Against the Wild by Kat Martin Page B

flowing thick and hot through his veins. He slid his hands from her breasts to the curve of her waist, moved lower, reached around to cup her sweet little ass.
    Lifting her into the V between his legs, he let her feel the heavy erection throbbing beneath the fly of his jeans. Jesus, he was on fire for her.
    Lane moaned.
    Dylan slid the robe off her shoulders, let it fall to the floor. Bending his head, he tasted those pretty breasts, first one and then the other, rolled his tongue over the pebbled tip, felt her trembling. He palmed her sex, stroked her, felt how wet she was, and knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
    Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the worn sofa in front of the empty fireplace. He wished he had a big fire roaring, wished he could make love to her on a thick bearskin rug in front of the flames.
    â€œWe’ve waited long enough, Lane,” he said, as he rested her on the sofa.
    â€œYes . . . I think we have.”
    He kissed her again, left her only long enough to strip off his jeans. Careful to keep his weight off her, he settled himself between her legs and kissed her, long and deep. He loved the taste of her, the softness of her lips, the way they melded with his. He loved her feminine, floral scent.
    He felt her fingers sliding into his hair, the press of her breasts against his chest. Moving restlessly beneath him, she arched upward against his arousal, encouraging him to give her what she needed. What both of them needed.
    He parted her legs with his knee and eased his erection into the slick, hot, softness of her passage, clamped down hard to stay in control.
    She was tight and wet, and as her body grew accustomed to his size and length, gloved him perfectly. He tried to go slowly, meant to, but Lane would have none of it. She arched upward, driving him deeper, and her breath slid out on a sigh.
    â€œLane . . .” She felt so good and he had waited so long. Hanging on to his control by a thread, he started to move, clenched his jaw against the powerful sensations and his overwhelming desire for her.
    Out and then in, out and then in, the rhythm increasing, Lane moving with him, their bodies in perfect unison. She came swiftly, unexpectedly, and the hot spasms pouring through her body drove him over the edge.
    He pounded into her, driving hard, taking, taking, and Lane came again, her whole body shaking with the force of her release. Dylan’s muscles contracted, clenched so hard they vibrated as he followed her over the edge.
    Long seconds passed and neither of them moved. He could hear the creak of the aging timbers, the lap of the water against the shore.
    Keeping his weight on his elbows, he bent and kissed her softly one last time, then lifted away and settled himself beside her. For several moments, neither of them spoke.
    Lane traced a finger over his chest. “That was . . . amazing.”
    â€œWe were good together. I had a feeling we would be.”
    â€œIt’s been three years. There’s been no one since Jason.”
    Dylan leaned over and kissed her. “I’m glad it was me.”
    She nestled against him. “We . . . umm . . . didn’t use protection,” she said into the darkness.
    He should have. He had a box of condoms in his bedroom, but his seduction hadn’t been planned. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, not tonight. If there are consequences—”
    â€œI started on the pill before I came up here. I wanted this to happen. I wanted you, Dylan.”
    He’d wanted her, too. Since the moment he had first seen her. There was something about her, something that called to him as no woman had for as long as he could remember.
    He traced a finger along her cheek. “I didn’t plan this, but I’m glad it happened. It’s been awhile for me, too. I’ve been tested. We’re safe.”
    She nodded, snuggled against his bare chest, yawned. “I could sleep right here.”
    Dylan