Into him. Intous.
“Hey,” I grin, breathless. “I didn’t pass out.”
He just softly smiles at me and stays exactly where he is on his knees.
Then, as my head finally begins to calm down from my orgasm…it hits me.
The buzzing. The warning heat in my spine. The black floaters drifting in at the edges of my vision.
Crap.
“Going down,” I try to warn him, but the words come out twisted.
Skip doesn’t panic. He doesn’t even blink.
“I got you, baby,” he says, voice steady and warm as the tunnel closes in. “You’re safe, Eli.”
I feel him guide my head back onto the couch cushion. Feel the gentle kiss he presses to my cheek. Feel the smile that curves against my skin.
He isn’t scared. He isn’t disturbed. Heexpectedthis.
Hell… he seems proud to be the cause of it.
My last thought before the darkness wraps around me is simple, obvious, and very terrifying.
I think I might love this wild, crazy man.
***Skip***
I smile down at Eli as his body reboots itself, the faint rise and fall of his chest settling into that soft, steady rhythm I’m already addicted to.
I knew this would happen.
After he warned me what might go down when he orgasmed, I spent half the damn night doing more research on Reflex Syncope like I was cramming for a medical exam.
And according to every source I found? A man with a case as severe as Eli’s was guaranteed to pass out after the high dropped.
So, him knocking out on my couch? Perfectly expected. Perfectly normal.
And absolutely nothing to be afraid of.
I brush my fingers through his short hair and grin to myself.
Because now that I understand exactly how his body works, I also understand how to work around it.
And I fully intend to.
When I finally have him beneath me…when I’m buried so deep inside that sweet body he won’t know where he ends, and I begin…I already have the solution lined up for how to keep him awake.
Keep his adrenaline high. Keep his pulse racing. Don’t let that “parasympathetic brake” slam down.
Which means?
I am going to edge this man within an inch of sanity.
A slowly…deeply…drawn-out form of torture.
I’ll keep him hovering, shaking, begging. So keyed-up that his heart won’tdareslow down enough to drop him.
