Janelle Denison: Too Wilde to Tame

Her hands slid to his shoulders, and her fingers dug into his muscles as he surged into her, again and again, tearing a moan from the back of her throat. His strokes became faster, longer, ruthlessly demanding, and a whole lot primal. With each thrust he felt himself grow harder, thicker, until lust and need collided into white-hot heat and an all-consuming pleasure that threatened to engulf him.

Lost in the rush of sensation, lost in her , he wrenched his mouth from hers, tossed his head back in pure ecstasy, and arched into her one last time, high and hard and infinitely deep. A guttural growl tore from his chest, and his entire body shuddered as he came, harder and stronger than he could ever remember.

His scorching release seemed to go on and on, wringing him dry and leaving him weak and devastated, until he could do nothing else except collapse on top of Mia. He buried his face against her neck, and as he gradually recovered and his mind cleared, he became intimately aware of the woman beneath him-especially the fact that her body wasn't nearly as slack and relaxed as his own. Although he'd just experienced the most explosive orgasm of his life, Mia had not.

Swearing beneath his breath, he moved off her so he was laying by her side and no longer crushing her with his weight. Normally, he enjoyed foreplay. Loved every aspect of it, actually. Making a woman come was just as exciting and pleasurable to him as his own release. Except tonight, with Mia, he hadn't even given her the opportunity to reach her own orgasm. Hadn't even taken the time to make it good for her . He'd been so hot for her, so eager to finally end the sexual tension that had been building for months between them, that he hadn't been able to think beyond his own satisfaction.

Disgusted with himself, he zipped up his jeans and reluctantly glanced over at Mia, expecting to find her glaring at him for being such an insensitive, selfish cad-which was no less than he deserved. Instead, what he saw made him feel as though someone had just sucker punched him in the stomach.

She was lying next to him on her back, just the way he'd left her, with her head turned slightly away from him, eyes closed. If he didn't know better, he would have thought she was sleeping, but he instinctively knew she was giving herself a few private moments to recover from what had just happened between them. Her face was flushed, her breathing still choppy, and she'd draped one arm over her exposed breasts in a belated show of modesty-which was very telling considering she was half-dressed, with her bra bunched beneath her breasts and her skirt hiked around her hips.

It struck him as a pose of self-preservation, a way to protect herself-without even realizing she was doing so.

Finally, her lashes fluttered open and she slowly glanced his way. Her gaze was guarded and her expression was tentative, even a bit uncertain. She looked so damn vulnerable, and that was a term he never would have equated to this woman beside him. No, the sassy, impudent Mia he was familiar with would have shattered the silence with a smartass remark and brushed off the encounter as just another casual, one-night-stand affair.

But this Mia staring at him… oh, Lord, she had the ability to cripple his emotions and make him care. At the moment he had the strong urge to reach out and touch her, gently this time. To smooth away the silky strands of hair that had fallen across her soft cheek. To lean down and kiss her slowly, leisurely, and make love to her with only her needs in mind this time.

That thought reminded him once again of what a self-absorbed lover he'd been, fueling the need to make amends for being so thoughtless with her.

"Mia… I'm sorry," he said, his tone low and rough, though the words alone seemed inadequate.

She stiffened, her gaze suddenly flaring with rebellion. Abruptly, she sat up and tugged the hem of her skirt down her thighs and readjusted her bra so her breasts were covered again. That quickly, her entire demeanor shifted and changed. Gone was that glimpse of insecurity he'd witnessed, and in its place was a spark of defiance that put a wall between them and shut him out.

"You don't owe me an apology, or anything else for that matter," she said, her tone infused with a thread of sarcasm he immediately recognized as a defense tactic. "I'm a big girl, and what we just did was completely consensual."

She thought he was apologizing because he was feeling guilty about what just happened. Oddly enough, he had no regrets-and that was something he refused to analyze too closely at the moment, although he knew he'd eventually have to face that issue at some point. She'd also made it very clear in her comment that she wasn't the type of woman to develop expectations about them, or him, just because they'd slept together.

Now this was the Mia he'd come to know. He found it ironic that he was beginning to realize that her stubborn, too-confident attitude was an act of some kind-a possible way to protect herself and emotions when a situation became too intimate or personal.

As it just had with them.

Exhaling a deep, frustrating breath, he stood up, went to his dresser, and pulled out a clean T-shirt, which he handed to Mia so she didn't have to put her wet top back on. She slipped the shirt over her head and let it fall to her thighs, dwarfing her petite frame. He was just damn grateful it covered her adequately so he didn't have to look at her bare skin and lush curves, which had the potential to distract him from the conversation they needed to have.

She glanced up at him in silent thanks, and as soon as she met his gaze and he had her attention, he spoke what was on his mind. "I'm not apologizing because we had sex," he said, wanting to be sure she understood his stand on that score.

Her expression turned wary and confused. "Then what are you sorry for?"

There was no sugar-coating what he had to say, so he didn't even try. "I didn't exactly give you the chance to come."

Her brows rose in surprise and then the corner of her kiss-swollen mouth quirked in amusement. "I'll spare you your male pride," she said as she stepped around him to the other side of the bed. "I'm not one of those orgasmic kind of women, so don't let it keep you up tonight worrying and wondering. The fact that I didn't have an orgasm wasn't something you did or didn't do."

Stunned by her admission, he turned to stare at her as she picked up The Electric Blue T-shirt she'd worn earlier. "You mean to tell me you've never had an orgasm?"

"Oh, I've had plenty of orgasms, sugar," she drawled, resorting back to the sassy woman he was all too familiar with. "Just not with a guy or during sex."

That made him think of how she did achieve sexual satisfaction-all on her own. It wasn't difficult to imagine Mia pleasuring herself, with intimate caresses, the slow, sweeping strokes of her fingers and her soft, sweet moans. In fact, that particular fantasy dancing in his mind was downright erotic and made him hard all over again.

He shook his head, still trying to comprehend the fact that all her sexual encounters had lacked one crucial element. "I can't believe you've never climaxed during sex."

Her shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug as she slipped on her skimpy panties, as if she'd come to accept the way things were for her. "It just doesn't happen for me that way, and I'm not into faking an orgasm for the sake of a guy's ego, so don't give it a whole lot of thought."

How could he not? He wanted to be that guy who gave her an amazing sexual experience, complete with an earth-shattering orgasm while he was buried deep, deep inside her. He wanted to be the one who took the time to make it so good for her, she'd never settle for less than the ultimate pleasure her body was capable of feeling-pure, unadulterated ecstasy. And if he was lucky, she'd scream his name when she came.