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The mental image he painted sent pleasurable shock waves through her. Kat took control, shoving him down hard so he fell flat on his back.

Have to kiss him
.

Driven by pure basic hunger, she didn’t let her cautious nature win this time. She pushed back the covers and climbed on top of him. She was undoing the belt from his wrist before she let herself think it through. She kissed his parted lips, reveling in the fact that she had temporarily shocked him. But it didn’t last long. The belt dropped to the ground with a soft thump.

Tristan curled his now-free arm around her waist and rolled their bodies, pinning her beneath him on his side of the bed. He gripped her wrists and yanked them above her head, trapping them in one of his hands

“Should’ve warned you, darling,” he murmured. “I can’t resist a challenge.” Then Tristan kissed her again, holding her helpless beneath him, but Kat wasn’t afraid.

Anxious, excited, aroused, but not afraid.

“Tell me to stop,” he ordered in between kisses. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I promised tonight would be just talking…not this.”

But she didn’t want him to stop.

“No, I want this…I want you.” Letting him take control made her feel so hot, a sheen of sweat coated her body. Being flush under Tristan as he overwhelmed her senses was beyond hot.

He seduced her with his mouth, through an erotic play of lips and tongue, torturing her with a promise of what was to come.

Her thighs quivered, and wet heat pooled between them. Panting, aching, she was wriggling against him in silent encouragement. Tristan’s hand slid down her side, teasing her sensitive waist before he flattened his palm on her stomach and slipped it under the loose band of her pajama bottoms and into her underwear. When he cupped her mound possessively, his fingers probing at her folds, she hissed against his lips.

Kat arched her back, pushing his fingers deeper into her.

She hadn’t known it could feel…
powerful
.

Being with Tristan was wild, out of control, searing hot. He seemed to know what to do, just what to say to make her lose her mind.

She didn’t want him to stop. Ever.

F
uck!” Tristan struggled to remain in control. He had Kat pinned beneath him, her wrists trapped under his hand as his other hand penetrated that sweet, tight little sheath, and he was about to lose his mind. All he wanted to do was be on top of her, skin-to-skin, as close as he could get. Having her under his control, letting him have the power to show her how good he could make her feel…it made
him
feel too damn good. If only he could be inside her, really fucking her, not just with his hand…he would be in nirvana. As it was, he was barely clinging to the shreds of his sanity.

One finger…that was all he could get inside her. Liquid heat burned his skin as his finger fucked her, slow and steady. He’d have to work on stretching her before he got inside her. She was too small, too unused to the type of wild and often rough sex he craved, but he could give her a release tonight, show her a taste of what he wanted, what
she
wanted, too.

“Oh, God, that feels—” Kat whimpered in pleasure as he curled his index finger inside her, finding that hidden spot that every woman had.

It was a tiny little place, feeling almost rough to his touch. Using the pad of his index finger, he curled it repeatedly over that spot. Kat’s legs spasmed around his hips, and she nearly crushed his arm between their bodies as she thrashed when the orgasm hit her hard. She moaned, the heavy, throaty purr tensing every muscle in his body.

Fuck
. He needed to come. Needed to get inside her before his arousal killed him.

When she threw her head back, her long, dark brown hair felt like silk on his hand.

It was the last thing he needed. He came right then and there in his trousers, like a bloody schoolboy. The embarrassment over his lack of control would hit him later, but right then he didn’t care. Pleasure exploded through him, like volts of electricity, shocking everything inside him until he broke apart.

The intense pleasure faded, and an unfamiliar urge rapidly took its place. He stared at Kat, their noses brushing, his body jerking and trembling as he slowly drifted down from that glorious high. All he wanted was to stay right there in her bed, looking at her, holding her, feeling her close.

Never in his life had that ever been in his mind right after sex.
Ever
.

He cleared his throat. “Would you mind if I got up for a minute? I need to take care of a little matter.” For the first time since he was a lad, his cheeks burned as he rolled off her and waited for her to nod. He rubbed his wrist as he stood up, a red stripe circling it from where the belt had dug in when he’d tugged on it.

“Do you have a large pair of boxers? Or shorts?”

“Yes.” Kat stood and headed for the top drawer of her dresser, pulling out a pair of boxers.

They’d be snug, but they’d work for one night. He took them and hastily shut himself in her lavatory, stripping out of his clothes. He used a washcloth to clean himself and then slipped the boxers on. He placed his hands on opposites of the sink and stared into the little gilt-edged mirror.

His hair was mussed, his muscles tense, and he didn’t recognize the odd expression on his face, as though he were half lost in a dream. A dream of pleasure and anticipation, and there was a hint of tenderness when he thought of Kat. His sweet little Kat.

