She twisted, shoved. And her pulse began to race. ‘‘Stop it.’’

‘‘You think telling him to stop once he’s got your scent’s going to make a difference?’’ Lemons and fear. ‘‘Once he feels the way you fit?’’ Subtle curves and long lines. ‘‘He knew there was no one to stop him, that he could do anything he wanted.’’

Everything inside her was in a mindless rush—her heart, her blood, her head. ‘‘I wouldn’t—I would have stopped him.’’

‘‘Stop me.’’

He meant it. A part of him wanted desperately for her to stop him, to do or say something that would hold the wildness in check. But his mouth was on hers, rough and needy, swallowing her gasps, inciting more and reveling in her fast, hard trembles.

When she moaned, when her lips yielded, parted, answered his, he lost his mind.

He dragged her onto the grass, rolled with her, atop her. The thick bolt he’d kept locked on his desires exploded open, and what poured out was reckless greed and primal lust. He ravaged her mouth with the single-minded hunger of a starving wolf.

Swamped with needs so long buried, she arched against him, straining center to center, core to core. Her system stuttered with shocked pleasure, then roared into full raging life. Pumping heat, strangled moans, quivering delights.

This was not the Ethan she knew, or the one she’d dreamed would finally touch her. There was no gentleness, no care, but she gave herself to him, thrilled at the sensation of being swept away.

She wrapped long limbs around him to bind him closer, let her fingers dive into his hair, grip there. And shivered with the dark delight of knowing he was stronger.

He feasted on her mouth, her throat, while he tugged at the low, snug bodice. He was desperate for flesh, the feel of it, the taste of it. Her flesh, her flavor.

Her breast was small and firm, the skin smooth as satin against his wide, hard palm. Her heart jackhammeredunder it.

She whimpered, stunned at the sensation of that rough hand cupping her, kneading her, churning an echoing tug between her legs, where muscles had gone liquid and lax.

And sighed his name.

She might have shot him. The sound of her voice, the hitch of her breath, the shivers on her skin, slapped him back cold and hard.

He rolled away, onto his back, and struggled to find his breath, his sanity. His decency. They were in her front yard, for God’s sake. Her baby was sleeping inside the house. He’d nearly, very nearly done worse than the man in the pub. He’d very nearly betrayed trust, friendship, and vulnerability.

This beast inside of him was precisely the reason he’d sworn never to touch her. Now by loosing it, he’d broken his vow and ruined everything.