Jess would have told him she had no desire to hasten his leavetaking, but he began to thrust. As fluid as his movements were, they were rougher than they’d been previously. Harder. Every downstroke hit the end of her, the thick club of his magnificent penis stroking over nerve endings in a contact that curled her toes. She clawed at his back, pulling him closer.

He brushed his lips across her temple, then rubbed his cheek against hers, sharing the perspiration misting his skin. “This time,” he whispered, “I’m going to fuck you, Jess. The way I’ve needed to fuck you all these years.”

The coarseness of his hoarsely voiced threat was opposed to his tender kiss. Her hunger sharpened. He caught the back of her knee and pulled her leg upward, opening her wider. His next hard lunge wrung a cry from her, the sensation of his endless penetration bringing a fierce pleasure bordering on pain. She bit her lip to stifle further sound.

“Let me hear you.” With his palms on the mattress, he supported his torso easily. His hips were held aloft by his knees, affording him impressive fluidity of movement. With her leg hooked around his biceps and her pelvis canted upward, she had no defense against him. His cock plunged and retreated with blurring speed, his hips lifting and falling, his heavy sac smacking against her in a swift erotic rhythm. “Tell me how much you like it,” he purred. “… how good it feels …”

Soft sobs of pleasure escaped her, spilling from her mindlessly. His large body mantled hers, dominated her, left her with no awareness beyond him. Everything she clung to faded away, leaving her with only base desire and heated yearning, every cell in her body attuned to the man who rode her with marked possessiveness.

“Jess …” He groaned. Sweat dripped from his hair as his hips pistoned against hers. “I will never tire of this. Of you. My God … I don’t think I can stop.”

“Don’t stop.” Jess slung her free leg over his hips and possessed him in kind, flexing into his pounding tempo. “Don’t. Stop.”

Her womb clenched desperately, the rush of orgasm licking across her skin like fire, whiplashes of pleasure cutting through the outer shell she’d lived in her entire life. The violence of his lovemaking rocked her to the core, leaving her defenseless against his relentless siege on her emotions. She felt herself unraveling, her eyes burning with a sudden wash of tears.

Alistair watched her as she fell apart beneath him, his azure eyes feverishly bright in the semidarkness. She shook with the violence of her climax, moaning when he thrust deep and rolled his hips, applying the perfect pressure to her clitoris to keep her coming and coming and coming.

She wrapped her arms around his nape and lifted to him, taking the connection she needed in a lush, fervent kiss. The swollen tissues of her sex rippled along the length of his throbbing penis, luring him to begin thrusting again.

Releasing her leg, he caught her up, his arms sliding beneath her shoulders and embracing her tightly. His lips moved across her cheek, his breath gusting hot and fast across her ear.

“My turn,” he growled, gripping her shoulders and lunging powerfully. “Hold me.”

Jess pressed her face into his sweat-slick chest and held on, absorbing the feel of his body flexing and working against her. The sweet friction of his plunging strokes threatened to push her over the edge again, but she resisted, wanting to experience Alistair’s race to orgasm. He’d spent the afternoon focused on her, restraining the sexual animal she knew was in him. Now, finally, he seemed to be losing his grip on his steely control, the ferocity of his passion betraying a depth of emotion that might rival hers.

She felt the tension grip him, heard his teeth grind as he fought it. “Come in me,” she urged, accepting the pounding of his hips and cock. All her reserve was burned away by the heat of his lust, leaving behind a woman brave enough and wanton enough to say the libidinous words that would incite him to madness. “You feel so good … so good …”

“Damnation,” he hissed, swelling inside her. The first hard, thick spurt made her gasp in delight. He jerked against her, shuddering with every wrenching pulse, his hands fisting in the bedclothes on either side of her head.

He came hard and long, groaning her name, rubbing his face and torso against her as if to mark her with his scent. Jess took it all, cradling him as he shattered like she had mere moments earlier, anchoring him in the midst of the storm.

