The view was enthralling.

She couldn't help but remember Bletchley in similar circumstance-which left her feeling like the cat who'd secured the prize cream. There was absolutely no comparison-not at any level. Not in the long, taut, steely muscles flexing in back and legs, not in the tight muscles that bunched and thrust, not in the steady, effortless rhythm, and certainly not in the powerful result.

Each deep thrust filled her completely, each movement effective, efficient and seemingly effortless-the outcome of harnessed, concerted power. Controlled power.

Bletchley had flailed and thrashed on top of his woman. In complete and stark contrast was the way Demon filled her. Deeply. Relentlessly. And oh, so repetitively.

Watching him thrust, feeling the result deep within her a split second later, focused her mind on the sensation, and drew her back into the maelstrom. Into the heat, and the swirling build of sensation.

Her lids were falling, her eyes almost shut when he changed his movement into a rolling thrust. She saw it-then felt it. She shut her eyes tight to better savor the moment-then quickly opened them again. To watch, and match her anticipation more acutely to his rhythm, to be ready to make the most of each sliding thrust, to shudder in his arms as he drove more deeply-to eventually let her lids fall as their glorious heat reached a new peak.

It was like riding at flat gallop through a fire.

Excitement, tense and searing, gripped her-along with a driving, compulsively urgent need. They were both breathing hard, both reaching deep-for the energy, the strength, to make the final dash.

He turned his head and their lips touched, but only briefly; she felt his hand slide, hot as a brand, up under her chemise. Skin to hot skin, he closed his hand about her breast. His fingers shifted; he found her tightly furled nipple. And pressed.

She cried out-the sound, laden with sharp delight, echoed through the room. His hand shifted on her flesh, and she was burning, burning-incandescent within.

Heat and flames were everywhere, raging through her-molten rivers of pleasure and urgent need flowed, a hot tide, from where they joined. The tide swelled, reaching ever higher, consuming her body, buoying her mind, her senses-lifting them high on a rush of pure passion.

Higher-ever higher.

His hand slid over her fevered flesh, from breast to hip, then around to her rear. He caressed her there-with a smothered gasp, she locked her arms about his shoulders and lifted slightly; instantly, his hand slid lower, caressing her bottom knowingly, evocatively, possessively, then reaching further to trace the line beneath the tight globes.

She shuddered-and felt like she was shattering. Blown apart by the heat and the burgeoning frenzy. He set her down and tipped her back, his hands once again at her hips. He angled them; without thought, she lifted her legs and wrapped them about his waist.

Instantly, he filled her deeply, completely; as he drew back, his fingers slid into the damp curls between her widespread thighs, straight to the nubbin of flesh he'd earlier teased.

He touched her there-and reality shook. She clutched tight-in desperation, she tried to cling to her wits, to her spiralling senses…

"Let go." His lips touched hers briefly-hotly. "Throw your heart over."

She heard the raspy order as he touched her again-she obeyed, and soared high.

Her world exploded.

She lost her senses utterly-lost all touch with reality. She was swept up by a force she couldn't describe-hot and powerful, it propelled her into pleasure. Deep, bone-melting pleasure.

It surrounded her like a sea, and left her floating in ecstasy.

To her surprise, her senses returned, heightened but focused solely on him. She felt his hard hands, first gentling, then gripping her, felt the force surge and sweep through his body-and into hers as he drove deep into her molten flesh. She heard his guttural groan as the force caught him, too.

Then he joined her in the void. She felt the warmth of him deep in her womb. Felt the heat of his body beneath her hands as she clung to him, and surrendered.

To the force behind their passion.

Eons later in the depths of the night, she awoke. Slowly, as always. Her mind struggled free of the wisps of sleep, only to slide into mists of confusion.

Her nerves made the dizzying leap from somnolence to excitement-befuddled by sleep, she couldn't understand why. It was full dark. She was lying on her back in the middle of a comfortable bed. A tickling sensation-it had started at the base of her stomach, just above her curls-that was what had woken her-was slowly progressing up her body. Over her stomach, past her navel, over her waist, steadily upward.

Some part of her mind was shrieking for her to react-but her limbs were too weighted-pleasurably weighted-for her to make any rash move. The tickling changed to nuzzling beneath her breasts, then warm kisses followed one curve up and over.

Demon's mouth closed over her nipple.

She sucked in a tortured breath and abruptly came to life. Not, however, quite as her mind intended. Held between his hands, she arched, flagrantly offering her breast-he accepted immediately, laving the tip, then taking it deep in his mouth.

Flick heard a soft, strangled cry-then realized it was hers. The searing wetness shocked her anew. Opening her eyes, she looked down. "What-?"

She couldn't see him in the dark, but she could feel him. Her heart hitched, then started to canter as she felt his hair-roughened legs between hers, the solid weight of his hips spreading her thighs wide. The heat of his body as he hovered over her, mere inches distant, sent her heart into a gallop. When she realized that her senses hadn't lied-that there was no longer any garment, no matter how fine, between them, that his wicked lips and wickeder mouth were teasing her bare skin, and that, any second, his hard hot body would lie directly, skin to naked skin, on hers-her heart started to race.

"Relax."

The deep purring murmur came out of the dark as he lifted his head from her breast. After a moment he added, as if to explain, "I want you again."

Those four gravelly words went straight to her heart-then straight to her loins. He'd pushed her chemise up to her arms-when he tugged, she dragged in a massive breath, and obliged, lifting her arms and letting him draw the thin garment off over her head.

Leaving her naked beneath him.

What followed was a second lesson in sheer delight. In the dark of the night, in the depths of the bed, he touched her, caressed her, then, when her body was aching with urgent longing, filled her.

She lay on her back and let sensation wash over her-let her mind supply what she couldn't see. The cotton sheets formed a cocoon about them, cool against her fevered skin. The mattress was thick enough to cushion her against the powerful surges of his possession.

Arms braced, he loomed above her, a shadow lover in the night; he held himself over her as their bodies did what seemed to come naturally. To them both.

She couldn't deny she enjoyed it thoroughly, that she joyfully put her heart and soul into the exercise every bit as much as did he. She enjoyed feeling his body merging with hers, enjoyed the deep sense of completion that came, borne on that final surrender.

Enjoyed the weight of him when he collapsed, spent, upon her.

Enjoyed the feeling of having him so deeply within her.

Demon woke as dawn tinged the sky and crept into the room to lay its pale fingers on the bed. In their light he saw an angel-his angel-sprawled asleep by his side.

She was facing away from him, half on her stomach.

For a long moment, he studied her golden curls while vivid memories rolled through his brain. Then, slowly, careful not to jar her, he came up on one elbow, then reached out and gently lifted the sheet, and drew it down.