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shuddering climax.
    Too quickly, Jack disgruntledly thought.
    "I want more," Venus breathed, as if in answer to his discontent.
    He crushed his mouth against hers and she returned his fevered kisses, both famished, insatiable, overcome by prodigal desire.
    She swiftly felt him hard again inside her, and turning her mouth away, whispered, "Get the other condom. Hurry!"
    For a man who'd never taken orders, he hesitated only briefly. Quickly withdrawing, he sprang up from the couch, discarded the used condom, and wiped himself quickly with his shirt. A new condom was in place in seconds, his arousal impressive for a man who'd only recently climaxed.
    That must be why he was so much in demand, Venus thought—with only a fleeting resentment, because she needed his renowned prowess and stamina, her impatience matched only by her astonishing lust.
    She'd never understood untrammeled passion before, dismissing it as poetic license or the result of an overheated imagination. But she was utterly ravenous for his touch, wanting to have sex again when he was so notorious for his profligacy she should be ashamed of herself.
    Perhaps she'd consider principle later—after another climax, after she no longer burned with such longing. Understanding how rare her feelings were and how finite time, she selfishly wished to indulge herself. "Do I have to come and get you?" she murmured, restless, impatient.
    He chuckled. "Give me a minute to catch my breath."
    Instantly contrite, she apologized, although her words dissolved at the last in a trembling sigh as he returned to her embrace and kissed her. Gently lowering himself between her legs, he whispered, "Round two," and slid inside her welcoming warmth.
    "Just in time," she breathed, her eyes already half closed, her legs wrapping around his back, the sleek heat enclosing him a degree of nirvana not previously attained.
    She was a ravenous temptress, her desire in avaricious sync with his, a woman after his own heart, he thought, matching his rhythm to hers. She was hot, hot, flame hot, demanding, without the coy affectations he was used to. And unlike all the other women he'd known, he found her exhilarating—and disturbing as well. She suddenly bit him, her teeth sinking into his throat, and his unease was instantly swamped by a lust so acute he forgot everything but sensation.
    Her panting indicated a level of arousal that required concentration and he leaned into his downstroke , ignoring her nails sunk into his back, deftly meeting her thrust for thrust. And they settled into a glorious driving rhythm, as if they were mating on some instinctive primal level beyond the bounds of reason.
    She moved to please him and he her—their sensibilities so violently inflamed the world disappeared, awareness disappeared, only raw feeling prevailed. Until, gasping for air, they convulsed in a soul-shattering, divine, unearthly orgasm.
    "Incredible." Breathless, his chest heaving, Jack lay braced above her, eyes shut. "Don't . . . go . . . away," he said, a smile on his mouth.
    "I couldn't ... if I wanted to." The remnants of her climax deliciously strumming through her body, she brushed her fingertips against his broad chest.
    His eyes came open and he smiled down at her. "I won't let you, anyway."
    Her lashes faintly flickered. "You might have to. The condoms are gone."
    "So?"
    "Don't be difficult." Her voice changed, cooled.
    "Don't worry so much," he soothed.
    "But I'm the one who has to worry."
    "Not with me, you don't."
    He was too calm or unconcerned—indifferent probably, given his past. "Somehow I'm not assured," she murmured, her palms braced against his chest, problematical issues in the fore. "Get off."
    His brows rose sharply. "Do your lovers actually respond to that tone?"
    "Get off."
    Although he considered her concerns grossly exaggerated, he chose not to argue. With a shrug, he complied, easing away, dropping to the floor, and leaning against the couch. "You're too nervous," he