Page 60 of Dark Lover

Their gazes locked. His was fierce, triumphant and blinding in its lust. And then he jerked her upright. Sam reached for his shoulders instinctively. She was ready to jump him. It should be the other way around. “Damn you, Maclean,” she said harshly, leaning fully against him.

“But yer ready to die.”

He was right. Sam hooked her calf around his waist. He turned her backward over the desk, began to force her down. Sam wrapped her other leg around him.

“Hang on,” he whispered.

“Bastard,” she said.

He impaled her.

His huge length and width filled her, stunning her almost senseless—except for the crescendo of pleasure that instantly began. Sam cried out. There was so much heat. The pressure was impossible. He laughed, pushed her down on the desk so she was flat on her back, sending objects and papers flying. “I told ye I was the best.”

My God, she thought, he was right. Her mind glazed over as the waves of pleasure crashed and broke. He seized her shoulders, held them down and began moving urgently, into her, hard and deep. Sam felt the ring. It sent her over another precipice and he cried out, too.

He moved harder and faster now, with more urgency, his seed burning. Impossibly, Sam wanted even more, because the rapture was so raw, so intense, so otherworldly. Flying, she raked his back with her nails. He caught her hands to restrain her, growling, still thrusting repeatedly. He lost his balance as he tried to hold her still and Sam hit him with her thigh, her knee in the hollow between his ribs. When he choked in surprise, she drove him off the desk.

They crashed against the near wall and fell hard to the floor.

Maclean actually tried to break the fall for her. As his shoulder struck the floor, he pulled her against his body and on top of it.

Sam pushed a knee on each side of his hips. His eyes widened; he grinned.

She looked down at what reared between them and inhaled harshly. “That has to hurt.”

He seized her wrist, his grasp brutal. “I like pain. Fuck me, Sam.”

She forgot about the ring and the pain it might cause. Sam drove her body down his shaft, hard and fast.

This time, Maclean was the one to break first.

SHE NEVER FELL ASLEEP after sex. But she’d fallen asleep and Sam slowly opened her eyes.

She was on the floor of the living room and she was alone. Pale early-morning sunlight was creeping inside from the two east-facing windows which overlooked Park Avenue. And as a pain went through her lower back, as she sat up, her head throbbing slightly, she saw her broken nails. There was absolute recollection. She was coherent now. She was also stunned.

They’d had sex like it was a matter of life and death. If he wanted her on her knees, she wanted to stand over him; if he was being dominant, which he was most of the time, she had to make him submit to her. She touched her jaw, which was sore. At some point she’d hit it on the edge of a coffee table. The back of her head also ached from slamming against the wall. As for her lower back, well, she’d been on her hands and knees, enjoying it far too immensely. The moment she’d realized, she’d reared up. Man, it hurt.

They’d gone at it wildly, violently, insatiably, for most of the night—if not all of it. She was unusually strong, he had his superpowers, making him even stronger, and they’d exhausted one another by trying to control each other, by trying to overpower the other. Sitting up now, starkly naked, Sam wasn’t sure what to think.

They hadn’t even kissed.

It had been the rawest, most brutal, most urgent sex she’d ever had. Or had that even been sex? She was grim. She had never wanted anyone the way she did Maclean and there was no explanation for it, not when he was such a mess. The arousal was stunning, the urgency more so, and later, she’d try to figure out why she needed him so much when he was so scarred and so defective, and so incapable of normalcy. And damn it, he had won. It hadn’t been the way she’d thought it would be. She’d been out of her mind with desire, as never before. He’d controlled most of the night.

On the other hand, he’d wanted her desperately.

At one point, when they’d stopped for a moment, he’d pulled her back beneath him, the oddest look in his eyes, as if he feared a return to reality.

She hugged herself, the gesture rare for her. She was truly shaken.

Because desperate was the best way to describe Maclean’s passion, his sex drive, the shattering urgency. Pain and pleasure had become wrapped up together in one big ugly package—and it had begun when he was a prisoner. She had no doubt.

Her heart stirred. There was compassion…there was concern.

She recalled the look on his face she’d seen so many times last night. When he was on the brink, his expression became raw and revealing, the mocking facade was stripped away. And the emotions that cycled through him had been obvious—she’d seen anguish, confusion and relief.

Sam cursed uneasily now.

And what about the incredible ecstasy she’d experienced? She thought she felt herself flush. The sonuvabitch had been right. He’d been able to give her more pleasure than she’d ever had. Was that one of those god-given attributes, too? Mortals couldn’t climax a dozen times in one night—almost ceaselessly.