“Hey.” She reached back and smacked at his leg, which was somehow magically bare. How he’d gotten his own jeans down his thighs was a mystery to her. “I don’t yap.”

Ty yanked off his T-shirt. “No, you’re right, you don’t yap.” His finger slipped into her again. “You are the smartest woman I know, with witty and interesting observations on everything around you, especially people, and I love to hear you talk, to hear your thoughts. Most of the time. Now is not one of those times, because right now I just want to grit my teeth, let my mind go blank, and sink into the sensation of your body closing around mine in a hot, wet cocoon.”

She swore that with each word he spoke she got wetter and more aroused, until she was thrusting frantically backward onto his finger and gripping the sleeping bag beneath her by the time he was done talking. That had sounded hot and excited and almost, kind of, romantic. Like the Ty McCordle version of Shakespeare. “Okay,” she said. “I’m done thinking.”

“Good. Just feel me.”

Then he removed his finger and thrust inside her, sans a condom, and Imogen’s head snapped back at the acute pleasure the impact brought. “Oh, God,” she said, her muscles trembling around him as she wondered for a split second if she’d actually had a mini-orgasm.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, hands squeezing her thighs, his penis pulsing inside her as he paused. “Thank you, thank you for letting me go bareback.”

“Bareback?” She gave a soft laugh. “I like that expression.”

“I like this,” he said, and started to move, a quick, hard pace that had Imogen holding on to the sleeping bag so she didn’t fall.

She could honestly say that she liked it, too. It was possessive, urgent, the hot friction, the hard slap of his thighs against her like an invitation to lose herself in sex, to let it take her and sweep her under until she was screaming with pleasure. The position that had always bored her somehow took on a totally different meaning, ripped a relentless and uncontrollable response from her, a desperate need to meet his rhythm, to hold on.

“Oh, babe,” he said, his voice ragged.

“Yeah?” Imogen dipped her head and let her hair slide forward over her face.

“Yeah.”

He thrust so hard she actually lost her balance, then gasped when he quickly pulled out. “Oh, where are you going?”

“Too close,” he said. “Lie down on your back.”