The Passionate Mistake by Amelia Hart

Wrapping him up in herself, twining around him. Too close to look at her again with those questioning eyes.
    He made a sound between a sigh and a groan, holding her tightly, so she was surrounded by the heat and hardness of him above, beneath and inside her. It made her feel delicately feminine. Not a sensation she was used to, as a woman who took control and demanded her due in the bedroom. She flexed, testing the bonds he had created. Pushed away, unsettled by the languorously relishing tone he introduced, his head buried in the curve where neck met shoulder, laying kisses there.
    It was too much. She wanted the battle, the clash. Not this unfamiliar . . . sweetness. It wasn’t just the expression in his eyes after all. With his whole body he told her . . . something.
    So she closed her own eyes and focused only on the sensation of it, undulating against him in a tiny movement magnified by her arousal, so the heat of his skin touching a thousand nerve endings on her own skin was a deafening orchestra. She dug her fingernails into the muscles that ran down either side of his spine, surprising a jolt and flex that drove him even deeper into her, making her gasp and tilt her head back.
    As he released his iron hold on her to prop himself up on his elbows she kept her eyes tight shut, moaning in sorrow as he withdrew then sighing with satisfaction as he returned in a controlled motion, filling her so completely. At his next withdrawal she joined the motion of reconnection, lifting to him to meet him halfway, falling into a driving rhythm that quickened and quickened again.
    Already most of the way there, her orgasm came swift and blinding, making her buck and cry out.
    “Yes!’ he said and she felt him let loose the control he held over himself, plunging into her recklessly, straining to reach his own completion. It was electrifying, the energetic thrusting of a man consumed by his pleasure, his enjoyment of her body wrapped tight around him. She was stunned to feel the swelling tension as she followed him over the edge and into a second shuddering climax.
    She turned her head away from him as she came, denying the intimacy of their shared completion, little aftershocks clenching her inside as she felt the quiver of his cock spilling into her. It was too much. Too tender and good.
    When he rolled to one side to take his weight from her, his arm gathered her and cuddled her close, a warm rumble of masculine approval resonating from the throat under her ear. She didn’t know what to say or do next, all her certainties lost in the experience of taking Mike Summers for a lover.
    Her mind raced as she lay there, trying to draw the pieces together, to arrange them somehow so this craziness that was suddenly her life would make some sense.
    He hadn’t recognized her. She hadn’t told him. There was no shared joke. But the sex was . . . something else.
    It was making love. That’s what it was. She had in no way been prepared for that. She thought it would be scratching an itch, the way it had always been. A tussle. A roll in the hay. Enjoyed and easily forgotten.
    Now suddenly she had deceived him twice over, this man who took her body and gave her that experience in return.
    It was terrifying.
    She found herself scared, a piercing thrust of fear that he would any moment find out either one of her lies. Terrified of making love with him again, and even more terrified they might never make love, she might never make love like that again.
    She burrowed her head into his shoulder and clung to him, comforted despite herself by his solid male presence, the deep breathing evening out into sleep.
    This was an unholy mess, and she had no idea how to straighten it out. But for this moment he didn’t know, so it was okay. Okay to enjoy being here like this with him, another guilty pleasure stacked on the ones that had come before. One more couldn’t hurt.
    Five minutes passed. Then ten, twenty. She heard a light snore and took that as a