” His exhortation was practically a Zen chant in her ear. Calm. Soothing. Infuriating.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, Jenny Thorne.” Bizarrely, a smile entered his voice. It twisted with his anger, throwing Jen off. Was she supposed to melt for him or pour molds for new ice daggers?

As he circled in order to look at her directly, though the post was between them, his expression gave her no clues. He was still beautiful, with those dark eyes and ginger waves and jaw like a precipice from his native land.

“Fuck you,” he repeated, “for thinking so little of me, that someone like Mattie Lesange could ever meet my needs. And fuck you for thinking so little of yourself to presume you wouldn’t.”

Her breath stopped. Well, she knew what to feel now. Giddy astonishment collided with abject remorse, sprinkled with a layer of maybe-this-really-is-all-a-dream. “I’m…sorry.” And she really was—though that didn’t throw a cease-fire onto her confusion. “But men love pretty things on their arms, Sam.”

He glowered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not the insult you’re taking it as.” She shrugged. Remaining covered from the navel up lent her the confidence. “Life is life, friends are friends, and lovers are something completely different. Sometimes, good sex is just good sex, and making more out of—”

He jerked her chin up using two fingers. Stared like she’d just told him the moon was made of bacon. “Is that really all you think of what we’re sharing here? ‘Just good sex?’”

Confusion tumbled in again. The answer to that seemed apparent but wasn’t. She decided to go for total honesty. “Look…I just don’t expect anything else, okay? And it’s fine that—”

“I should expect anything else.”

She ignored the darkness in his tone. “How could you? And why would you? Neither of us is a kid. It’s great to think of taking home grand meanings from a one-night thing—when you’re young. But we’re not—”

He stopped her with another kiss. Dug his hand against her scalp, locking her head in place. Stabbed his tongue against hers, as if needing to strip off the words she’d just uttered. When he let her mouth go, he kept his hand in place. Dragged her head back up so he could impale her stare with his. The command in his grip was as compelling as the force in his eyes, once more driving in like that fresh poker, scalding its way onto her psyche and searing its way into her soul.

“I want to spank you again, Jenny.”

She swallowed. “I know.” Ohhh God, how she did. All the silver spikes in his gaze had told her so.

“I just don’t want to be gentle about it.”

“I…I know.”

He dragged in a rocky breath. “Do you?”

“Of—of course. I pissed you off. And you’re a Dominant.” And I want you to punish me. To control me.

Yes, please…

“No.” He shook his head fiercely. “No, you don’t understand. The punishin’…it’s done. But I’m not.” He pushed in, smashing his lips to hers. “God help me, my burners are just starting to fire.” His hand twisted tighter in her hair. “Not a fuckin’ thing I feel about you is civilized, woman. It hasn’t been for quite a while.”

Her senses swam in a thick fog. It felt so good. Everything about him felt so good. “You…really mean that, don’t you?”

“I do.”

Her lips lifted. Only one glass of wine, but everything was limp and carefree, as if she’d had the whole bottle. “I had no idea.”

“Disguised it that well, did I?” He curled a smile of his own. “When all I thought about, walkin’ into your little office at Nellis every mornin’, was how to get you exactly like this. Wait—no.” He swung around to mount the bed, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her with him. She now knelt on the mattress, wrists tethered to the bedpost and ass high and presented to him. He revised with a growl, “Exactly like this.”

Jen lowered her head between her arms. The pose, so submissive, also felt completely right. “Thank you for the clarification, Sir.”

“Sir.” Another satisfied snarl rumbled from his chest. “Do you know how much pleasure you give me, every glorious time that word spills across your lips?”

“Don’t think I do. But maybe you can just…show me instead?” She finished by subtly wiggling her ass, though it was no small feat. With his hand sweeping back and forth across her cheeks, spreading the heat of his first swats, it was all she could do to be coy. She needed more of him, so damn badly. Needed him to touch her in other places. Illicit places…

“Perhaps I can.” But while his voice approved, he pulled his hands away. Bafflement struck but only for a second. A fresh wave of arousal took over—as Sam reached to a control panel embedded in the bed’s footboard. After he pushed a button, the mattress began to raise up—but only beneath her legs. She would’ve laughed aloud, if the action didn’t heat her sex in a hundred new ways. A control number bed, the D/s version. Was there any end to what the Nyte’s creators had dreamed up in the way of kinky delights?

