Page 35 of Laird Of Her Heart

“Fuck me. Now.”

His nostrils flared. His ferocity surged. Even as she watched, he turned from man to beast. He rose up over her, but he did not sink in as she had hoped. Instead, he flipped her over, gripped her hips and yanked her up against him. “Like this?” he growled. “Do you want me to fook you like this?”

Excitement screamed through her. “Yes.” She rubbed against him, against the hard, hot length of his cock, dampening him with her arousal. “Fuck me like this. Do it—”

Oh. He did.

He did.

Easing back, he fisted his cock and set it at her opening. And then he drove deep.

The wolves in the woods probably heard her scream. She did not care.

It was glorious, delirious and maddening. He touched her core, but did not fulfil her. Something deep within ached, cried out for more.

He withdrew and lunged again; she met him halfway, rocking her hips in a frenzy of passion. Again. And again and again. Wilder. Harder. Deeper.

Faster.

Passion rose quickly, taking them both to the top of the cliff, right to the edge. They clung there, together. Both trying to stave off the calamity, but both rocketing inexorably closer to disaster.

The sound of flesh slapping flesh surrounded them, conjoined with the wet percussion of his thrusts, with their moans and sighs and exhortations, one to the other.

“Do it. Harder.”

“God, woman. You drive me wild.”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

“I am.”

“Harder. Yes. More. More. More.”

And then…and then. Ah. His body bunched. His cock swelled. His groan echoed in her ear. One final thrust, one magnificent in its fury and desperation and breadth. And he hit that spot. Hit it hard and completely and perfectly.

And the orgasm that had been stalking her, pounced. Devoured her. Took her fully.

Glory and bliss rained through her. She devolved into a quivering mass of muscles and bones. She was aware of his groans, the continued surges of his hips as he emptied into her, but the physicality of it seemed far away, removed from her as though she barely clung to her body. As though her soul had ascended. And he was there with her. A manic and glorious comingling, a spiral of colors and sensations and intimacy that far transcended the simple act of joining bodies.

In that moment, in that shard of time, she knew.

She knew.

She loved him with all her heart.

With everything in her.

She loved him and she would do so until the day she died.

Which was a pity really.

Because tomorrow he would hate her.

* * *

She waited until he was asleep before she found her clothing and dressed.

It took every ounce of self-control not to kiss him before she left. But she couldn’t wake him. That would spoil her plan, and her plan could not fail. His life depended on it.