Free Lifestyles of the Witch & Famous by Mimi Riser

He was. Despite what some said, he wasn’t an animal. He didn’t want to pound her like one. Not this time anyway. There’d be ample opportunity for that later, after they were—
    Damn it, I said my way.
    Tyler grabbed her hips, stopping her when she tried to push up onto him. “Easy, baby, let me do it. I’m trying not to hurt you.”
    Molly moaned as though she was already hurting, but that kind of pain he could cure. He cut off her protest with another kiss while he slid into her – carefully, one inch at a time – counting backward from a hundred to maintain his control, holding himself on a tight leash.
    Which snapped the moment her silky heat engulfed him, and she locked her legs around his waist.
    Help me, Lord… Lord?… Are you listening?
    Apparently not.
    Tyler lost count at seventy-nine.
    Molly shoved up against him, and… Oh hell, he was a man. What was he supposed to do?
    He nailed her to the mattress.
    And she nailed him right back, forcing the action into an eager give-and-take that escalated with every solid inward thrust. Her inner muscles gripped him in a hot satin vise. She took every inch of him and gyrated her hips, urging him deeper, demanding more…more… In and out, harder, faster…
    Tyler tried to slow it – really he did – nearly gave himself a hernia trying to hold back, to be gentle, but she didn’t make it easy. Where had she learned this? How had she learned it? The woman was a whitewater rapids ride. And he went with her. Over the falls, without a barrel…
    Splash!
    They crash-landed together, hard, in a tangle of bedclothes and limbs.
    Tyler lay dead still at the finish, waiting for the smoke to clear. Either someone was testing nuclear bombs nearby or he’d just had the great-granddaddy of all orgasms. He hoped Molly’s had been as momentous.
    She lay beneath him, equally silent and limp, one leg hooked over his and both her arms draped around his neck. He felt her heart beating, and her fragrance filled his nostrils, heady and rich. Jasmine with a hint of sandalwood, and laced now with the musky scent of sex.
    He breathed deep, savoring. A bad move. Inhaling her made him want to start the whole show over again, and it was too soon for an encore. If she hadn’t been sore before, she would be now.
    With infinite care, he extricated himself from their tangle and slipped off to his side, bracing up on an elbow to gaze down. Another bad move. She looked even sexier than she smelled. The image of a fallen angel with skin flushed pink, eyes closed, her lips swollen from the kissing and half parted as she panted softly for breath. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist like a wanton’s. Her hair spilled out over the crimson spread like liquid gold.
    An angel’s face and a body like mortal sin. So beautiful she made him ache.
    His chest tightened with something akin to tenderness, only stronger. A danger signal, and he didn’t like it. His groin tightened, too, but that he could handle. Lust was simple. The tender feeling drove deeper and was anything but simple. It meant caring, which was the worst move of all.
    Caring just left you wide open for pain. That’s why he’d sworn off it years ago. He wasn’t nearly the greedy bastard the world thought him, never asked for more than he could give. A few laughs and a lot of lust, that was all he wanted in a relationship. Anything more and the trouble started. Why didn’t women understand that? They were the greedy ones.
    “Uhh…” Molly sighed and stirred. Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, then lifted and she stared up at the ceiling, looking a little too like a hit-and-run victim trying to figure out what had just mowed her down.
    He had – Bulldozer Tyler James – and he couldn’t say he felt particularly proud of the accomplishment. Score another right for Barry. And damn George Farrell for leaving such a crucial piece of info out of his reports.
    Or, um, maybe not.
    A sharp pang stabbed him when he imagined