Then she whimpered, her fingers digging into his biceps and he held her hips still. “Did I hurt you?”

“No— Please,” she whispered, undulating with the need for more. “Aidan, please.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He could barely get the words out, he was holding on by a thread.

“You’re not … Don’t stop. Oh, God, just don’t stop.” She made another little orbit with her hips and Aidan lost whatever little bit of restraint he had. Her arms were around his neck, tight enough to suffocate him, and he didn’t care. Holding on, he began to move with her.

She gasped his name—he fucking loved that—and smiled at him. He loved that, too, and in less than two seconds he was breathing like a dying man. And he was dying. Of pleasure. He ran every day in full gear. He shouldn’t be out of breath from having a woman ride him like a bronco.

But it wasn’t the exertion.

It was all her. How many nights had he spent over the years fantasizing about this, with her, and he’d never once come close to the reality of being buried deep inside her.

They moved together like they’d been made for this, their bodies perfectly in sync. No awkwardness, no hoping that she was as far gone as he.

She wasn’t only right there with him, she’d somehow climbed inside him.

Snugging her thighs to his hips, she held him close, her hands roaming his chest, arms and back, sometimes sliding up into his hair to grip him tight, her breathing quick and shallow, her cheeks flushed with desire as she met his gaze, never looking away.

He felt like he could see all the way into her, a glimpse of the woman she so often hid. And she was so damn beautiful she made his throat ache.

They stared at each other as they moved, and when he slid a hand between their bodies and touched her, just slid his thumb across her center, she whispered “yes …” and began to come, her head falling back, her body clenching around him as she cried out his name again.

She was lost in him, and knowing he’d gotten her there made him feel about ten feet tall. It also made him come right along with her, and he pulled her down over him so he could bury his face in the curve of her neck as he let go of everything but this.

When his sanity returned he knew he was doomed. Just as he knew the truth.

He didn’t have one ounce of control over what was happening between them.

He knew eventually he’d be forced to move on when she left town, but he’d done it once. He could do it again. Probably.