The next moment, even that cognitive thinking was ripped away. Sam dug his hands into her hips, centering her lower body against the hump. Power radiated off his fingertips as he flowed them in, spreading heat across her buttocks.

A gasp burst off her lips. A growl curled off his.

“Fuck. Me.” His hands splayed, kneading her flesh and warming her skin all over again. “So bloody beautiful. So pink and sweet…”

“But…?” Jen went ahead and led where his voice seemed to be trailing and reveled in the approving hum that prefaced his reply.

“But it needs to be red.” And just like that, no more approval. Only his touch, back with a rough purpose, echoed by the wolfish edge in his voice. “Your ass needs to bear my mark, girl.”

Take senses, toss into rock tumbler. But Jen sighed out her gratitude for the ride. How her balance rolled from the magic of his voice and the spreading heat from his possessive strokes along her tingling skin.

“Yes,” she heard herself rasp. “Yes. Mark me…”

He snarled low again. “Ask it properly. I want to hear that pretty word from you again. Say it, sweet Jenny. ‘Spank me, please—'”

“Sir.” She filled it in with eager longing. “Yes. Oh yes, Sir, please. Spank me. Mark me. Oh!”

The exclamation took over for any more coherent words as Sam lowered a thwack across her ass. While her flesh stung, her mind careened. Logic taunted, just beyond her reach. There was a reason she wanted this so badly, especially from him, but did it matter? All she wanted right now was his touch. All she needed was his dominion, full and consuming and perfect. Sam. Sam. Sam. For this moment, for this time, she only existed because of him. Through him.

Another spank. Unleashed power. Reverberations of pain.

She screamed. Or maybe just dreamed it.

“Give me ‘fantasy’ if you need to stop, mouse. I’m only just beginning.”

She rolled her hips, letting the sting spread and dissipate. The tingles down her legs and through her sex…were incredible. “Don’t stop. Please, Sir.”

“So certain.” Why did his voice suddenly sound weird? Almost…wicked? “So sure.”

The answer came with a resounding crack—though the next impact to her ass wasn’t from his hand. It was the harsh stroke of leather in the middle of her left cheek. As Jen struggled to summon a scream, another whoosh whipped the air. She took in the musk of the leather—before pain chomped into her right cheek. When he rained another blow to her left, the shriek finally manifested. The right again. Back to speechlessness, fighting to accept the agony that would soon bring ecstasy. Or so she hoped.

Fantasy. It already hovered at the outskirts of her mind, tempting her to call out, when a new kind of growl vibrated out of Sam. Jen had never heard a sound like it. Deep. Dark. Dripping with carnality. Coarse with need. “I knew the crop would love your ass, darlin’. Knew that your skin would take my marks so perfectly.” Another rumble, twice as entrancing as the first, flowed as he whipped her again: two more blows on each stinging cheek. “Take it in for me, sweet Jenny. All of it. These memories in your skin…take them into your spirit too. Twist them inside of you. Weave me inside of you.”

She sighed. “You’re already there.”

“Not deep enough.” He emphasized with another two strokes. “Let the pain open it deeper and then pour me inside the crack. Let me into the places that mean you’ll never forget me. That mean you’ll never think yourself unworthy ever again.”

More smacks. More pain. More spaces, so far inside, that cracked open and flooded with the adoration, strength, and majesty in his voice.

More of herself…surrendered to him.

More of the composure she could no longer hold together.

His passion set her tears free. They burst on messy sobs, and she didn’t care. A vision danced across her mind. She was five or six, twirling in the front yard with a “wand” made from a stick and some party streamers. She was magical and perfect…so many years before the world began to tell her she wasn’t. Before she became the dork, the brain, the geek, “the weird one.”

Now, she danced in the light again. Streamers of pleasure and pain blew across her senses. The beauty of it was…intense. Blazing. Blinding. And everywhere in that heaven, there was Sam. Always Sam. Now leaning over her, brushing back her hair to collect her tears with his kisses. Pressing against her so his heat and strength permeated her body. His satin vest caressed her back, his wool kilt scraped her ass…and teased farther between her legs. As if she needed a reminder of how her body craved him as much as her soul did.

“So beautiful,” he murmured. “Damn, Jenny. How beautiful you are to me.”

