Nicolas knew he was losing control, that the energy invading them was beginning to consume them both, but they were so caught up in the throes of making love, so completely lost in each other’s body, it didn’t matter. He let himself go with it, burying himself deep in the haven of her body, allowing the hot, tight slickness of her to carry him away.
He felt her body tightening around his, the small muscles gripping and clamping as he increased the pace, adding to the friction and the wealth of heat and fire. He didn’t want it to end. He never wanted it to end, but her body was already rippling with life, a strong orgasm that rushed over her like a tidal wave and carried him with her.
Nicolas heard his own voice, a harsh, hoarse cry torn from his throat. His fingers tightened around hers as he emptied himself into her, thrusting hard, wanting to be as deep inside her as he could get. He lay over her, not wanting to move, wanting to feel her body pinned beneath his. He bent his head to capture her breast in his mouth, feeling the exquisite clamping of her muscles around him in another explosive shock wave.
Strangely, he didn’t feel completely sated. His body was, for the moment, although he was still semihard. He wanted to eat her up. He felt on the edge of violence, a primitive possessive darkness that welled up out of nowhere and took hold of him. He lifted his head and looked warily around the small cabin, as if seeking someone, or something, that might try to take her from him. The sheer intensity of his feelings shocked him. It was as if he was driven to possess her. To leave his mark on her skin, on her breast, inside her body. His tongue stroked caresses over her, lapping at the valley between her br**sts. “I don’t want to stop.”
It was a small admission, and it didn’t tell her of the terrible driving need he couldn’t seem to get back under control, but she felt it. Felt his tension rising instead of dissipating. The energy was relentless, demanding every ounce of force it could get from their union.
Dahlia had to tug her hands loose to frame his face. She forced her body to relax beneath his, accepting the way his hands immediately began to stroke her, to claim her body for his own. He was everywhere, touching her, kissing her, scattering her thoughts in all directions while he explored her body with a voracious appetite. He didn’t leave a single spot untouched, bringing every nerve ending to life, tasting and caressing. His touch was so tender she felt close to tears, and then he was almost rough. To her astonishment and pleasure, her body responded to his with rushes of hot liquid. She felt as if she could never get enough of his body, of his touch or his kisses, always wanting more.
He took her a second time, riding her hard, needing everything she could give him so he could find peace in the midst of the whirling energy. It seemed elusive, impossible, as the pressure built inside of him, even stronger than the first explosion had been. Flames danced on the windowsill, and he wasn’t certain which of them was generating the fire this time, but he couldn’t seem to get enough of her. He couldn’t touch her enough, or kiss her enough. He wanted his mark on every inch of her body. It was imperative to know she was there under his body, accepting his possession of her, needing it in the same way he needed to bury himself inside of her.
He built the heat fast and hot, reveled in her urgent moans, kept her hungry for him, wanting him long into the night. He took her the third time with tenderness, so gently, so reverently, she cl**axed almost immediately, bringing him finally to some sense of peace, as if they had finally used up all the energy engulfing them from sheer exhaustion. Nicolas pulled her body into the shelter of his and held her tightly. The air around them was blessedly still and a tranquil sense of harmony settled over him. He kissed the top of her head, rubbed her rich hair with his chin. “Are you all right?”
Dahlia looked around the room to see if they’d done any major damage. The windowsill looked a little singed, but there were no fires. She closed her eyes. “We didn’t burn anything down. I’d say that was a major plus.”
“Did I hurt you?” He nuzzled her neck. “I couldn’t seem to get enough of you no matter what I did.” He could see the marks on her br**sts, her throat, even on her hip, strawberries that proclaimed she belonged to him.
She laughed softly, but didn’t open her eyes, drifting on a wave of pleasure. “I noticed. Is it supposed to be like that?”
He tunneled his fingers into her hair. “I may have gotten carried away.”
“I was always told a man couldn’t, you know, go more than once.”
“Me too. Guess we proved that myth wrong. Or maybe it was the energy pouring through the room. It can be quite useful.” The drowsy note in her voice tugged at his heart-strings. She seemed perfectly content, not questioning his darker reaction.
Nicolas stroked a finger down her cheek. She was so fragile and vulnerable lying beside him, yet he knew there was tremendous power in her small form. “Do you know how different my life is, how much you’ve changed everything in just a few short days? I never dreamt I’d be lying beside a woman and know that’s where I was supposed to be.”
Her fingers tangled with his. “It’s because I’m so restful.”
The faint twinge of humor in her voice was every bit as potent as her sultry tone. “I’m sure that’s it,” he agreed. “Go to sleep, Dahlia. I doubt if I’ll be able to wait very much longer to have you again.”
“Well restrain yourself. I’m very tired. Too tired to find my own space.” She yawned and burrowed closer to his body. “I never thought I could ever sleep like this, with someone wrapped around me. I read about it in books, and now I know why they do it. They’re so worn out they can’t move. It isn’t an option.”
Dahlia drifted to sleep with his soft laughter in her ear. She dreamed of him. Dreamed of a life with him. The sound of children laughing mingled with his laughter. She felt his arms around her, the warmth of his body close to hers, and she knew she loved him. That she would always love him. That without him, she would never feel alive again. Dahlia woke choking, her heart pounding, a cry torn from her throat.
Nicolas flung himself over her, his gun tracking around the room. “What is it, Dahlia?” He could feel her heart, wild and frenzied. His hand found hers and he pulled it to his own heart in a vain attempt to calm her. “There’s nothing here. We’re safe.”
She tried to withdraw, to tug away her hand, to roll into a ball out from under him. Nicolas was too heavy and there was too much of him. He seemed to surround her, his arms and legs everywhere.