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thrust for thrust.
    He
must have been talking, because she was telling him to come, telling him not to
worry about hurting her, telling him it was okay to let go.
    She
had no idea what she was saying, but she'd said it, and that was all he needed.
He rammed into her, dug his short nails into the soft skin of her shoulders. A
red-hot spear of pleasure burst in his pelvis. A clap of thunder shook the
house.
    He
shuddered as he came. Spilled inside her because the storm hadn't provided him
enough time to think about protection and he didn't care—loved the way her
tight heat milked him up and down, the way it felt to fill her up completely
with his seed, which spilled out from between them and lubricated him for the
next round.
    He
was still hard, steel encased in softness. And he was so far from done.
Slowing, he caught his breath for just a second before he was thrusting into
her again.
    Haley
crushed Remy between her thighs, lifted her hips to take him deep, arched so
her nipples rubbed against his damp chest. Never had she been with a man who
could match her hungers in bed—not that she and Remy had made it to a bed. But
now, this was the best kind of research she'd ever done.
    He
spoke sexy things into her ear as he alternately nipped her lobe and then
soothed it with his tongue. His voice was softer, gentler than it had been
before his orgasm, and crazily enough, so was the storm.
    Maybe
there really was something to Remy Begnaud and the weather thing. Part of her,
the curious, dedicated scientist, wanted to scrutinize every move he'd made
since she'd met him, analyze how his behavior had paralleled weather events.
But the extremely aroused female part of her didn't care about any of that, as
long as Remy kept doing what he was doing. If the weather made him the
strongest, most intense lover of her life, then let the heavens roar.
    "Tell
me what you want, chere catin ," he murmured into her ear.
"Tell me while I can still think."
    "That,"
she said as he inserted a hand between their bodies to circle her clit lightly
with one callused finger, his hot touch releasing an eruption of fiery ripples
at her center. "Just. That."
    Silver
bursts of lightning made shadows dance on the walls, the floor, the skin of his
shoulders, but the thunder was muted, allowing her to hear his whispered
words—which she didn't recognize as English, but that spoke volumes
nevertheless.
    She
closed her eyes, let herself feel and not think, because if she let her mind
go, it would go places it shouldn't venture. It would wonder how Remy would
react when he found out she was here to study him for possible recruitment into
a super-secret agency. Or how he'd feel about being betrayed by his father. Or
if he made other women come as hard as she had.
    But
really, none of those thoughts mattered, because she didn't care. This was a
job. Remy was a job. And he was doing a damn fine job at what he was doing.
    She
arched up, taking all of him, forcing his hand to touch her where she needed
him to, forcing his cock to rake the place inside that made her wild. When he
slowed the tempo of his thrusts, she dug her nails into the knotted muscles in
his back. His response, a harsh breath that hissed between his clenched teeth,
made her smile against his skin, especially when he drove into her harder than
before. Her back scraped on the rough wooden floor, but she didn't care; the
pain only made her more aware of the pleasant sensations between her legs.
    Her
body gripped his length so tightly that she could feel every ridge, every bump,
every texture along his shaft, and she cried out at the sweet tension that
began to coil in her core. The slide of his cock massaged her G-spot with each
slippery stroke, dredging moans from the depths of her chest, urging her hips to
roll frantically against his. Somewhere in the background, her mind registered
the sound of the wind blowing open the front door, and then the crash of
something heavy inside the