Sensations continued to bombard. The streamers morphed into other images, full of light and lust and power. His strength, fused into her through the awareness they funneled into each other…through each other. She shivered from the enormity of it. Basked in the perfect, permeating glow of it…

Of him…

Sam. Sam. Sam.

The teasing swipes of his kilt against her pussy were more instigators of the sensations, filling her with tremulous, joyous shivers and sobs. She was like a jet, guided by him through a canopy of clouds, into the blinding light from above. But then he banked and rolled the aircraft, and she was disoriented. Which way was up? And did she care anymore? She only knew she longed for more. Needed it like her next damn breath. Needed him.

“Sam. Sam.”

“I know, darlin’. I know.”

She whimpered in protest. He didn’t know. She needed more of him. All of him…

A crinkle of foil serrated the air. The kilt didn’t abrade her ass anymore. There was furnace heat…and the push of a steely knob at the cushions guarding her intimate tunnel.

“I need to fill you.” He prodded in a little more, circling his hips to stroke every sensitive edge of her throbbing entrance. “Will you have me inside you, Jenny? Will you let me fuck your perfect little cunt?”

She didn’t remember saying yes. Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe he’d just heard the cry that echoed from her heart, resonated through her being, drawing his cock inside her, as inevitable as the sun in her visions.

As undeniable as her love for him.

Ohhhh, shit.

She loved him.

Ohhhh yes, she certainly did.

The truth of it punched free as he peeled back her defenses, replacing her barriers with the fullness of his body. Jen let it crash in, racking her in harder sobs, knowing this would be the only time she could. Between the tears she’d already shed and Sam’s relentless pace, she’d be able to weep for every woe in the world and get away with it at this point.

“That’s it, darlin’.” He was none the wiser either—thank God. “Give it to me, Jenny.” His words were harsh and hot in her ear. His teeth dug into the flesh beneath. His hand was a clamp of demand on her shoulder, securing her as he shuttled his cock in and out, pounding her with the urgency their connection commanded. “Take me deeper. Deeper.”

She interrupted her sobs long enough to gasp as he shoved her dress higher. Then shrieked as he reached beneath her bra, tugging hard at one nipple. Harder at the other.

“Sam! Shit!”

He twisted her nipple tighter. And again, the other. “Who am I?”

“Sir.” She panted it out, hissing as he pushed his knees between hers, spreading them farther. “You are…Sir.”

He penetrated her deeper. “And who gives you all your pain…and all your freedom?”

“You. Only you, Sir.”

He growled low. Changed his punishing pace into a more determined drive. “And if we were still in the bar, who would you pick to take you here and fuck you?”

“You.” The confession cracked from emotion. “J-Just y-you.”

He released a long breath against her neck. “Christ, Jenny. And I’d pick just you too.” His thrusts were so deep, the clap of their bodies reverberated off the walls. The sound barely registered past the blood thrumming through her ears, especially as he snaked a hand between her legs from the front. “Come with me, beauty. Let it all go for me.”

She couldn’t have denied him if her life depended on it. As his knowing fingers stroked her to orgasm, she wondered if she was dying. Surely heaven didn’t give this kind of gift and expect nothing in return. Her nerve endings were fire. Her heartbeat was chaos. Every inch of her sex was an inferno, blazing and bright, convulsing and cataclysmic, squeezing over Sam’s cock with the needy desperation of a Tolstoy heroine.

Sam…

“Jenny. Oh fuck…Jenny.”

I love you…

“Take it all from me, beauty.”

Yes!

He shoved in hard and then froze. Groaned hard as his cock expanded against her walls and then shot off. Bellowed as he exploded again and again in the dark, tight embrace of her body.

But the very next moment, Sam started pumping again. He threw a leg over, bracing his foot against the headboard, still slicing in and out, as if he hadn’t just climaxed with the gusto of a lion.

“Goddamn, woman,” he snarled. “It won’t stop. I can’t—” Another rough groan. Harder, harsher thrusts. “Fuck. Fuck.”

His lust whipped hers into a new frenzy. Within a minute, Jen felt her sex grab him all over again, clenching his shaft as a new climax tumbled her into darker oblivion. “I can’t stop either. I…can’t…” Unbelievably, it was better than the first. Waves of white heat demolished like a Biblical storm, ripping screams of ecstasy up her already-parched throat. Her senses dissolved. Her body shook.

Her world was changed.