Tristan understood her demand that they go beyond sex, at least enough for them to learn about one another. It made everything so much more…
intense
in bed. Knowing why she loved books, how he’d shared his obsession for maps, they’d opened up to each other. How much more intense could the sex be if they kept…sharing those secret parts of themselves?

He scraped a hand over his jaw, then gave his reflection a nod.

Give it a try
.

Maybe learning more about a woman than her favorite style of lingerie and preferred sexual position was worth it.

This time. With this girl.

He exited the bathroom and froze when he saw Kat sitting on the edge of her bed, legs tucked up, chin resting on her knees as she watched him with wide eyes. Her long, luscious hair was a mess of wild waves about her shoulders. She looked like a tempting Siren, ready to lure him to his doom. All she was lacking were a pair of opalescent shells to cup her breasts and a shimmery tail with water beading on the delicate scales.

And just like that…he was hard again. What was it about this woman that made him lose himself so easily? The arousal was slow to fade, especially when he walked to the bed and cupped her cheeks in his hands. Those dark lashes of hers fanned up, followed by those lovely gray eyes. He’d never given much thought to the color, but hers was almost electric, like liquid mercury, sucking him in.

“Move over, darling. I’ll take this side of the bed.”

When she finally moved, he saw the lines of tension bracketing her mouth soften. So she thought he would just leave after what had happened? Not bloody likely. After she’d scooted over beneath the covers, he climbed in and clicked off the lamp on the nightstand. Without a second thought, he pulled her into his arms. She fit perfectly tucked against his body.

“I want to know everything about you,” he murmured into her ear. “Your favorite color, your favorite ice cream, what makes your heart beat fast.
Everything
.” He kissed the soft shell of her ear.

She shivered. “Will you share the same with me?”

He chuckled. “Let’s see. Navy blue, rocky road, you.”

He waited for her to figure out what he’d just said.

“Wait,
I
make your heart beat fast?” Kat rolled onto her side to stare at him in the darkness. He could just barely make out her features. He took one of her hands and laid her palm flat on his chest above his heart.

“Feel that?” As he spoke his heartbeat sped up. “That’s for you.”

She nodded, looking away. She was still shy, after everything they’d done together? He rarely seduced women who were bashful, but something about Kat fascinated him. She raised her head. The moonlight, although faint, pooled in her eyes liked polished silver coins.

Kat shifted against him, her hand still on his chest. Her fingertips drew small circles on his skin, and he repressed a delicious shiver. He loved that she was brave enough to keep touching him.

I’m winning her over
. A grin twisted his lips before he could stop himself, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Tristan, when we were at the Pickerel Inn you said stained glass made you cry. Why is that?”

Tristan debated a long moment on how to describe it. “The colors are so rich, they seem to burn right through the glass. And the faces of the people—their expressions are so clear, so sharp. Sometimes I feel like I can read the people in the glass better than I can read the people around me.” Could he explain the other part, about how it’d helped him be strong as a lad? He’d never revealed that to anyone, but could he do that with her? He had a feeling he could…just the way she’d talked about the butterflies with him. Some things were too personal, but with her, he wanted to share.

“I know what you mean. People today seem to be so blank-faced. I like reading a person’s eyes, seeing their facial expressions.” Her lips curved up in a half-smile that he could just make out from his angle as he looked down at her nestled against him. Ever since he’d come to her room tonight, she’d been more and more comfortable around him, able to touch him back the way he touched her. Intimately, not just sexually. Not every caress from a lover should be given out of the desire for sex, even he knew that, although he’d never tried it himself. But with Kat it felt natural to hold her tightly while she stroked his chest. It felt…normal, in a strange sort of way that made him want to grin until his face hurt.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” He curled one finger under her chin and tipped her head back so he could see her face more clearly. She was so lovely it made something deep in him ache.

Kat licked her lips. “What do you see?”

“Besides a beautiful, sexy woman? I see someone with secrets. Someone who wants to live but doesn’t know how.”

Her lashes lowered but she didn’t shy away from him.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Kat. You’re just getting out into the world to start living.” He didn’t want to hurt her, but he wanted only the truth between them. “Now it’s your turn.”

“Hmm…” She continued to trace teasing patterns on his skin. It amazed him that such an innocent touch could make his cock harder than any other woman’s sensual touch.

“My favorite color is red. A sort of dark cranberry, almost burgundy. It’s rich, warm…”

“Seductive?” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the inside of her palm.

A swell of triumph filled him when her breath caught and she shivered. Tristan couldn’t resist flicking his tongue out to lick her palm and he kissed it again.

