Burying his other hand in her crazy, wild curls, he tilted her head back and feasted. And when she sucked his lip between hers, he opened to her, nearly fell to his knees when she thrust her tongue into his mouth to explore him as he had her.

He took her wild exploration as long as he could—reveling in the fact that her need seemed as sharp as his own—but it seemed like mere moments before he was at breaking point. Tearing his mouth from her own, he ignored her pleading little moan and the desperate clutching of her fingers at his back.

Instead, he pressed kisses down her jaw to the graceful curve of her neck, before moving on to the sharp angles of her collarbone. She felt soft and sweet and delicate in his arms, and for a second—just a second—he was overwhelmed by the need to take care of her. To protect her from everything, especially the shit that lived inside of him. The darkness that had him fucking up everything that ever mattered to him.

He almost pulled away. Almost gave up this dangerous, decadent pleasure that felt as necessary to him as breathing. But then she gasped out a plea, a brazen, broken demand that grabbed onto him with feral claws and yanked him back under. And he knew—God help him, he knew—that not even the threat of destroying Jamison as he had Carrie could make him stop.

Using his free hand, he reached behind her and freed the back clasp of her bra. Then he let go of her wrists just long enough to rip the thing off. He had to taste her, had to feel her lush, gorgeous nipples in his mouth, had to devour her before he imploded.

Sinking to his knees in front of her, he relished the feel of her hands digging deep into his hair, enjoyed the sharp tug on his scalp. The little pinches of pain that only made the pleasure sweeter.

Then he forgot everything but the ecstasy of her body as he buried his face in her breasts in what was very close to a frenzy. He reached for control, but it eluded him, slipping through his fingers like so much magic. Reached for patience, for delicacy, but he had none. Not now, not this time.

Instead, he latched on to her nipple and sucked it hard into his mouth.

Jamison whimpered, her fingers flexing convulsively in his hair. For a moment he feared he’d been too rough, that he’d crossed the thin line between pleasure and pain that he so liked to flirt with. But her hips were moving, shifting, pumping restlessly against him and he knew she was with him all the way. He bit down softly on her nipple, prepared to take her deeper into the maelstrom of desire that had them in its grip. But when she moaned and clutched at him, he was the one who went under.

…

Jamison gasped, trembled, tried to press herself even closer to Ryder. He was killing her with his patience, killing her with his ability to hold off his own need so that he could stoke hers. She wanted him, needed him, was on the brink of ripping his clothes off and forcing him to fuck her and he was acting like he had all the time in the world.

But, God, he felt good against her, so good that she was going to lose it completely if he didn’t do something soon. He’d barely touched her and already she was trembling on the brink of orgasm, ready to fly over the edge at the slightest provocation.

She tried to fight it, tried to hang on. She’d waited so long for this moment, had dreamed for so many years about what it would be like to hold Ryder, to kiss him, to fuck him, that she wanted to make it last forever. Especially since there was no guarantee this would ever happen again.

Though she didn’t tell him—would never tell him of her desperate, shadowy thoughts—Ryder seemed to understand her need to draw this out. Or maybe this was just the kind of lover he was, slow and thorough and determined to draw every last ounce of response out of her. Whatever it was driving him, she was grateful. And determined to enjoy the ride.

But then Ryder bent to her breast, nipped at her areola, and her body wigged out, a scream of frustrated need welling up inside of her. The only thing that kept her quiet was the knowledge that he would finish things—finish her—if he realized just how torturous his attentions were becoming for her.

But when he bit her again, then carefully laved the sting until only the memory of it remained, she lost the fight. No man should be so tender and so controlling, so selfless and so domineering all at the same time. How could she resist him? How could she keep herself from falling even more deeply under his spell?

She couldn’t. The thought tore at her even as she clutched his head to her breast, relishing the soft, sweet brushes of his tongue and lips. “Ryder,” she whimpered as he nibbled his way across the vulnerable underside of her breast. “Please. I need you.”

“Oh, baby,” he murmured as he moved to her other breast. “I’m just getting started.”

“Please,” she gasped again, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as she sobbed out his name. Her body wasn’t hers to command anymore, her voice and thoughts and movements taken over entirely by his mouth, his touch. By him and his indomitable will.

Ryder shifted, once again catching her wrists in his big, talented hands. Then he pulled them forward, clasping them in front of her body with one hand.

“What are you—” Her voice was husky with desire.

“Look.” His voice was deep and gravelly, nearly unfamiliar in his desire for her. She felt a sharp rush at the thought that she had done this to him, that she had driven this beautiful, talented, amazing man so crazy with lust that he could barely speak.

Then she followed his gaze, was transfixed—much as he was—by what she saw in the dim lights that ran along the trailer roof.. He’d captured her wrists in such a way that her arms framed her breasts, plumping the already full mounds up and out for his pleasure.

For her pleasure too, because already she could feel the increase of blood flow to the constricted area. But he wasn’t done, the hand on her wrists tightening so that her arms squeezed her breasts even more tightly. They actually stung, the air chafing her sensitive skin and too-tight nipples.

“You’re beautiful, Jamison,” he told her, eyes wide in lascivious appreciation. “So goddamn beautiful.”

She felt beautiful when he looked at her like that, when he touched her and held her and stroked her like she was the only woman in the world. She knew it was a lie, knew he’d probably be with another woman before the week ended, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when he was looking at her like she was his whole world.

Ryder leaned forward, pressing himself against her until the strength of his chest and shoulders was the only thing keeping her upright. Then he bent his head and took her nipple into his mouth.

He sucked her deep and she gasped, begged for mercy. But he had none as he bit and licked, sucked and nuzzled her straight into ecstasy.

Wrapped up in the incredible heat burning through her, the climax caught Jamison by surprise. Though she’d known she was close—so close—she hadn’t expected to hurtle over with nothing but the touch of his mouth on her breast.

There was a roaring in her head, a fuzziness that overtook her as a freight train of pleasure slammed through her body. It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced and it left her with no choice but to hang on for the ride.

Her body convulsed again and again, wave after wave of ecstasy shooting through her, sizzling along her nerve endings, lighting her up like the pyrotechnic display Shaken Dirty used to close every concert. And then she was flying, soaring, dissolving into the endless night sky.

She came back to earth slowly, shocked at the heights she’d scaled. Uncertain about the amount and degree of pleasure Ryder had shown her. She wasn’t a virgin, had slept with a couple men in committed relationships before. But nothing they’d shown her, nothing she’d ever experienced, could have prepared her for these moments with Ryder. No wonder the groupies always seemed so desperate to find their way into his bed.