He was in her mouth. Inside her, in the most intimate imitation of the sexual act.

She felt so much need, too much for her body to take. It ran through her in deep tremors.

Lifting his head, he whispered against her wet, throbbing lips, “Too much?”

Wasn’t that sweet. Considerate, even.

But oh, hell no.

She gasped, “Not enough.”

It was as if she had opened a floodgate. If she had thought he had been intense before, it was nothing compared to the hurricane of male aggression that came at her now. He ate at her ravenously, while with one restless hand he cupped her breast then gripped her by the thigh to pull her flush against him so she felt the hard, thickening length of his cock against her pelvis.

She couldn’t touch him enough, and she needed to get closer. Squirming against him, she tried to unbutton his shirt, but she was hampered by her own actions. Growling with frustration, she yanked at the cloth.

Scooping her up, he laid her on the bed, then paused only long enough to tear his shirt off.

Oh, dear God, just look at him. He was tanned everywhere, his chest covered with a light sprinkle of hair that narrowed down to a strip that arrowed into his pants. In contrast, the bandage winding around the lower part of his ribs was very white.

The black shirt had hidden the real breadth of his chest and shoulders, and every muscle was cut. He had scars too, scattered across his torso. In the dark, she had never really gotten a clear idea of how he moved with such distinct fluidity.

His shape might be human, but he moved like a dangerous animal.

The outline of his erection was clearly visible against the confines of his trousers.

She wanted to lick that narrow sprinkle of hair on his long, muscled abdomen so badly.

Suddenly, she was burning up. Sitting, she pulled her tunic over her head. Her sports bra from Earth was still damp and hanging in the wardrobe, but she was built slightly enough she hadn’t bothered to try to figure out what might pass for a bra in Avalon. The ugly clothes Kallah had given her were made of a cloth that was thick enough her nipples weren’t visible, and that was all that had mattered to her.

As her head came free of her tunic, she found that he had frozen with one knee on the edge of the bed. He stared at her.

She glanced down at herself. She was an A-cup, but at least her nipples were perky.

“Not exactly a wealth of curvature,” she said dryly.

Tenderness softened the hunger that had etched his face. He touched one of her breasts, stroking gently along the underside, then caressing the jut of her nipple so lightly it felt like a passing breeze along her skin.

He said deeply, “Sidonie, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her lips parted as she drank that in, and she didn’t need to have truthsense as she looked up into his face. She could see the sincerity in his gaze. Suddenly, she felt more beautiful than she ever had before.

It made her feel different in ways she didn’t fully comprehend. Bolder, more confident.

She had always been confident about her music, fueled by the sheer relentlessness of unending practice, testing, and feedback.

But this new feeling had nothing to do with her music. It had everything to do with believing she was a desirable woman in the eyes of her lover.

When his hands moved to the fastening of his trousers, she took hold of his wrists and said huskily, “Here, let me help you with that.”

His torso flexed as he sucked in a breath, and then he let his hands fall to his sides.

Rising to her knees, she undid the fastening. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and as she pulled the opening wide, his large erection spilled into her hands.

He was perfect in every way. His cock was thick, the sides corded with veins, the mushroom head broad. As her fingers curled gently around him, discovering the velvety heat, his breathing deepened again. She glanced up.

His gaze had fired with so much passion and emotion, she could not quite believe this was the same self-contained man who had listed all his crimes with such relentless composure. Her eyes prickled with tears.

In a move she had never made before with either of her previous lovers, yet one that felt entirely right, she bent her head just enough to lay his cock against her cheek in a heartfelt gesture of affection.

Whispering her name, he stroked her hair, her temple, the delicate skin at the side of her neck.

The next step seemed as simple and natural as breathing. Pressing a quick kiss to his shaft, she opened her mouth and took him in.

Chapter Fifteen

When Morgan felt Sidonie’s mouth close over him, the breath left his lungs. A few minutes ago, he had been convinced she would repudiate him.

To go from that to this raw, frank sensuality was shocking, exhilarating.

He stared as the complex muscles in her mouth tightened on him. His entire personal experience with her had been through touch, scent, and the sound of her voice. He had only ever seen her when she was onstage, or in digital images on his phone.

He had known her bone structure would be as slender and graceful as her hands and wrists, but seeing the wings of her shoulder blades, the long curve of her neck, and the champagne-glass shape of her beautiful breasts was quite a different thing from imagining them. Her nipples were a deep, rosy pink and jutted from the round, creamy mounds of flesh. He longed to take them in his mouth, to stroke and tease them.

She licked at him gently. The velvet glide of her tongue over the sensitive skin at the head of his cock made him stiffen further.

“Stop,” he said huskily, stroking her cheek.

Immediately, she pulled back, her elegant eyes darkening. “What’s wrong?” she asked, the tip of her tongue licking at her lower lip.

She was stunning. He touched one high, delicately molded cheekbone then pushed her back as he came over her. Uncertainly, she complied, stretching out on the bed. It felt incredible to settle on top of her, to feel her body adjust in position to bear his weight.

He propped himself on his elbows and cupped her head in both hands as he stared into her searching gaze. “I’m supposed to pleasure you first,” he whispered. “Not the other way around.”

A quiet smile widened her lips. Her smile was as beautiful as the rest of her was. As she stroked both hands down the long curve of his back, she whispered in reply, “I don’t think there’s any particular way this is supposed to go.”

“Then humor me,” he murmured, returning her smile.