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“Oh God, yes!” he growled.

Tentatively she stroked a finger along his heated length. When it jerked beneath her touch, she yanked her finger back, murmuring an apology. But he grabbed her hand and closed it around him, urging her to grip it tightly.

“You like that?” she asked uncertainly.

“More than you can imagine.”

He showed her how to stroke him, and when she mimicked his motions, she was rewarded with his deep, heartfelt sounds of pleasure. His hand dropped away from hers. “Ah, sweeting, you handle this pistol as well as you handled the other.”

A pistol. Yes, it was like a pistol—sleek and hard and wicked. Buoyed by his clear enjoyment of her caresses and delighting in her newfound power, she squeezed more firmly, stroked more quickly. He gave a guttural sound and thrust eagerly into her hand.

After a moment, he grabbed her wrist to stay her. “That’s enough of that for me, my sweet goddess.”

She stopped, but didn’t release him. “Why?”

“You do any more of that, and I’ll lose control.”

“You’d lose control?” A smile curved up her lips as she resumed her motions. “I’d love to see that.”

His eyes blazed down at her. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Oh yes, I would,” she said stoutly.

He tightened his fingers around her wrist, and growled, “Not like this.”

“You said I could set the pace.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean—”

“Are you going to renege, Sebastian?”

“No, but—”

“Then let go of my hand.”

He released her wrist, but grumbled, “You don’t understand…I can’t…I don’t want to—”

“Lose control. Oh, but I do understand.” Though she didn’t. Not really. All she knew was that she had him in her power as never before, and she wasn’t about to give that up. Especially when her every stroke made his breath quicken and his body sway.

“You truly don’t understand,” he choked out. “Damn it, Juliet…I want…Oh God, stop…stop…stop!”

Suddenly, he yanked himself out of her hand and turned to the bed with a hoarse cry that sounded almost like pain. She saw his back spasm, heard him curse as he caught up the sheet and pressed it to the front of him.

At once contrite, she hurried to his side. “I’m sorry, Sebastian, did I hurt you? Are you all right?”

He was holding the sheet around his John Thomas, but his expression was unlike any she’d ever seen—a strange blend of bliss and anger.

“I did hurt you!” she exclaimed, horrified.

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” he snapped. “But I wanted to be inside you when—” He broke off, looking as if he fought to restrain his temper. “Think of it like this—your stroking made my pistol fire too early, all right?”

She stared at him, perplexed, trying to remember what Rosalind had said about lovemaking. How a man put himself inside the woman and released his seed…And Sebastian had wanted to be inside.

So that’s what he’d meant by “losing control.”

“Ohhh,” she murmured, coloring to the roots of her hair. “And now your…um…pistol can’t fire again.”

“It certainly can, and it will, believe me.” Eyes blazing, he tossed the soiled sheet to the floor, then turned to lift her onto the bed. “So if you thought to get out of it—”