She writhed against him, against herself as he suckled, so gently at first it was torture, then harder, faster until she had to bite back a scream. His hands continued to skim over her, kindling exotic little fires of need.
It wasn't what she was used to. Sex, when she chose to have it, was quick, simple, and satisfied a basic need. But this was tangling emotions, a war on the system, a battering of the senses.
She struggled to get a hand between them, to reach him where he lay hard and heavy against her. Pure panic set in when he braceleted her wrists and levered her hands over her head.
"Don't."
He'd nearly released her in reflex before he saw her eyes. Panic yes, even fear, but desire, too. "You can't always be in control, Eve." As he spoke he ran his free hand over her thigh. She trembled, and her eyes unfocused when his fingers brushed the back of her knee.
"Don't," she said again, fighting for air.
"Don't what? Find a weakness, exploit it?" Experimentally, he caressed that sensitive skin, tracing his fingers up toward the heat, then back again. Her breath was coming in pants now as she fought to roll away from him.
"Too late, it seems," he murmured. "You want the kick without the intimacy?" He began a trail of slow, open-mouthed kisses at the base of her throat, working his way down while her body shivered like a plucked wire beneath his. "You don't need a partner for that. And you have one tonight. I intend to give as much pleasure as I get."
"I can't." She strained against him, bucked, but each frantic movement brought only a new and devastating sensation.
"Let go." He was mad to have her. But her struggle to hold back both challenged and infuriated.
"I can't."
"I'm going to make you let go, and I'm going to watch it happen." He slid back up her, feeling every tremble and quake, until his face was close to hers again. He pressed his palm firmly on the mound between her thighs.
Her breath hissed out. "You bastard. I can't."
"Liar," he said quietly, then slid a finger down, over her, into her. His groan melded with hers as he found her tight, hot, wet. Clinging to control, he focused on her face, the change from panic to shock, from shock to glazed helplessness.
She felt herself slipping, battled back, but the pull was too strong. Someone screamed as she fell, then her body imploded. One moment the tension was vicious, then the spear of pleasure arrowed into her, so sharp, so hot. Dazed, disoriented, she went limp.
He went mad.
He dragged her up so that she was kneeling, her head heavy on his shoulder. "Again," he demanded, dragging her head back by the hair and plundering her mouth. "Again, goddamn it."
"Yes." It was building so quickly. The need like teeth grinding inside her. Free, her hands raced over him, and her body arched fluidly back so that his lips could taste where and how they liked.
Her next climax ripped through him like claws. With something like a snarl, he shoved her onto her back, levered her hips high, and drove himself inside her. She closed around him, a hot, greedy fist.
Her nails scraped at his back, her hips pistoned as he plunged. When her hands slid weakly from his sweat-slicked shoulders, he emptied himself into her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
She didn't speak for a long time. There really wasn't anything to say. She had taken an inappropriate step with her eyes wide open. If there were consequences, she would pay them.
Now, she needed to gather whatever dignity she could scrape together and get out.
"I have to go." With her face averted, she sat up and wondered how she was going to find her clothes.
"I don't think so." Roarke's voice was lazy, confident, and infuriating. Even as she started to get off the bed, he snagged her arm, overbalanced her, and had her on her back again.
"Look, fun's fun."
"It certainly is. I don't know as I'd qualify what just happened here as fun. I say it was too intense for that. I haven't finished with you, lieutenant." When her eyes narrowed, he grinned. "Good, that's what I wanted to – "
He lost his breath and with it the words when her elbow shot into his stomach. In the blink of an eye, she'd reversed their positions. That well-aimed elbow was now pressing dangerously on his windpipe.
"Listen, pal, I come and go as I please, so check your ego."
Like a white flag, he lifted his palms out for peace. Her elbow lifted a half inch before he shifted and sprang.
She was tough, strong, and smart. That was only one more reason why, after a sweaty struggle, she was infuriated to find herself under him again.
"Assaulting an officer will earn you one to five, Roarke. That's in a cage, not cushy home detention."
"You're not wearing your badge. Or anything else, for that matter." He gave her a friendly nip on the chin. "Be sure to put that in your report."
So much for dignity, she decided. "I don't want to fight with you." It pleased her that her voice was calm, even reasonable. "I just have to go."
He shifted, watched as her eyes widened, then fluttered half closed when he slipped inside her again. "No, don't shut your eyes." His voice was whisper rough.
So she watched him, incapable of resisting the fresh onslaught of pleasure. He kept the rhythm slow now, with long, deep strokes that stirred the soul.
Her breath quickened, thickened. All she could see was his face, all she could feel was that lovely, fluid slide of his body in hers, the tireless friction of it that had an orgasm shivering through her like gold.
His fingers linked with hers, and his lips curved on hers. She felt his body tighten an instant before he buried his face in her hair. They lay quiet, bodies meshed but still. He turned his head, pressed a kiss to her temple.
"Stay," he murmured. "Please."
"Yes." She closed her eyes now. "All right, yes."
They didn't sleep. It wasn't fatigue so much as bafflement that assaulted Eve when she stepped into Roarke's shower in the early hours of the morning.
She didn't spend nights with men. Always she'd been careful to keep sex simple, straightforward and, yes, impersonal. Yet here she was, the morning after, letting herself be pummeled by the hot pulse of his shower sprays. For hours, she'd let herself be pummeled by him. He'd assaulted then invaded parts of her she'd thought impregnable.
She was trying to regret it. It seemed important that she realize and recognize her mistake, and move on. But it was difficult to regret anything that made her body feel so alive and kept the dreams at bay.
"You look good wet, lieutenant."
Eve turned her head as Roarke stepped through the criss crossing sprays. "I'm going to need to borrow a shirt."
"We'll find you one." He pressed a knob on the tiled walls, cupped his hand under a fount to catch a puddle of clear, creamy liquid.
"What are you doing?"
"Washing your hair," he murmured and proceeded to stroke and massage the shampoo into her short, sopping cap of hair. "I'm going to enjoy smelling my soap on you." His lips curved. "You're a fascinating woman, Eve. Here we are, wet, naked, both of us half dead from a very memorable night, and still you watch me with very cool, very suspicious eyes."
"You're a suspicious character, Roarke."
"I think that's a compliment." He bent his head to bite her lip, as the steam rose and the spray began to pulse like a heartbeat. "Tell me what you meant, the first time I made love to you, when you said, 'I can't. '"
He angled her head back, and Eve closed her eyes in defense as water chased the shampoo away. "I don't remember everything I said."
"You remember." From another fount, he drew pale green soap that smelled of wild forests. Watching her, he slicked it over her shoulders, down her back, then around and up to her breasts. "Hadn't you had an orgasm before?"
"Of course I have." True, she'd always equated them with the subtle pop of a cork from a bottle of stress, not the violent explosion that destroyed a lifetime of restraint. "You're flattering yourself, Roarke."