“I think you just like saying that word to tease me,” she giggled.

“Of course I do, teasing you is my new favorite hobby. I’ve never been one for hobbies, but this one I intend to cultivate.” He feathered his lips on her hand again, smirking roguishly.

Another quick inhalation, and her eyelashes fluttered as she sighed.

It cost him everything to contain his own groan of painful pleasure. He wanted to be bullocks deep inside her, banging her into the bed so hard she couldn’t breathe, but she wasn’t ready. He could only pray that the wait wouldn’t kill him.

“And ice cream?” he prompted, giving her a little distraction from his seduction.

“Chocolate. Simple, I know, but why mess with something when it’s perfect the way it is?”

He laughed softly. “I agree. Not everything in life should be complicated. And the rest?”

She ducked her head again. “You make my heart beat fast.”

“Aside from me. Though I rather enjoy knowing, of course.” He moved one hand to her shoulder, then trailed a lazy fingertip across her collarbone. The skin beneath his fingers was satiny soft and a creamy, natural white he found enchanting after dating women who spent too much time in attaining fake tans.

“Listening to Russian composers, particularly Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff.”

Rachmaninoff?
The specificity of her interest, the unique taste, was so refreshing.

“What do you like about Russian music?”

She nibbled her lip. “Many European composers’ music is mathematically precise, with repetitive patterns, where the sound is almost too perfect. Russian composers, at least during the nineteenth century, were different. They used music not only to tell a story, but to show a depth of emotion.” She was touching his chest again, sliding her hand up and down as she talked. “The swells, the passion, the bittersweet despair, the hope, the love. It reverberates with every note—it sweeps you away.”

Tristan held his breath, remembering how, the night before, he’d asked her if she wanted to be swept off her feet, and how she’d said she did. He lowered his head with the need to kiss her, not because he craved sex, but because he simply wanted to be close to her. To connect with her in a small way. Her mouth parted beneath his, and yet he didn’t let the kiss turn rough. He deepened it gently, coaxing her to make love with her mouth.

Minutes later, he somehow found his way out of the sweet fog of desire.

She exhaled softly, then yawned.

“Are you tired?” Her answer was going to be obvious, but he delighted in making her admit it.

“A little.” Her voice was barely above a murmur.

“Liar,” he teased. “I can tell you’re about to drift off. Why don’t you get some sleep? I promise to only hold you tonight. Do you trust me?”

At his question she nodded like a sleepy kitten and snuggled deeper into his embrace. Tristan pulled the comforter up around them both and tried not to think about how this woman, so unlike anyone he’d ever met, was worming her way under his skin.

Be careful
, a dark little voice warned in his head.

Something about Kat was dangerous. He was feeling things he shouldn’t feel, wanting things that hadn’t ever mattered before tonight.

I should walk away, but I can’t let her go
.

“I need you to come to the address I’m going to text you.” Tristan held his mobile close to his ear as he whispered to Carter.

“Bloody hell, Tristan. You realize it’s six a.m.? Where the hell are you, anyway, and why do I need to come get you? You took the Aston Martin out. Don’t tell me you wrecked it.”

Tristan pressed his forehead to the lavatory door in Kat’s room.

“I’m at someone’s dormitory, but I need trousers. The pair I wore last night met with an accident. Can you get your arse out of bed and meet me here in half an hour?”

Carter’s laugh made Tristan squeeze his eyes shut and clench a fist by his head as he sought to quell his temper and humiliation at the reason his trousers had been soiled.

“I think I’ll come just to have the pleasure of seeing you squirm. Text me the address.” Carter was still laughing as he hung up.

“Bloody bastard,” Tristan muttered as he opened the door and glanced at the bed.

Kat was still asleep, and she looked kissable, fuckable. Perfect in every way a woman could be. The palest of light, more blue than white, filtered through the blinds, stretching across her dormitory windows to illuminate one side of her face and a bare forearm that had slipped free of the covers.

Tristan was captivated by the sight of her. He approached the bed, careful not to wake her. He hadn’t ever stayed with a woman past dawn. He’d always slipped out before now, waiting just long enough for his partner to fall asleep before he made his disappearance. But with Kat, he’d fallen asleep himself, deeply, while holding her. He’d been so relaxed, not even an explosion could’ve woken him. When had sleep ever been that easy? Not in a long while.

Kat shifted, nuzzling her pillow and sighing. The sound sent a blazing path of desire straight to his cock. Tristan forced his eyes away from her and onto his phone, where he texted Kat’s dorm information to Carter.

While he waited for Carter to arrive, he studied her room, the books on her shelf by the door, the small, worn collection of travel guides, each one tabbed and highlighted.