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his thumbs sent blinding pleasure to her groin and her vagina contracted.
    Oh God! An orgasm! She huffed out a breath and shuddered. It was like she’d lit a fuse under him. The movements that had been so controlled before, so slow and tender, speeded up. His hands became harder, everything became harder, including his penis. She could feel it moving against her mound, lengthening even more as he slid up and down along the lips of her sex. She moved under him and her sex opened up. She arched against him, as if she could somehow be even closer to him.
    In a world gone mad and dark and cold, he was life and heat. Such strength, transferring from him to her. She felt strong, her whole body working to envelop him. Arms tightly linked around his neck, torso pressing upward, legs opening to twine around his.
    A strange ripping sound that she only deciphered later as the Velcro of his flight suit opening, a shrug and it was off.
    Sophie desperately wanted him naked, wanted to touch that hard warm flesh she’d only felt beneath his clothes. He lifted slightly, holding his arms out, and she pulled a light cotton tee over his head, long, dark blond hair lifting around that perfect face and— Oh God! He looked like Thor, like a Nordic god, larger than life, shoulders so broad they shut out the world, encasing her in a world that had contracted to only her and Jon.
    He eased her back down with a hand to the back of her head and caught her mouth again. Now. Now she could touch him, touch his naked flesh. She hooked her hands around his back, all that golden skin like steel, only warm.
    She dug her nails into his back and it was like she’d kicked him into another gear. His thighs opened hers, he positioned himself at the opening of her sex and she hesitated. He was enormous and it had been a long time for her.
    It was like he could read her, read her body. Instead of entering, he shifted so one hand could drift down her chest, over her belly, down to cup her mound. He was kissing her hard, tongue deep in her mouth, stroking.
    Her sex contracted again. He felt that. He must have felt it against his hand, against his loins as her hips moved. He could feel how wet she was, how ready.
    He didn’t have to ask because her body was talking to him. He knew.
    When he slid into her, hot and hard and deep, they both moaned.
    She lifted her thighs, opened herself up to him even more, and he began moving. Long, deep, slow thrusts. She was holding him so tightly she felt all his muscles in motion as he moved in her. Lean, incredibly strong muscles, with no give.
    She’d taken an anatomy class once and could identify each muscle in his back by touch. Trapezii, deltoids, lats. She moved her hands down lower. Glutei. Mmm. All those muscles shifting and bunching and moving like a well-oiled machine, only warm. And alive.
    God, he was alive, down to his fingertips, and he infused her with life. He was strong enough for the two of them, such incredible power under her hands. He surrounded her completely, on her, in her. So close she could see only him, smell only him, feel only him.
    Nothing bad could happen to her while he was making love to her. The world outside—that terrible world of death and destruction—receded with every stroke. Nothing else existed, only this powerful man moving in her. He was incredibly heavy, but she liked that. Proof of how powerful he was.
    He pressed into her deeply, holding her head between his two large hands, kissing her as if someone was about to come and separate them. No, nothing could separate them. She wouldn’t let it. Her hands moved slowly up his back, up over those strong, slick muscles until she curled her arms around his neck, holding tightly.
    Never let me go , she thought. The very notion of him leaving her body, of not feeling that heavy weight on her acting as a wall between her and the rest of the world, made her panicky. She tightened her arms around him.
    He pulled out