She could do this to him, she thought as she dipped her tongue under the denim to tease. She could create this desperation, and weakness, this violent need in a strong, vital man. She could make him want her to the point of madness, and she could take whatever she wanted from him.

She nudged the material down, closed her teeth over his hip. And heard the breath explode out of his lungs. He was helpless, she knew, lost in her. And she could make him ache.

She took him into her mouth, clamped him in a wet velvet vice and shot his system into chaos.

His hands fisted in her hair as his body bucked under her. When her mouth cruised up to his belly again, over quaking muscle, he was ready to kill to have her.

Still gripping her hair, he yanked her head back, reared up. She felt one shocking jolt at the dark burn of his eyes, then his mouth was clamped on hers.

“I didn’t say you could touch me.” She panted it out as his lips branded her throat, her shoulders, her breasts. “You didn’t beg.”

“I need you.” He found her with his hand, shoved her over the peak he was still clinging to. “Now. Goddamn it, take me in.”

Triumphant, she threw her head back, and her laugh was rich and wild. Locking her legs around his waist, she arched back, “Yes.” Bowed like a bridge when he drove himself into her.

She cried out, no longer surprised but shuddering nonetheless over the speed and violence of the orgasm. She arrowed up again, her body locked to his, her hips pumping.

“More,” she demanded, tearing nails down his back. “Michael. More.”

Blind with greed, she shoved him back, dug her hands into his waist, and took more.

The storm raged through him, whipping toward peak, but he could see her. Rising and falling over him, her eyes closed to heated slits, her head back in abandon. The animal inside him mated with hers until she’d ridden both to exhaustion.

Through hazy vision he saw her melt down on him. And felt the quakes of the aftershocks rush through her. His own body felt bruised, numbed, weightless so that he wasn’t even aware that his arms were locked tight around her, like a man holding everything that mattered.

“Told you I could do it,” she murmured, turning her lips to his throat.

“Yeah, you sure showed me.” He pressed his lips to her hair, wallowed there. “Laura.” He said her name quietly, almost to himself. Then closed his eyes and tried, for both their sakes, not to hear the rest of it. I love you. Love you.

“You wanted me.”

“Yes. I wanted you.” Her hair smelled like sunlight, weakened him all over again.

“Will you do something for me, Michael?”

“Yeah.” Anything. Terrifying thought. Anything.

“Will you carry me to bed? I’m still drunk.”