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cupping her breast and working his tongue into her mouth in those so damn frustrating whirls.
    All she could do was clench her hands on the seat back behind him and hang on.
    Faster and faster he flicked her, deeper he finger-fucked her, and more passionately he kissed her, his tongue matching the rhythm of his fingers. Until she was unable to ride, unable to respond in any way other than on pure mindless instinct—just holding there, lapping up the pleasure he fed her. The literal fulfilment of her body. Pulsing within her again and again and again.
    Oh no.
    Oh Yes.
    He didn’t release her from the kiss as she sobbed into his mouth. Didn’t stop the pumping of his fingers, or the fast flick of his thumb.
    Not until she’d drenched his hand in her arousal. Not until her mouth slackened, unable to kiss him back because of the basic instinct forcing her to actually breathe. Not until her whole body was shaking on his.  
    Her heart thundered. Her mind shattered.  
    Only then did he finally still the fingers locked deep inside her, stopped stroking her agonisingly sensitive clit.  
    But he didn’t stop the kisses. Only the quality changed to gentle caresses, easing her through the over-sensitive aftermath of such an intense orgasm. Until she started kissing him back again. Until she entered a whole other sensual realm.
    It was no longer blood coursing through her veins, but licks of fire. She’d thought she was hot before? Now it was different. Now she was lax and replete, yet filled with a kind of energy that came only from deep, deep satisfaction. And intense, animal hunger.
    That was how he wanted to play it? So intense?  
    There was no more thought. There was only appetite, and sensory delight in a raw physical passion. The elemental call of basic instinct. The desire of one body for another. And the desire to pleasure that other body, the way she’d been pleasured. To feel that power.
    “Now.”
    He didn’t argue, just reached out to push her long skirt higher so it sat in a swathe about her waist, exposing as much as possible in the gloomy light.
    “I fucking love these boots.” He ran his hands over them, then slipped onto her skin. “And I love seeing your bare thighs. Spread them wider, let me feel all the way up.”
    Her boots laced up to her knees. She liked them too. Liked how he firmly gripped her ankles and then palmed up the leather until he hit skin. She liked it even more when he went higher.
    “Riding boots.” He lifted his chin and nipped her lip with his teeth in a tiny, sharp bite. “You want to ride me for real?”
    Bareback? Nothing more between them? “I want you to slam into me so deep,” she muttered huskily, finally answering the question he’d asked earlier and letting her innermost fantasy out. For the first time in her life free enough to. “I want to feel your balls smacking against me. I want you to fuck me until your cock’s rubbed raw.”
    She wanted him worn out and aching and unable to move.
    He groaned. “That hard?”
    “Harder.” She writhed on him, showing him what she meant. It took only a few fast movements to get her beyond words again. She was so far gone on rocking on him again. He felt so freaking fantastic. So big. She loved how wide he spread her. How powerful he felt beneath her. He grabbed a hank of her hair and twisted it, so she let her head fall back for him to fuck her mouth with his some more while she kept up her riding practice.
    “Condom?” she panted in the one second he let her snatch a breath.
    “You’re sure?”
    Of course she was freaking sure. “Do. You. Have. A. Condom?”
    Damn, she ought to be all twenty-first century woman and carry her own, but this was so beyond the unexpected. She’d been celibate for longer than she cared to remember. She didn’t want to remember anything at this moment.
    “There’s a pack in the First Aid kit.” He twisted to the side, sliding a hand under the seat and pulling out a neat black pack with