She gasped and tightened her hold in his hair. “Elijah.” His name came out raw. Sexy. Breathless. A moan.

He loved that. He loved the way she smelled, so welcoming, honeysuckle and citrus. She tasted that way. He knew she did because he woke up every night remembering her taste. It was forever in his brain, just as addicting as her body was.

“Stay still for me, baby,” he whispered into her damp entrance. “I want this to feel good, not hurt you.”

He used his tongue first, a long, slow swipe to collect that honey and bring it into his mouth, savoring that first taste. “So good, Siena. You taste so damned good. You were made for me.” He would forever wake up craving the taste of her in his mouth, on his tongue, and he’d never get enough of the unique flavor that was Siena.

He used his hands to open her, so he could feed on her. Sate his hunger. Drive her wild. He wanted her wild. He wanted her to need him, to feel the same urgent hunger consuming her until she couldn’t take one more breath without him inside of her. He needed that from her. He wanted to give her that. He wanted to watch her face as he pushed her over the edge and sent her soaring.

He gave that to her twice, but really, he was giving it to himself, such pleasure, watching her eyes glaze, watching her breath grow more ragged, the bliss on her face. Such beauty, because he loved her so much, so deeply, and there was no other way he could show it to her like he could here, in his bed, taking his time with her the way he should have when he took her innocence.

The second time her body rippled and pulsed, he moved up her, holding her thighs apart, keeping her injured leg riding up over his hip as he pushed into her hot, tight sheath.

“So tight,” he murmured. “Strangling me. Wet silk, baby, scorching. So good. So fucking good.” He could barely inch his way through her tight folds, her muscles reluctantly stretching to accommodate his thick shaft. He took his time out of necessity, when everything in him wanted to slam deep, bury himself to his balls. If she hadn’t been so slick from the two orgasms he’d given her, he doubted if he could have gotten her sheath to accept him.

When he was buried to the very hilt, feeling her cervix, knowing he couldn’t get any deeper inside her, he waited, breathing deeply, feeling her body surround him, the slow yield to his invasion. Gripping him. A wet, silken fist wrapped so tightly around him, she stole his breath. Fire raced from his cock, up his spine and down his thighs, spreading like a storm of white-hot flames.