Silent Fall

seemed more than willing to give.
    Dylan tugged at her shirt, pulling it up and over her head. He tossed it on the bed as his mouth immediately sought the curve of her neck. He sucked her skin between his lips, and she gasped at the sharp tingle that spiraled through her. His mouth moved lower, his tongue tracing the edge of her bra as his fingers played with the front hook. He seemed to take an agonizingly long time to undo the clasp. Finally he opened it, pulling aside the lacy cups. His strong, tanned hand palmed her breast, his thumb grazing her nipple.
    She let out a small cry, then wantonly pushed her breast into his hand. His mouth moved lower, his tongue sliding down the valley between her breasts. She felt a line of fire race through her veins. And when his mouth closed over her breast, she pulled his head closer, twisting her fingers in the fine strands of his hair. She sank further into the mattress as he tugged on her nipple with the edge of his teeth. Then his mouth moved lower, laving a sweet trail down to her belly button. He unsnapped her jeans and pulled them off along with her light blue lacy thong.
    She felt suddenly exposed, vulnerable, and a little afraid. But as Dylan’s eyes met hers, she knew this man wouldn’t hurt her. "Trust me," he whispered, and she realized for the first time that he was in her head. He knew what she was thinking, what she wanted, what she needed.
    "I do trust you." She sat up, grabbed the edge of his shirt, and helped him off with it.
    He reached into his pocket and pulled out a condom, then shucked off his jeans. It shocked her that he had protection with him, so easily within reach, as if he’d been expecting this moment.
    Well, why was that so surprising? She’d seen them together in her head. She’d known they’d end up in bed. And he had, too.
    He came back to her, covering her body with his. He put his hand under her head and kissed her with deliberation. She didn’t want to go slow. She wanted it hard, fast, wild.
    Impatient, she pulled him into the cradle of her hips. He touched her intimately with his fingers, driving her crazy with desire. But she wanted all of him.
    Her fingers dug into his hips as he finally thrust into her. He was so big, and she was so tight. He took his time at first, drawing out every movement; then gradually his pace quickened. She urged him on, wanting nothing but the mindless pleasure that was washing over her in huge, caressing waves. The heat that had been building between them since the day they met hit the boiling point.
    Her thoughts blurred, her emotions colliding with his. She’d never felt such an intense connection in mind, body, and spirit. They were one. She knew him, and he knew her, in a way that no one else did.
    The closeness they shared suddenly worried her. Would the darkness in her head flow to him? She stiffened, suddenly holding back, but Dylan wouldn’t let her retreat. He wouldn’t let her put her guard up.
    "Let it go, Catherine," Dylan urged, each thrust taking her higher, deeper. "I want it all."
    He didn’t know what he was asking. He didn’t know the risk he was taking. But it was too late to stop. They came together, her cries mixing with his. She gave him everything she had.
    * * *
    Dylan rolled over onto his back, a blast of cold air from the air-conditioning drawing the beads of sweat on his chest into goose bumps. Catherine curled up on her side next to him, her head coming to rest in the crook of his shoulder. Her lips touched his skin. The heat of her mouth sent another hot shiver down his spine. He’d thought he’d have her and it would be over. The tension between them would cool. The need to know each other would be satisfied. But he didn’t feel satisfaction; he felt restless and on edge.
    For a moment a swirl of black energy had flowed between them. He’d felt Catherine’s fear, the terror she lived with. It had scared the hell out of him. He hadn’t realized the depth of her pain. Even now it overwhelmed him. A sense of powerlessness unlike anything he’d ever experienced assaulted him, as if whatever or whoever she was fighting were too big for both of them. He was assailed by the urge to run -- to get as far away from her as possible. He didn’t need her shit. He had enough of his own.
    He jumped out of bed, giving in to the need to flee. He threw on his clothes, not looking at her until he was dressed, but he