Alistair’s fingers rubbed restlessly across the wood grain of the table in the great cabin, his gaze on Jessica as she spoke to the captain over supper.

She wore a high-necked gown to hide the evidence of Alistair’s bite, the soft grayish-purple hue of the silk a reminder of her widowhood. As he’d known she would, she looked well fucked, her color high and her lips swollen from his kisses. Her eyes were bright and her voice throaty, while the expressive movements of her hands and arms were marked by a more pronounced sensual grace. He’d never seen her appear so relaxed or look more beautiful, yet his pleasure in that accomplishment was marred by agitation.

He was mad for her, enamored as he’d never been of another woman. Yet she seemed far more composed than he was. His future had altered drastically this day; everything he’d considered inviolate—his bachelorhood, his freedom to come and go as he pleased, his ability to avoid Society whenever and however he wished—was gone. Jessica would now dictate the paths his life would traverse from this point forward, because he couldn’t proceed without her. It was a revelation that shook him. He had long known he was meant to have her; he hadn’t realized until this afternoon that he was meant to keep her.

Alistair heaved out his breath and ran a rough hand through his hair. Jess glanced at him over the rim of her wine-filled glass and frowned. He waved her concern away with an impatient flick of his wrist.

He had gotten more than he’d bargained for with her. Her generosity in bed extended far beyond the gift of her body. She held nothing back. Tears, smiles, provocative whispers … His back bore the marks of her nails, but it was the interior cuts that stung now. She’d allowed him to see every emotion filtering through her as he made love to her, and that knowledge flayed him open. Every time she’d held him tightly at the extremity of his climax, as if to hold him together, she sliced a little deeper.

How in hell could she sit there so serenely after what they’d gone through that afternoon? It seemed almost as if the ramifications of what had transpired escaped her, yet he knew that couldn’t be true. Jessica wasn’t the kind of woman who engaged in indiscriminate sex. The connection for her had to be twofold—one of mind and body. She had to be engaged more than she appeared, but her damned inviolate perfection of deportment shielded her too well. Meanwhile, he was coming apart at the seams and couldn’t hide it.

The walls of the great cabin closed in on him. His breath shortened and he grew overwarm. He slipped a finger between his cravat and his neck, attempting to alleviate the feeling of constriction.

Supper seemed to last an eternity. He refused the customary glass of port and excused himself as soon as he could politely do so. He offered a brief smile to Jessica, then fled. Reaching the main deck, Alistair sucked in a deep breath of crisp sea air and gripped the gunwale, waiting for the restoration of his equilibrium.

“Mr. Caulfield.”

His eyes closed at the sound of Jess’s voice. As vivid images from the afternoon raced through his mind, he realized his mistake. She was there in his head; there was no escape. “Yes, Jessica?”

“Are you—Is everything all right?”

He looked out across the sea and nodded.

She drew abreast of him. Together, they stared at the moon’s elongated reflection on the water. “You were so quiet over supper.”

“I apologize,” he said automatically and absently.

“I would prefer to know what has you so thoroughly occupied.”

“Thoughts of you.”

“Oh?” She canted her body toward him. “Not quite so flattering when you look so grim.”

“Contemplative,” he corrected, although he conceded to himself that he felt grim. Which was extremely out of character. His livelihood—past and present—was often benefited by his ability to keep his face carefully schooled. “We did not finish our conversation about your altercation on the deck this morning.”

Her chin lifted, and she sucked in a deep breath. “I am not refusing to answer,” she began, “but I have to ask: Do you truly want to delve into the unsavory aspects of my past? I confess, I would rather you think of me as a romantic figure than one who is flawed and damaged.”

“Is that all you want of me in return?” he asked tightly, inwardly raging against any distance between them. “To see only the surface and nothing of depth?”

“No.” Her hand came to rest gently on his forearm.

Alistair swiftly caught her by covering her hand with his own.

She met his gaze. “There is a great deal I would like to know about you. Everything, actually.”

“Why?”

