She stilled, bracing for the inevitable cringe as his arms wound around her. Tonight she was ready to fight that feeling. To count it away, or drown it in liquor again if she had to. But—

But it didn’t come. Not even when he pulled her tight against the solid muscle of his chest, bare skin against skin. Or when his wet mouth opened against the side of her throat.

This time, she didn’t feel the panic that blackened her senses and stole her free will.

This time, she felt . . .

Safe.

Her body sagged in relief.

She spun in his arms as unshed tears stung her eyes. His mouth crushed against hers, and he kissed her like he was bound for the gallows and she was his last hope for salvation. His hands were suddenly everywhere, all at once, a whirlwind of heat and sensation, sending pleasurable chills over her skin. He pushed her back on the mattress a second before he bent his head to her breast. No soft kisses. No teasing. He just sucked her nipple into his mouth and pulled. Lightning shot down her center, electrifying her with an intense bolt of lust.

He released her flesh with a wet pop and moved his attention to her other breast. She cried out and scissored her legs together in an attempt to get relief from the building ache between her thighs. She was embarrassingly wet, wantonly rubbing herself against his erection . . . drowning in want and a startling neediness. She tried to calm herself down, but some animalistic part of her wasn’t willing. Her legs fell apart around his. His long middle finger parted her damp curls. She jerked and writhed against him.

“You’re so wet. Jesus, Hadley.” Wonder coated his words as he whispered, “You want me.”

More than anything. She moaned, half-ashamed as his hand ran through the slickness that coated her inner thighs. Half-amazed, too. She’d never been so aroused. When his thumb circled her clitoris, she felt a tickling warmth as pooling liquid trickled down her flesh.

Lowe groaned, a rich baritone rumble she felt through her bones. She couldn’t stop her plea from jumping overboard. “Please, Lowe. God, now. Please.”

He immediately pulled away. Where was he going?

She lifted her head to see him reaching for his suit jacket that hung on her bedpost. He fumbled for a small tin and flung the quickly discarded lid on her coverlet—where Hadley caught a glimpse of its printed front, a chariot drawn by a pair of racing lions.

Oh.

Interesting. She’d never seen any in person. She wanted to tell him that she’d followed a new method of counting the days in her cycle. That they should be in the clear. Instead, she found herself caught in a fascinated daze as she watched him retrieve a ring of latex and unroll it down his length. Good grief. He could sell tickets to this show—every hot-blooded girl in town would pay to see such a spectacle. If he’d felt impossibly thick and heavy in her hand minutes ago, he looked even more intimidating now. She didn’t know whether to be worried or impressed.

Impressed, her body decided, as another wave of need warmed her aching sex.

His shadow fell as his body covered hers again, warm and strong and big. A welcome weight. His maimed hand pushed one arm above her head, like she’d pinned him moments before. “It’s only me,” he said again, kissing her bottom lip. Their fingers threaded together as he prodded her legs apart, making room between her thighs for his hips. He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ve never wanted anyone so badly. Never. My God, Hadley. Tell me you want me inside you.”

“Yes.” She could barely speak.

“Tell me.” He guided her free hand to hook around his neck and shifted his weight to his forearms. Back bowed, he pushed himself against her entrance, a teasing pressure that made her want to writhe beneath him. “Say it.”

“I want you—”

He plunged inside her before she could finish. One punishing stroke, no quarter. She cried out, digging her nails into his neck, shocked by the near-painful intrusion.

“Don’t move,” he said sharply as his muscles strained.

She didn’t. Couldn’t. All she could do was hold her breath. One, two, three . . . Her body relaxed. He groaned and pulled back—no!—before pushing into her again, more slowly. Terribly slow. Perfectly slow. Slow enough to make her squeeze her eyes shut as desire rolled through her.

“Yes?” he murmured.

“Lowe,” she answered.

He kissed her and she let go, giving in to the feel of his hips driving against hers and the beautiful friction that whorled between them where their bodies were joined. Her free hand roamed over his warm skin, exploring, delighting in the hard lines of his shoulders and back. The way he shivered beneath her touch when her nails swept down his side.

She stretched out below him, lifting her knees to invite him deeper. They both groaned as her muscles tightened around him. She gasped and shifted her hips, testing the angle until she felt the brush of his wiry curls teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves pulsing in her clitoris.

So much pleasure. Enough to erase years of martyrdom. Every fear, every worry, every night she’d spent alone, wondering if there was nothing more—it was all gone. Swept away. She felt warm tears streaming down her temples as joy caught in her throat.

“Hadley.”

“It’s so good,” she said dumbly.

“This is how it’s supposed to be,” he murmured, kissing her eyes. “This is what I’ve wanted.” His lips pressed against hers and she tasted salt.

Me, too, she thought. And so badly.

Never expect anything and you’ll never be disappointed. She told herself if this was all there was—this closeness, this dismantling of her phobia, this fuzzy pleasure—that it would be enough.