Mirror Image

a fervent kiss on the upper curve of her breast, then reached for the clasp of her strapless brassiere.
    Avery panicked when it fell open.
He would know!
But his eyes were closed. His lips were his sensors, not his eyes. He kissed her breasts, stroking the tips with his tongue, drawing them into his mouth.
    He needed her. She wanted him to need her. She couldn’t give enough.
    She tugged his cuffs over his hands without even unhooking his cuff links. He flapped his arms until he was entirely free of his shirt, then slipped his hands beneath the hem of her dress. They smoothed up her thighs, caught the elastic of her underwear, and worked it down. Then his palm was on her, his fingers inside her, and she was gasping hoarse, whimpering, wanting sounds.
    “You’re my wife,” he said thickly. “You deserve a little better than to be banged against the wall.”
    He released her and stepped away. In seconds he was out of his shoes and socks, leaving his trousers in a heap on the carpet.
    Avery shimmied out of her dress, kicked off her shoes, and quickly moved to the bed. The housekeeper had already turned it down. She brushed the chocolate mints off the pillow and slid between the sheets. The lacy black garter belt came off with a snap. Her stockings had barely cleared her toes when Tate reached for her.
    She went willingly as he pulled her against his warm, hairy nakedness. Their mouths met for another deep, wet kiss. His sex was hard and smooth. It probed the softness of her belly, nestled in the vee of dark curls.
    He cupped her breast, lifted it, ran this thumb lightly back and forth over her nipple, and applied his tongue to it. With no resistance from her, he separated her thighs. The cleft between them was soft and sensitive and creamy. She gasped several short, choppy breaths as his fingers played over her.
    Then he rolled her to her back and guided his rigid erection into the moist, oval opening. Her body received him coyly because he was very large and hard and she was very small and soft. Man and woman. As it should be. His power was reduced to weakness; her vulnerability was made strong.
    She marveled at the absoluteness of his possession. It was invasive but sweet, unencumbered yet yearning. Her back and throat arched in total surrender. He went farther, touched deeper, reached higher than she believed possible.
    Above her, he was straining to withhold his climax, to sustain the pleasure, but that was asking too much of his body, which had been imprisoned by self-imposed abstinence for so long.
    He sank into her only a few times before he climaxed.
    * * *
    The room was so silent she could hear the ticking of his wristwatch where his hand lay beside her head on the pillow. She didn’t dare look at him. Touching him wasn’t even a remote possibility. She lay there and listened as his breathing returned to normal. Except for the rising and falling of his chest, he lay motionless.
    It was over.
    Eventually she rolled to her side, facing away from him. She tucked the pillow beneath her cheek and drew her knees against her chest. She was hurting, but she couldn’t specify how or where or why.
    Several minutes elapsed. When she first felt the stroking movement of his hand on her waist, she thought it was because she had wished it so badly that her imagination had made her feel it.
    His hand settled in the curve of her waist and applied enough pressure to bring her over to her back again. She gazed up into his face, her eyes large and inquisitive and brimming with misgiving.
    “I’ve always been fair,” he whispered.
    He drew his knuckles across her cheek, then over her lips. They’d been scraped by his beard stubble. At his tender touch, Avery swallowed emotionally. Her lips parted, but she couldn’t speak aloud what she felt in her heart.
    Tate lowered his head and kissed her softly. He paused, then kissed her again with the same delicacy. His cheeks were very hot against hers. Acting on instinct and overwhelming need, she reached up and touched the bandage at his hairline. Affectionately, her fingers sifted through his tousled hair. She traced the cleft in his chin with her fingernail.
    God, she loved this man.
    His lips settled against hers with purpose. His tongue slipped between her lips. Gently, erotically, he worked it in and out, making love to her mouth. She made a small, wanton sound. He responded by drawing her closer to him, close enough for his softened penis to nestle in the humid warmth