THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

again.
    He loved this time, the interval between the deep, restoring sleep that claimed him each morning and the full wakefulness that came with sundown. He loved it, and he loathed it, too. For in that short space of time, he slept almost like he used to sleep. Like other men slept. That’s when the dreams came. Yes, and the nightmares, too, sometimes. And as often as not, the dreams tortured him worse than the nightmares ever could.
    This was one of those dreams, the kind he would pay for with a deep, persistent ache that would be with him for days. But God help him, he didn’t care. He just wanted to hang onto it as long as he could.
    This time, he lay on his back, with Ainsley’s body curved sweetly against him, one silky-smooth leg twined with his. And her skin! The parts that touched him blazed like a furnace against his own skin, and her scent, a potent mix of sandalwood and sleepy woman, filled his nostrils. Beneath the soft sound of her breathing, he heard the strong, steady lub-dub of her heart and the fainter but even more thrilling surge and whisper of her blood.
    His member, already engorged, grew harder still. He lifted a hand to palm her unbound breast through the thin t-shirt she wore, and felt the tip harden.
    “Delano?”
    “Ainsley.”
    Effortlessly, he rolled her beneath him.
    Oh, Lord! She felt so solid, so real, so warm. And soft in all the right places.
    “Del! Wait! You can’t … I mean, we can’t—”
    “Oh, but we can.” Here in this twilight place, they most definitely could. They could do anything.
    He grasped the hands pressing against his chest, pushed them over her head and pinned them to the mattress. Then he took her mouth the way he’d been dying to do since he’d ravished her in the lab. But unlike that night in his lab, she just lay there, accepting the thrust and swirl of his tongue.
    He adjusted his grip on her wrists so he could keep her arms pinned with one hand. The other hand he slipped under her t-shirt, gliding over the hot silk of her skin as he pushed the material upward until his hands closed on one bare, plump breast. “Kiss me back. Please, Ainsley.”
    With a groan, she caught fire beneath him, arching up into his aching hardness. And her kiss! At last, she fed at his mouth as avidly as he could wish.
    His hand tightened involuntarily on her breast, drawing a high moan from between her lips. He swallowed the sound, letting it thrill him to his very marrow.
    More. He wanted more of those sounds. He wanted to make her sob with wanting.
    Slowly, he drew his palm away from full contact with her breast, letting his fingers skate closer and closer to her areola, until they closed gently on the hardened nub of her nipple.
    She whimpered, and again he swallowed the small noise.
    More.
    Down her side, over her hip, along a slender thigh until he found the hem of the shorts she wore. Then around to squeeze her bare, oh-so-luscious ass. Sweet merciful heaven, could anything feel better?
    “My hands!” She panted against his mouth. “Let them go. I want … I need… Oh, please, Del, let me touch you.”
    Her words sent a bolt of excitement straight to his groin, causing him to surge against her. He released his grip on her wrists.
    Her hands went to his head, shaping it, pushing his hair back. He levered himself up slightly so he could look at her breasts. Beautiful. Ripe, full, strawberry-tipped. Groaning, he bent to apply his mouth to one pink crest. Closing his lips around it, he lashed it with tongue, then suckled it.
    She made a high keening sound. He would have shifted to her other breast, but she held him fast, demanding more. He obliged, licking, sucking, biting gently. Beneath him, she surged upward with unmistakable purpose. Oh, God, she was so hot, so responsive.
    The blood lust rose, turning his vision dark and threatening to unsheathe his canines, but he reined it in, sending it the same message as he’d sent his throbbing cock.
    Not yet. Not yet.
    Sliding onto his side, he drew her with him. Her hands roamed his chest now, fingers flexing over muscle, raking through hair, palms spreading, exploring. Nails biting into flesh, thumbs scraping over a sensitive nipple, then soothing. Sweet Jesus, it felt good to be touched.
    And to touch.
    Remembering why he’d rolled them, he slid a hand down her rump, then around between her thighs to cup the moist heat gathered there.
    She lifted her knee to give him better access. “Del!”
    “Yes?”
    “Touch