A slight frown marred the space between her brows. She was lovely in moonlight, her gilded hair made silver, her skin as luminous as a pearl. There was a new softness to her he’d failed to notice before. He wondered if it had been there throughout supper or if it was making itself apparent only now because they were alone. The anxious part of him seized on the latter possibility, which soured his mood further. Damned if he would be needy.

“Because you fascinate me,” she said softly. “Just when I assume I might know you, you show me another side of yourself that is completely unexpected.”

“Such as … ?”

Her lids lowered. Her thick lashes shadowed her eyes. “Such as when you took the helm. And when you arranged the picnic on the deck. And when you left my cabin that night.”

He nodded.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, then swiftly released it, as if she’d noted her nervous gesture and rejected it. “I don’t understand your mood. Have I displeased you in some way?”

“If I was any more pleased with you, I would lose what little remains of my sanity.” He linked their fingers together.

Jessica inhaled a long, slow, deep breath before speaking. “My pater believed sparing the rod spoiled the child.”

Alistair tensed. “Oh?”

“Suffice it to say I was not spared nor spoiled.” Her grip on his hand tightened. “That is why I’m disturbed by bullies, especially those who grant no immunity to childhood.”

Rage heated his blood. “That’s the consequence you spoke of the other day? You were beaten if you were not well behaved? By Hadley?”

“In retrospect, I was an unruly child, I suppose.”

“That’s cause for patience, not abuse! You know this.”

“What’s done is done,” she dismissed, although her voice was unsteady.

“But not forgotten.” He stepped closer. “You were distraught today. The unpleasantness festers in your mind.”

“In a fashion.” Jessica offered him a sweet, tentative smile that served as another nail in his coffin. “But I realized today that I’m stronger than I gave myself credit for. For all of Hadley’s strenuous efforts, I am still capable of admiring your novel approach to life and the problems presented to you. I’m still capable of enjoying you without reserve.”

A tightening afflicted Alistair’s chest. “You gave yourself to me in rebellion because Hadley would not have approved.”

“No; I took you in celebration, because Hadley’s thoughts on the matter are of no concern to me. Not any longer. I don’t think you collect how profound the realization was, to learn that the control he exerted over me is not absolute after all. I managed to retain some of my individuality, and as an individual, I wanted you.”

“Does this tie into your discovery that taking me as your lover will act as a balm for your grief over Tarley’s passing?” He hated the bitterness that seeped into his tone, but the painful knotting of his gut wouldn’t allow him to be nonchalant. Not about this. He seemed to suit her every purpose except the one most important to him—to be entrusted with her heart. He wished he could be content with being the means through which she overcame her sorrows, but helping her past Tarley and Hadley wasn’t enough. Not when he was so fundamentally altered that the life he’d once known was forever lost to him.

“Alistair …” Jess turned away abruptly, her free hand gripping the gunwale. Her back was ramrod straight, her head held high. There was defiance inherent in her posture; it won his regard and roused his body. “I feel as if you want me to say something—anything—that will lower your esteem for me or give you cause to retreat.”

Retreat? The very notion was absurd. He was addicted to the pure, innocent feeling of connection he’d found in bed with her. He could no more give that up than he could change the order of his birth. Reliance on anything was a circumstance he’d fought against his entire life, and now there was no escaping it. Leastwise, not for him. “What do you think you can reveal that will mitigate my captivation with you? Enlighten me, so I’ll know what I must hide from you to prevent a loss of interest on your part. Of course, if my whoring didn’t accomplish that, perhaps only proper behavior will make me unsuitable. Perhaps it’s because I’m unsavory that I am useful to you.”

“Stop it,” she hissed, shooting him a narrow-eyed glare. “I don’t care for your tone.”

“My apologies. Did I venture too far toward unacceptability for your tastes? Do you want only moderately aberrant behavior from a lover?”

Yanking her hand free of his grip, she turned away. “I’ll see you on the morrow, Alistair, and will pray that after a good night’s rest you’ll be in better spirits.”