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“Just touch me. Please, Jon.”

    She pried his hands off her arms. His fingers had left marks. She dropped soothing kisses on his hands, uncurled the clawed fingers, and pressed them against her breasts. He made a harsh, gasping sound.

    She gasped, went motionless. She’d been so focused on getting this far with him, she’d lost sight of her feelings. The fear, the hunger. The electric touch of his hot, callused hands made full awareness come roaring back. And the movements she made against his body were far from calculated now. They were involuntary.

    Jon put both hands on her breasts, cupping them. He ran his thumbs around her taut nipples, and made a low, tortured sound.

    Then he leaned forward and put his mouth to her.

    3

    Stop. Just stop it. Put her perfect squirming ass somewhere other than right on top of your dick. Then go fall face first into the snowmelt, and cool…the fuck…down. Now.

    The orders weren’t making it to command central, though, and this crazy thing was picking up momentum while the rational, adult choice maker inside him watched, tied and gagged.

    Her tits were perfect. The springy softness and those puckered nipples, the sinuous way she moved, oh, Jesus. So sexy. So silky and smooth and gorgeous. Too much. He was on overload.

    She cradled his head in her slender arms, whimpering, her slender body shivering at each hungry stroke of his tongue, and all he could think was how much he wanted to peel off those jeans, spread her out and show her just how big the trouble she was in really was.

    Whoa. She wasn’t up for anything wild. Even if he were going to indulge. Which he wasn’t. She was a virgin. Full of soft focus, pink-tinged, unrealistic expectations. Programmed to go gooey on him. To say nothing of way too small. Turned on as he was, he couldn’t be as gentle as he would need to be. That kind of thing required cast-iron self control. Hah. He was in danger of coming in his pants like a kid.

    Her naked waist was clamped in his hands, so narrow, his fingers almost touched, but he felt the catlike play of lean, lithe muscle beneath. His hands roved hungrily, exploring that deep curve, that flare, those jeans that barely clung to her hips. The cleft of her ass.

    Her hair was silky against his face. Her lips soft against his hot forehead. Her lip gloss smelled sugary, fruity. He was salivating to taste it, to lick and savor those soft, full, shining lips. Find her tongue. Kiss her senseless. She flung her head back, eyes closed, breath quickening.

    Oh, man. She was moving in on her first climax, already. He clamped her hips against himself, sucked in air. Hung on for take-off.

    Jesus. Like being on the inside of a fountain of light.

    She arched, and he caught her, felt every violent pulse wrench through her and slowly fade to a sweet, lingering tremor of pleasure.

    Wow. He hadn’t done a damn thing to make that happen. She’d done it all herself. And now he was worse off than before. Now he was in a world of hurt. Restless, desperate. Fucking furious, at himself, at her.

    Robin lifted her head. Her face glowed with a sheen of sweat. Her lips were red, gleaming. They shook. “Kiss me,” she whispered.

    His whole body clamored to obey. “No,” he said harshly.

    She looked startled. “But you—but we—”

    “Forget it.” Kissing would blow his lid off, even more than fucking would. He couldn’t. He felt too shriveled and blackened inside to risk it. Not with the smoke damage, the toxic waste. Fallout from the Egg Man.

    “You’re still angry,” she said.

    “Yeah,” he said. “I don’t like being played with.”

    Her eyes looked hurt. “Played with? I’m not playing! I offered you everything God gave me! You seemed to like it. So just take it, already!”

    He dumped her on her back on the sofa, her leg still sprawled over his, and slid off the couch and onto his knees. He rearranged his boner and his balls in their strangling prison of denim, and stared