She waited for him to make some crack about her being a natural blonde, but he didn’t say anything. She drew a deep, shuddering breath as he began to explore her.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

“I’m glad.”

“Would you stop?”

He withdrew his hand.

Joy and lust swirled inside her when she realized he had done as she’d asked. His compliance gave her courage. She twisted her body so that she was above him, her breasts gently swaying, the nipples stirring the hair on his chest. She watched his expression as she began her own sensual mission, trailing her hand down over his chest to his belly, which was covered with a thin sheen of perspiration.

She slipped lower and touched him. He caught his breath. She felt him rigid and pulsing in her hand, straining for release, and once again, fear mingled with desire. This time, however, desire was stronger.

“We’re getting close to the point of no return,” he whispered hoarsely.

She shook her head. Fondled him. “You promised.”

“Stop,” he groaned.

She did.

He rolled over so that he was once again looking down at her. “Let’s get you ready, virgin lady,” he whispered, “ ’cause I don’t think I can hold off much longer.”

It was so good.

He prepared her with his fingers as if she were brand-new. Emotions she couldn’t name filled her heart while his deep stroking sent waves of fire surging through her. His breathing was heavy, his skin flushed. He stopped to reach for one of the foil packets and sheathed himself before he returned to his caresses.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered, as he shifted his hips and poised himself to enter her. “It’s almost like—”

“Stop,” she sobbed, even though she knew he had gone past the point where he would listen.

But he rolled off. Fell back. Sweat beaded his forehead. “You’re killing me,” he gasped, his chest heaving.

She couldn’t believe he’d kept his promise, and in those moments she loved him. She told herself it wasn’t a permanent emotion, not happily-ever-after, but an ephemeral love born of gratitude. Along with her heart, her whole body opened to him, demanding that he fill her and trusting him to do no damage. She clutched at his shoulders, drew him back.

He clasped her behind the knees and spread her thighs.

“Slow,” she pleaded. “Don’t hurt.”

“Oh, I won’t, darlin’,” he said as he parted her. “I wouldn’t hurt you for anything.”

And he didn’t. His entry was achingly slow, and he watched her the whole time, green eyes half-lidded, neck muscles rigid, skin damp. She could feel his iron control, even as her body stretched to take him. He began pumping inside her, and her own control slipped away.