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over her bare mound.
    The soft folds between her legs were wet and swollen. He didn’t gloat, just trailed her slick juices up to her clit and began to circle the taut nub, all the while taking in the way she struggled to lash down her increasingly undisciplined response. The abrupt, halting movements of her hips were completely unlike Miss Banks’ smooth, fluid responses, and blood dotted her lower lip. She’d bitten it.
    He bent down and tasted the hot copper tang of her blood. “Stop fighting me. Stop fighting yourself,” he said. “Let this happen.”
    â€œI’m not . . . I can’t,” she said on a desperate sigh, but her hips lifted into his hand and her thighs tightened as she said it.
    â€œIt’ll be good,” he murmured. “You know it will.”
    But a part of him wanted her to hold out. He’d seen her come more times than he could count, fucked her as ruthlessly as he’d ever fucked a woman, but he’d never seen her battle the riptide of pleasure’s onslaught and lose.
    A few more strokes along her swelling clit and sweat broke out between her breasts and in the delicate crease of her thigh. Suddenly, as if the prolonged caresses snipped a taut-strung wire, the tension in her body shifted from resistance to red-hot need. She pulled up one leg, giving him a little more room to maneuver, then her other leg came up and dropped open against his hip. Primitive male possessiveness surged in his chest as the delicate scent of sweat and female arousal drifted into the air.
    Cole clenched his jaw to keep from ripping open his jeans and plunging into her. Hard and fast would get him physical release, his and hers. He wanted more. He kept the pace and the pressure, watched the familiar blood flush bloom on her collarbone, spread up her throat, into her cheeks as she arched, then went rigid and succumbed. Her clit pulsed under his fingertip as she tried to stifle her moan of release. Then the tension eased from her body, leaving her slack-limbed on his bed. He lightened his touch, then stopped moving entirely, simply resting his hand on her mound.
    On the surface, it was such a simple experience, surrendering to a relentlessly gentle touch, but already they were off the map, physically and emotionally. He kept his body relaxed, his breathing even and waited for the results of the skirmish.
    Marin’s muscles bunched and she scrambled to her knees at the foot of the bed. “We’re done.”
    Success.
    He grabbed for her, his fingers closing around her delicate wrist. “We’re not done.”
    Ten inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier
hung in the air. He kept his gaze level, watching fire and fear snap in her eyes, and tried to look like a badass motherfucker who’d use physical strength to his advantage.
    A long moment passed before her gaze went semi-opaque again; her shoulders straightened and her arm slackened in his grip as she pulled her serenity around her like a mantle of snow. “What did you hope to prove with that?” she asked. “We both know you can make me come.”
    He cursed mentally, because he could work with Marin in flight or fight mode but not on emotional lockdown. “You don’t think that was different than our entire history to date?”
    It was, and they both knew it. She lifted her chin and shrugged, distancing herself.
    Keep her curious. Guessing.
He let her wrist drop. “The deal was I touch you however I wanted, for as long as I wanted, but if it’s too much for you . . .”
    The taunt hung in the air, along with
Find out.
Marin was too smart to manipulate but too adventurous to walk away from a mystery. “Why?” she asked obliquely.
    â€œUndress me,” he said, tying the answer to her compliance.
    A long moment passed, then she knelt in front of him and began to unfasten the buttons on his shirt. He waited until she was focused on the task, then