She caught a strip of foil in her hand and he tore it from her. Then, with a quick sweep of his arm, he swept as much of the stuff from the bed as he could. “I’ll apologize for that . . . later,” he promised.

“Like I care. Just hurry.” Her eyes roamed over his body and he could feel it almost as if she’d been touching him with her hands.

Then she was and that made his hands shake. He fumbled with the strip of condoms, managed to tear one off and then tossed the rest near the head of the bed. She scraped her thumbnails over his nipples and he swore, feeling that touch echo all the way down to his balls. As her hands moved higher, he shoved the condom packet in his mouth and shoved his jeans and boxers down, hands unsteady.

“What’s this . . .” A low, husky murmur escaped her as she slid one palm over the black head of the raven that curved along the top of his shoulder.

He ripped open the rubber, tossed the foil down. “We can talk tattoos later, darlin’.” He didn’t think he’d fumbled with a condom that much since his first time, but he finally managed, and then he tumbled her back down onto her back, cupping her face in his hands.

Hurry, hurry, hurry . . .

His hands shook and that feeling of losing control, of panic, seemed to edge closer. As he slanted his mouth over hers, he settled between her thighs. She brought her knees up, rocked against him. “This is crazy,” she said, her mouth moving against his.

“I’m fine with crazy.” Then he reached down, caught her knee.

She slid one hand between them, wrapped her hand around his cock. The feel of her hand on him shoved some of the panic back—he wrapped his hand around hers, squeezed until she tightened her grip and then he thrust into her hand, practically mindless.

“If you make me wait much longer, I’m going to hurt you,” she said, her voice cutting through the fog.

The laugh that ripped out of him was half-need, half-desperation.

Tucking the head of his cock to the heart of her, he held his breath. Then, a shudder rolled through him. He could feel her, and it was the sweetest thing. He could feel her heat, and how wet she was, how hot—slowly, as his nerves bled away, he sank inside.

She closed around him, a snug, hot fist. When he pulled back, then surged back in, she gripped him tighter and tighter, milking him in a taunting, tormenting way.

“Aw, hell . . .” He caught a fistful of the duvet in his hand, clenched it while his balls drew tighter and tighter against his body.

She surged against him and he felt the tight buds of her nipples dragging across his chest. Half-blind, he shifted until he could catch one of her breasts in his free hand, then he pushed it up. She filled his hand to overflowing, her nipple plump, and when he caught it in his mouth and bit down, she shrieked and bucked against him, pressing him tighter and tighter.

Control splintered, shattered.

*   *   *

Ressa couldn’t breathe.

He shifted back up and caught her mouth with his, demanding and hungry, damn near ruthless and she couldn’t get enough and she couldn’t breathe—

Tearing her mouth away, she turned her face to the side, panting.

“I can’t . . .” He tugged her face back to his, his teeth scraping along her lip. “I can’t breathe . . .”

“Do you have to? Kiss me, Ressa.” His voice was a rumble against her lips and she opened for him with a sigh.

Who needed oxygen?

Even the small bit she’d managed to pull inside her evaporated as he stroked inside her, so deep, so hard—he filled her to the hilt, and then even after he’d buried himself within her, he flexed his hips, like it wasn’t enough. It had him rubbing against her clit. Desperate for more, she worked herself closer and shuddered around him as hot little shivers started to race through her.

Blood pulsed, hot and thick, through her veins, and every beat of her heart drew her tighter, pulled her even deeper into the need. He pulled out, slow, lingering—it was as though he couldn’t stand the thought of not being inside her, and then, as he surged forward, she felt the pulse of his cock. It had her heart stuttering and her skin started to feel too small to hold everything she had inside her. Again, as he buried himself completely inside, he flexed his hips, held there—that light friction against her clit was too much.

When he started to pull out, she caught his hips, her nails digging into his ass as she worked herself against him. “Don’t . . . just . . . ahhh . . .” Blind to everything but the orgasm rising inside her, she held him within her and then, as it started to explode through her, he snarled.

When he started to move this time, she couldn’t stop him.

There was nothing slow and lingering about his movements now. Hard, brutal, fast—and even as she started to drift down from the vicious pleasure of her first orgasm, another slammed into her.

Without even having the breath to scream, she clung to him as he stiffened over her.

Trey . . .

His name echoed through her. Even when she didn’t have the breath to speak it, even when she didn’t have the ability to think past the pleasure, that simple thought remained.

Trey . . .

*   *   *

Ranged out over her trembling, damp body, Trey barely had the energy to keep some of his weight braced on his elbows. It was enough that he wasn’t crushing her into the mattress, but that was all he had in that moment.

He couldn’t move.

His mind was just . . . not there.

He could almost imagine it had completely shut off. Ressa curled her arms around him and stroked a hand up his back.

He shivered a little as her fingers traced the raven.

“I saw you.”

He tensed at the words.

“What?”

“Running.” She slid a hand up his spine. “I’ve got a confession to make, Trey. I’ve been half in lust with you from the first time you walked into the library and I’d just watch for you . . .” She pressed the flat of her hand to his spine.

He focused on the touch, his skin prickling under her hands. His mind tried to spin away on him and he lashed it down, focused. The guilt—the guilt he’d half expected earlier—tried to rise up and bite him on the ass and he set his jaw.

“Trey?”

Her voice was sleepy, but even he could hear the concern in it.

He reached behind him and caught her hand, twining their fingers. Pressing the back of her palm to his thigh, he forced his mind to work, focused on her words and not on the mess inside him.

“You saw me out running,” he murmured. He found himself smiling, to his utter shock, over the insanity of it. “I was there because I wanted to see you.”

He felt her reaction in the way her hand tightened on his. Slowly, he levered his weight away from her and sat up. With his back to her, he smiled over his shoulder at her.

Ressa followed suit, settling behind him with her naked breasts to his back. “Is that a fact?”

He dragged in a breath and caught a headful of her scent—it was on him now, all over him and just that simple thought was enough to have his cock twitching.

“Yeah.” She eased back and ran a hand down the tattoo. “I was almost positive it was you. I saw this tattoo and that just drove me a little more crazy than I already was.”

She pressed her mouth to his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, felt her tugging her hand free of his. But when she went to scrape her nails over his lower belly, he stood up. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said gruffly.

A minute later, locked alone in the bathroom, he discarded the condom in the trash and washed his hands. Then, hands braced on the counter, he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

His face was pale, eyes darker than normal.

Son of a bitch.

Closing his eyes, he blew out a breath and braced himself, waiting for the rush of guilt to return. But it didn’t.