Free Kissing the Countess by Susan King

instinctively knowing only that would sate the hunger he roused in her.
    Sliding over his bared chest and flat stomach, tugging at his clothing, at drawstrings and hooks in the darkness, she touched him boldly, her heart pounding. She had not known what to expect, but he felt wonderful to her, like velvet over warm steel, powerful and beautiful. Feeling an urgent desire, she arched against him, whimpered, pleaded for what her body understood better than she did herself.
    Slipping her fingers along the length of him, she felt him surge in her hand, sensed his gasp as his lips touched hers. And his fingers touched her, too, tracing exquisitely over her breasts, sliding downward over her belly, raising a deep flutter of excitement there. Then he began again to caress that secret part of her, and under the astonishing tenderness of his fingertips, she felt once more that glorious sensation spiral through her.
    Yet it was not enough, for the craving grew insistent, more powerful than anything she had ever known. Responding to instinct, she opened her legs, writhed against him. He groaned low and moved, his grip fervent on her waist. Now she suddenly, overwhelmingly, knew what she wanted, and she could not wait, could not.
    Arching toward him, shifting, she felt him slip into her, felt him harden and push, gently at first, until she felt a small burst of pain and gasped. By the time she drew a new breath, the subtle shock of his entry eased into a wave of relief. Moaning with the deep, indescribable pleasure of it, she heard him groan low, and she pushed down over him, taking him into her fully. She felt him throb inside of her, part of her now, and she cried out as he thrust, hard and deep, to satisfy the deepest need, body and soul, that she had ever known.
    Rocking with his rhythm, she felt the drumbeat of her own heart as her body merged with his. Wrapping her arms around him, she felt him shudder in her arms, breathe out, grow still.
    Then he swore something under his breath and pulled away quickly, separating his body from hers. Holding her tightly for a moment, he breathed hard and fast. Catriona felt the damp sheen of sweat on his back through shirt and vest and felt her own body dampened, as well. She felt exhilarated, relaxed, fearless. She felt deliciously warm and safe.
    But he shook his head. "No," he whispered, half to himself. "Dear lass—God, I am sorry. That should never have happened." He rolled away from her, sat up, pushing the plaid away. Chill air invaded their nest, sweeping away the warmth, the passion.
    She felt her heart sink in that moment. "Please—Evan, wait," she said, reaching for him. "I did not mind—"
    "I minded," he snapped. "Now go to sleep. You're warm now. We're both warm—blast it, that's how all this started, and it went too far. I took it too far. Damn," he whispered, shaking his head. "How could I—Catriona, I thought I could be near you without that. But what happened was certainly not what you needed."
    But it was, oh God, it was. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name. She would never have a moment like that again. She drew breath to tell him so, but he turned away abruptly and rose to his feet.
    In the darkness, she watched him cross the hut and open the door to step outside into the bitter cold. The chill entered the room, flooding the emptiness where he had lain beside her.
    Closing her eyes against sudden tears, she curled tightly in the lingering warmth inside the blanket. The thrill he had given her faded, replaced by a loneliness more intense than ever.
    In his arms, she had felt beautiful, enchanting. In the wake of his rejection, she felt plainer than ever, big and clumsy and undesirable. She had always thought that love would not be hers, but Evan Mackenzie had given her a little hope. He was strong and beautiful and kind, and she deeply, keenly desired him. But he did not really want her. Tomorrow they would both return to their lives and forget each