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took one of her nipples between his teeth and another thrill shot through him to hear the gasp she made.
    He found the edge of her thong, his fingertips dipping under the fabric. Her hips rose slightly, allowing him the room to pull them down. She found his boxer shorts next, and tugged them down. He was beside her now, naked, hard, and hungry.
    His need for her overpowered him and he climbed between her legs. He grabbed her wrists and pushed them down into the pillow. He could feel great strength in her, and also that strength yielding to his pressure, accepting him, pulling him in.
    She closed her eyes with a sigh.
    He sank into her, closing his eyes as the warmth of her sex surrounded him. He began to move, her hips pressing against his, the two of them finding one another’s rhythm, pushing toward a release that was, for him, like going over a cliff.
    Paul drove into her, again and again, unable to stop. Being with her he’d found a need within himself that was almost feral. He’d been with maybe ten women in his life, probably fewer, but never had it been like this. Never had he felt himself so overwhelmed by a woman, so completely enthralled by her power.
    And then he felt his coming orgasm coiling inside him, demanding release. He opened his eyes and saw her staring back at him, nodding hungrily for him, urging him to push deeper. Paul went faster, drove harder. He felt himself growing close, too close, too soon, and slowed down again, backing away from his pleasure so that he could feel her body shudder.
    Then, her muscles tensed. She curled against him. Her gasps turned into little panting breaths, her lips forming a perfect O as her fingernails dug deep into his back.
    That was too much for him. He sped up again, his breaths quickening, growing harsh, and he buried himself as deeply as he could go within her, his whole body stiffening as he exploded.
    Afterwards, Paul held himself above her, like he was doing a push-up, smiling between breaths that felt like a hammer against his ribs. He kissed her, then sagged down beside her, sweaty and spent. She nuzzled against his chest, a fingernail running over his still-heaving chest like the tip of a switchblade.
    He sank into his pillow, laughing and gasping for breath at the same time. The whole world, for a moment, was forgotten. All that mattered was this moment . . . and at the moment, life was pretty damned good.
    Playfully, she bit at his nipple, giggling as he convulsed.
    â€œHey!” he said.
    â€œThat was very nice,” she said.
    He laughed again. He ran a hand through his hair, both surprised and proud of himself that he had worked up such a sweat.
    â€œVery nice, indeed,” he said.
    â€œYou liked being with me?” she said.
    He turned toward her, brows furrowed. Those eyes that had thrilled him so were now looking at him for approbation, and not for the first time that evening he felt everything that made him a man melt into a puddle of goo. She was simply amazing. Absolutely and unequivocally divine.
    â€œGod, yes,” he said, the hammering in his chest finally subsiding. “You were so nice. So very nice.”
    â€œYou made me feel good,” she said, and once again she cuddled against his chest, contented as a napping cat.
    He didn’t speak. This was a moment of victory. It didn’t need any words, just his fingertips lightly dusting over her olive skin.
    She smiled and closed her eyes with a sigh.
    He was still running his fingertips over her hip when “Here Comes the Sun” started playing on his iPhone.
    Monica looked up. “What is that?”
    â€œThat’s the senator,” he said.
    â€œYou have ‘Here Comes the Sun’ as her ring tone?”
    â€œLong story,” he said. Actually, it wasn’t all that long of a story. She’d told him once that she’d been moved to tears watching the Clintons onstage as they’d learned he’d won the presidency, Fleetwood