“Show me how powerful you are,” he said.
“What?”
“I want to see how strong you are down there. Squeeze my fingers as hard as you can.”
Bewildered, she instinctively did as instructed, clenching him with every ounce of strength she could summon from her lower body.
“Tighter.”
A rising tide of urgency flashed through her. She gasped, startled by the reaction of her own body. Okay, that works.
Evidently, it worked for Mason as well. He made a husky sound that was halfway between a growl and a groan, and slowly withdrew his fingers.
She clenched herself ever tighter in a desperate effort to keep him inside. The tension built deep within her. He eased his fingers back into her and pressed upward. She started to pant. A strange desperation seized her. She drew herself tighter, attempting to imprison him.
“You are going to drive me crazy,” he said.
The tension was unbearable. She could not stand it. She strained harder to hold on to him. She knew she was on the brink, and there was no vibrator involved.
The release came out of nowhere, sweeping through her in a series of convulsive little waves. She wanted to laugh or cry or scream, but she could not catch her breath. The pleasure made her giddy and reckless and euphoric.
She was savoring the delight, glorying in the remarkable powers of her own body, when Mason changed position. He released her wrists and moved between her legs.
He thrust into her, hard and deep. She had never felt so full, so tight and so incredibly sensitive. Dazzled, all she could do was grab him and hang on for dear life. Beneath her clutching fingers, his back was damp with sweat.
He drove into her again and again. Another series of waves crashed through her. A moment later he went rigid, back arched, and then his own climax slammed through him, pounding into her. He gave an exultant, half-choked shout.
They hung there together as if suspended over a vast darkness.
And then Mason collapsed, sprawling heavily on top of her.
For a few minutes she waited for him to move, but he showed no signs of doing so, at least not in the immediate future. She prodded him a little.
“Mason?”
“Mmm.”
“Mason, wake up. You’re very heavy.”
“Sorry.”
He eased himself out of her and flopped onto his back. He lay still.
She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. In the shadows she could not make out his expression, but she was sure his eyes were closed. She’d experienced sex often enough to know that men were usually relaxed, even sleepy, afterward, but Mason’s version of the postcoital glow seemed a little extreme.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Define okay,” he mumbled.
She switched on the bedside lamp. Mason shielded his eyes with his arm.
“Are you always this bouncy after sex?” he asked.
She smiled, thinking about it. “Now that you mention it, I do feel rather energized.”
“Energized?”
“Usually I just want to go home and take a shower.”
He raised his arm and looked at her with half-closed eyes. “You’re a real romantic, aren’t you?”
“Sorry. I don’t usually—” Too much information, woman.
But it was too late. Mason had already figured it out.
“You don’t usually spend the night?” he said.
“No. It just feels too—” She broke off, again, sensing that she was digging the hole deeper and deeper.
“Too intimate?” Mason finished for her.
“Maybe. Sleeping with someone, sharing a bathroom, having breakfast together. It’s just too weird.”
“Weird,” he repeated neutrally.
She sat up, holding the sheet to her chin to cover herself. “I’m not doing a very good job of explaining this. Probably be best if I just stopped talking.”
His mouth curved in a wicked smile. “Ah, but can you stop talking? That is the question.”
She picked up the nearest pillow and tossed it at his head. He warded it off with one hand, got to his feet and disappeared into the bathroom.
“If it matters,” he said, “I think I know what you mean.”
“About what?”
The toilet flushed. Water ran in the sink. Mason reappeared in the doorway.
“About the weirdness factor,” he said. “Since my marriage ended, I’ve developed a thing about spending the night, too. You’re right. Feels weird.”
Her heart sank. All of the bouncy energy that had animated her a moment earlier evaporated. Was Mason hinting that he wanted to leave now that they had had sex?
“Do you want to drive back to Summer River tonight?” she asked.
“Hell, no. I’m not having a problem with the weird factor tonight.” He watched her steadily. “What about you?”
She smiled, relief washing through her.
“I’m not having a problem with the weird factor, either,” she said. “That’s what I was trying to explain.”
He smiled slowly. “That makes it easy, then. We stay until morning.”
He went to the dresser and took out a couple more foil packets. When he returned to the bed, she saw that he was already half aroused. He tossed the packets onto the nightstand, where they would be conveniently at hand. Then he turned out the light, climbed back into bed and pulled her down beside him. She resisted.
“What now?” he asked.
“There’s something else I want to tell you,” she said quickly. “Tonight was different for me.”
He touched her cheek. “Me, too.”
“I mean, very different.”
“Yeah? How so?”
The darkness made her feel bolder and seriously more reckless. She put her hand on his thigh, stroking him with her palm. “You didn’t get the opportunity to applaud my acting talents.”
He kissed her shoulder. “You mean I didn’t give you a chance to impress me with an Academy Award–winning fake orgasm?”
She sat up so quickly she almost clipped him on the chin. “You knew?”
“After all that chatter about your commitment issues, I figured that’s probably what you had in mind. I thought it would be good to get the issue out of the way before you screwed things up by going onstage at the wrong time.”
For a few seconds, she was speechless.
“Why, you arrogant—”
That was as far as she got, because she was suddenly giggling too hard to continue the harangue. She grabbed the pillow and began to pummel him with it. He was laughing, too.