“Yes!” he exploded. “Yes, for the love of God, I kissed her, but it was nothing. Nothing! I tried, believe me I tried to feel something, but it was nothing like this.” He grabbed her then, and his lips came down on hers so fast and so hard that she did not have time to breathe. And then it didn’t matter. His hands were on her, pressing her against him—hard—and she could feel his arousal against her, and she wanted him.

She wanted this.

She tore at his clothing, wanting nothing so much as the heat of his skin against hers. His lips were on her neck, and his hand was under her skirt, moving up her leg.

She was panting with desire. His thumb was on the soft flesh of her inner thigh, pressing, stroking, and she wasn’t sure she could stand. She clutched at his shoulders for support, sighing his name, moaning it, begging him over and over again for more.

And his hand moved even higher, until it was at the crook of her leg, where it met her hip, so close…so close to…

He touched her.

She went stiff, and then she sagged against him, instinctively softening herself as he touched her. “Thomas,” she moaned, and before she knew it, he’d laid her on the ground, and he was kissing her, and he was touching her, and she had no idea what to do, had no thought at all except that she wanted this. She wanted everything he was doing and more.

His fingers continued to tickle, and then he slipped one inside of her in the most wicked caress of all. She arched beneath him, gasping at the shock and pleasure of it. He’d slipped inside so easily. Had her body been waiting for this? Preparing itself for this very moment, when he would settle himself between her thighs and touch her?

She was breathing faster, harder, and she wanted him closer. Her blood was pounding through her body, and all she could do was grab at him, clutch his back, his hair, his buttocks—anything to pull him against her, to feel the mounting pressure of his body on hers.

His mouth moved to her chest, to the flat plane of skin left exposed by her dress. She shivered as he found the neckline of her dress, his lips tracing it around…down…from her collarbone to the gentle swell of her breast. He took the fabric between his teeth and began to tug, gently at first, and then with greater vigor when it did not give. Finally, with a muffled curse, he brought his hand down and grabbed at the fabric that gathered over her shoulder, giving it a yank until it slid over her arm. Her breast slid free, and she barely had a chance to gasp before his mouth closed over the tip.