“Fuck!” Graham’s curse was barely heard, the knowledge that he was moving from between her thighs, barely registering.

The broad, heated crest of his cock parting the bare folds of her sex ignited the need inside her once again. A need the violence of her orgasm had only increased.

“Graham . . .” Her voice was heavy, her senses whirling between the vicious, overwhelming need and that small glimmer of self-preservation. “I’m a virgin.”

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, rolled down her cheek, and preceded the hitch of her breathing as she fought back the heavy sob fighting to be free.

Was she insane?

The thick crest of his erection was pressed against the clenched entrance of her pussy, ready to thrust inside her, to send them both spiraling out of control, and she had to open her mouth?

Was she crazy?

She knew he would break her heart. Loving him as she did, aching for him as she had, it would only be worse now. It would scar her soul. It would tear her apart from the inside out until there was nothing left of the woman she had been, and the woman she would become would be a stranger to her.

And Graham would be Graham. Too wicked, too experienced, too impossible to contain or to ever fall in love with the innocent woman who had loved him from the moment she’d met him at a sun-drenched marina six years before.

He would just be Graham.

And she would become no more than another of the little playthings whose names his sister could never remember, and whose presence in his bed would be easily forgotten.

She would be no more than the current flavor of the month . . .

—

“What did you say?”

He was dying.

Graham stood poised at the very entrance to rapture, at the portal of agonizing pleasure, and he couldn’t push through. The head of his dick throbbed violently, blood pounding at the thick crest, and all he could hear was the whispered sob of a woman who knew only how to love. She had no idea how to just feel good. How to just take the pleasure for what it was, wring every last ounce of ecstasy from each touch, and still survive without hurting.

What he would do to her would go beyond destruction of the innocence in her eyes.

The sob that whispered from her was a sound he had never expected, despite the fact that he should have known. He did know, he amended.

She was a woman who still believed in love.

God help him, no woman could be that good an actress, could she?

“You’re what?” Lowering his head to press his forehead against her trembling shoulder, he swallowed tightly, fighting with every iota of self-control he possessed to pull back, to ease his tortured flesh from the slick, heated entrance of her body.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice shook. The words, so soft they were barely coherent, brought an agonized groan from his chest.

Damn her.

Damn him.

God, he was dying to have her. He couldn’t force himself away from her, couldn’t stand the thought of jacking off another night to the remembered taste and feel of her.

“You think this ends here?” he growled, the heightened lust and agonized need ripping at his senses. “That being a virgin is enough to keep me out of your body?”

A muffled sob sounded from her. “I’m sorry, Graham. I’m so sorry . . .”

“Six months.” He nipped at her shoulder, licked over the mark. “It’s been six months since I tasted you, Lyrica, and I’m so damned desperate to fuck you . . .”

He jerked back, her instinctive cry causing a grimace to tighten his expression. He pulled her around before dragging her to an easy chair and pushing her into it.

Surprise rounded her richly emerald eyes as the position placed her at the perfect height to allow him to push past her parted lips.

Gripping the base of his cock, he stared down at her, daring her to deny him. He was within seconds of begging her not to deny him.

He had to clench his teeth to hold back the broken growl of anticipation when she reached out, fingers trembling, to curl around the thick length, just above his own hand.

How innocent was she? he wondered. How much experience had the redneck bastards sniffing after her given her?

Was her innocence physical only?

Keeping her gaze locked with his, Graham slid his fingers into the mass of black silk at the side of her face, clenched, and held her still as he pressed forward.

—

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

What was she doing?

What was she allowing to happen?

The dark, plum-shaped crest touched her lips as they parted. The heavy veins that wrapped around the thick shaft pulsed and pounded beneath her grip.

“That’s it, baby,” he crooned, his voice tight, rough. “Part those pretty lips for me.”

Her first taste of him was a shock to her senses. She could taste herself, a delicate, feminine taste she hadn’t expected. Beneath it was a darker, male taste. Like a coming storm edging over the mountains.

Then he was filling her mouth, the clench and throb of his flesh pulsing against her tongue as she let it rub against the underside, just beneath the head.

The moan that slipped past her lips shocked her.

The hunger that rose inside her wiped away her hesitation.

This she had read about. She had watched it. It seemed a bit more familiar than what he had done to her.

She tightened her lips around the wide crest as he pressed deeper, filling her mouth with him, his hips flexing, thrusting in shallow strokes as she began to suck.

“Ah, baby, your mouth,” he groaned, the heavy lust and pleasure filling his voice and sending shocking waves of pleasure racing through Lyrica. “It’s so damned good . . .”

He wasn’t touching her. Just his pleasure, his verbalization of it, and she could feel the rising chaos threatening to overtake her again.

“Use both hands.” His voice was thicker, heavier. “Stroke the shaft for me, Lyrica. Stroke it while your hot little mouth makes me crazy.”

Dazed, growing higher by the second on the knowledge that she could make him so hard, so desperate, Lyrica tightened her mouth on him. Drawing on the flesh filling her mouth, stretching her lips, a moan escaped her throat, vibrated against the heated width of his erection, and had his hand tightening in the hair at the side of her head.

“Lyrica, sweetheart . . .” The pace of his thrusts changed, lengthening, quickening as her fingers stroked around the heated flesh of his shaft.

The heavy throb of his erection against her tongue increased as the salty male taste of pre-cum spilled on her tongue.

She was dying for him.

Whimpering in desperation, her hips rocking against the seat of the chair, thighs clenching at the burning heat in her clit, Lyrica knew she was becoming lost in the pleasure again. First in hers, now in his.

She was fighting a losing battle.

“That’s it. Ah hell, Lyrica. That’s it, baby, suck my cock, sweetheart. Rub your tongue right there . . .” His voice thickened. “Ah hell, it’s better than every dream I’ve had of fucking your pretty mouth. Every fantasy.”

She cried out, the sound lost in his heavy groan as his thrusts increased, the thick flesh driving nearly to her throat, pulsing and throbbing . . .

“That’s it,” he groaned again. “Fuck. Baby. I won’t last much longer. Look at me, Lyrica.”

Forcing her eyes open, she stared into the savage expression above her. His eyes were even more golden than before, dark blond hair falling over his forehead, the short, bad-boy length of his beard and mustache shadowing a strong jaw and chin. Perspiration beaded his face, ran in a lazy rivulet down the side of his cheek.

“Pull back, Lyrica,” he demanded roughly. “Fuck. I’m going to fill that pretty mouth if you don’t pull back.”

Pull back?

She hadn’t come this far just to pull back.

Tightening her lips on him, sucking at him harder, deeper, another moan escaped her throat.