Angels Fall

was heat in her eyes, which he appreciated. But the shine came into them, warning of a )ag. "You start crying, you're going to piss me off."
    "I'm not going to cry. You asshole." She knuckled a tear away.
    "Now you've done it. I'm turned on again." He pushed her hair off her shoulders. "Did I hurt you?"
    "What?"
    "Was I hurting you?"
    "No. Jesus." She kept one arm over her breasts, covered her face with her other hand. "No. I just… I couldn't get my breath. I felt, I don't know, trapped under you, I guess. just a flare of claustrophobia, performance anxiety and so on and so fucking forth."
    "Oh, if that's all. I can fix it." He took her shoulders again, pulling her down to him as he lay on his back. "You can be on top."
    "Brody— "
    "Just look at me." He cupped a hand on the back of her head, drew her lips to his. "Take it easy," he murmured against her mouth. ''Or take it any way that suits you."
    "I feel clumsy."
    "No, you don't." He let his hands wander, watched the flush come back into her cheeks. "You feel smooth, a little on the slight side. But not clumsy. Kiss me again."
    She laid her lips on his and let go of the panic. His heart beat strong and steady against hers; his lips demanded that hers yield. The taste of him, once again, awakened all those long-denied appetites.
    Still when he lifted her hips, she started to protest, to pull away. But he held her, and his eyes trapped her, until he slid inside her.
    A shudder that was relief, pleasure, lust shook her. Then he began to move, and her body began to hum.
    She cried out as she stumbled over the first peak, a shock to the sys tem, a sudden surge of sheer delight.
    She moaned as she reared back. As she gave herself to it, and to him. And at last, as she took and took.
    She climbed the next peak, dragging herself over as the orgasm seemed to rip right through her. She could feel him racing with her, beat for beat.
    God, thank God, she thought on a sobbing breath.
    When he pushed up to her. arms banding, teeth clamped on her shoulder, it was she who sent them both soaring over the last rise.
     
    SHE LAY REPLETE and dazzled, and grateful. And without a clue what to say or do next. But her body felt loose. Hell, she corrected, it was limp even if her heart was still banging like a drum in a marching band. It she could muster the energy, she'd go back on her word and cry.
    Tears of sheer delight.
    She'd touched and been touched: she'd given and she'd taken. She'd had an orgasm—at long, long last—so hard and bright it had been like a fat fist of diamonds.
    And she knew damn well she wasn't alone on that score.
    "I want to say thanks. Is that stupid?"
    Brody stirred himself enough to stroke a hand down her back. "Most women send me tasteful yet expensive gifts after. But I can settle for thanks, just this once."
    She snorted out a laugh as she pushed herself up to look down at him. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed. The expression of pure male satisfaction on it made her want to leap out of bed and do a victory dance.
    Oh yeah, she'd given as good as she got.
    "I cooked dinner," she reminded him.
    "Right. That counts." He opened his eyes, lazily. "How you doing, Slim?"
    "Truth? I'd stopped believing I would ever feel this way again. Just something else lost, and in the big scheme… Hell, in the big scheme, it's a damn big loss. So really, thanks for sticking it out, and that came out completely wrong." she said when he choked with laughter. "I'll just shut up now."
    "'That'll be the day."
    She toyed with his hair, and wanted nothing more than to nuzzle in and sleep. "I guess I should get dressed and go home."
    "Why?"
    "It's getting late."
    "You have a curfew?"
    "No. but… do you want me to stay?"
    "I figure if you stay the night, you'll feel obliged to cook me breakfast in the morning."
    A little glow spread just under her heart. "I could probably be persuaded to cook your breakfast."
    "I'm very persuasive in the morning." He tugged the spread and sheet down, then rolled her over. "Besides, it's not that late, and I'm not done with you."
    "In that case, I guess I'm staying."
    Later, when he slept, she lay restless and uneasy. She argued with herself, but in the end she surrendered and eased out of the bed.
    She'd just check—once, just once, she told herself, and found his shirt for cover before she tiptoed out of the room. Each creak of the board underfoot had her wincing as she crept down the stairs.
    She checked the front door first. See,