Dangerous, loving, generous… His gaze turned to her then, his task done, and she saw all those things in his eyes as he put his hand in her hair, pulling loose her braid so her hair spread over her shoulders.

“What about the squaw fantasy?” she asked softly.

“This is part of it,” he said, studying her every feature so she felt worshipped by his regard. His gray eyes moved to lock with hers. “That’s what he’d be thinking about, when he was out hunting, checking traps…”

“Doing whatever mountain men do.”

His eyes sparked with sensual humor. “He’d be thinking about getting home to her. How she’d have a meal ready for him, and then at night, he’d unbraid her hair, brush it for her. He’d spread it out beneath her as he laid her down before the fire.”

So many times she’d thought about cutting her hair, realizing that such long hair wasn’t necessarily fashionable for a woman in her forties, but his expression when he saw it tumble down her shoulders, or fall against his bare chest as it did now, made her glad she’d never given in to that impulse.

“I want you under me,” he rumbled. “I want my cock plowed so deep inside you…” He left that hanging, but that was the only image needed. Her body, already charged with arousal, her panties soaked, wanted that too. It wasn’t a denial of her Mistress side, simply an understanding that she could be anything she wished with him. Like dancing with the perfect partner, who anticipated the flow of her movements with his own. No choreographing necessary, as if they shared the same soul.

She was getting fanciful, like the romantic girl she’d once been. Only this was far more real, far more certain, grounded in the reality she was experiencing with him, not what she imagined the relationship to be.

“I want that too. Whenever you’re ready.”

He rolled them, his arm banded around her waist, putting her under him with that effortless strength that could steal away the most cynical woman’s breath. She wondered what all those who knew her would think of that. Janet Albright, Satan’s Mistress, out of breath, her heart tripping like…a woman in love. For the first time in her life.

She managed to smile at him with her eyes, the weight of her heart too full and momentous. When she put her hand to his face, he turned his mouth to it, holding his lips against her palm. “You might need a little recovery time, sailor,” she whispered.

“I’ll find a way to pass the time,” he promised, with a look that sent heat searing through every part of her that would benefit from that delay.

He started by opening her shirt, one button at a time, nuzzling her breasts over the lace of her bra, showing his appreciation of the delicate, thin fabric with a pleased murmur. He traced the curves, let his tongue dip into one cup to find a nipple, curl around it. The pressure of the bra added to the intense pleasure of the sensation. He released the front clasp, replaced the cups with his hands, and she was mesmerized by how it looked, his large hands cradling her, his thumbs passing slowly over the nipples. She watched the way they gave way beneath the pressure, then became tighter, more rigid under the stimulation. Her breath was making little catch noises in her throat, and he was registering all of it.

Moving down her body, he removed each of her shoes, fingers caressing her arches, then he opened her jeans, slid them off her legs, leaving her panties on, a match for the filmy bra. He could see the outline of her pussy beneath the undergarment. As wet as she was, the silky fabric had to be glued to her labia. Moving back up, he put his hand high on her thigh, thumb passing over that exact spot, so she arched into his touch with a sigh of pleasure.

“I love seeing you wet for me, Mistress.” He cupped himself then, cradling his testicles for a moment before running his curled fingers up his shaft, his cock starting to rouse before her eyes as he masturbated himself, looking down at her, the bra open, panties wet. Her pussy contracted at the stimulus, her thighs quivering in reaction to the convulsion, and he logged it all, the SEAL who wouldn’t miss a single detail.

Now he shifted again, bending so he could place his mouth on the damp area of her panties. She moaned, and his hands slipped beneath her, gripping her ass, kneading the curves as he suckled her, licked the fabric, a dragging friction that made her undulate harder. She was already so worked up, she wanted him inside her now. But she also wanted this gradual unfolding of pleasure to never end, so she said nothing, seeing where his clever mind took them both.

He pulled the crotch of the garment to the side to plunge his tongue inside her, and she cried out, locking her legs on his shoulders, heels pressed into his broad back. He took his time, settling down to play and tease until she was making helpless noises in her throat. Then he ducked out from beneath the hold of her legs. Before she anticipated what he was doing, he’d turned her onto her stomach. He pressed his chest against her back, curling those powerful hands around her wrists, gently tugging her arms until they were out to either side of her. The stiffening evidence of his cock was against her buttocks, his thighs between hers, spreading her open to accommodate him. He kept the majority of his weight off her, letting her feel just enough of it to make her feel sheltered, pinned in the right way.

He kissed the back of her neck, the sides. He spent a great deal of time on her throat, the sensitive flesh beneath her ear, the line of the major artery, pumping fiercely beneath his heated mouth. Then he moved to the bump of spine at the nape, pushing her hair out of the way so he could tease the two slender bones that ran all the way to the base of her skull. He kept his hands on her wrists, thumbs caressing her thundering pulse. Now he was flexing against her ass, a teasing, coital rhythm that had her rising up against him in matching response, feeling him get harder, thicker, more ready.

She had her eyes closed as he moved to her cheek bone, her jaw, and she tilted it up to give him access to the soft skin beneath. “You are everything, Mistress,” he murmured against her flesh. “Beautiful. Fearsome. Perfect…”

There was a word hanging in the air there, something she could feel him wanting to say. However, even in this charged, enchanted moment, he was mindful of her past, caring of her feelings. When two were cuffed, not just one, it made the possession even more powerful

“Please say it, Max.” She trembled, hard, and he laid his cheek against hers.

“Mine,” he murmured. “My Mistress.”

He’d said it spontaneously the first time. This time, she’d requested it.

“Yours,” she agreed, closing her eyes. His hands tightened on her wrists, then he let go of one of her hands so she could turn it to meet his, palm to palm, fingers twisted together.

“And I’m yours too, Mistress. Always.”

He let her go then, but only to slide that muscular arm around her waist, bringing her up to her knees as he tugged her thin panties down to her thighs. He came back down over her, pelvis flush against her ass, cock pressing against her tender flesh as he shifted his hold so his forearm was banded above her breasts. It allowed her to rest her chin on his forearm, press her cheek to his shoulder. He guided himself into her, sliding in slow. She moved her hips, accommodating, adjusting to his thickness and length, and made a tiny feminine noise as he came to a stop deep inside her. His free arm was braced next to her, the anchor point for them both as he began to move.

Usually, she needed some clit stimulation to come in this position, but her whole body had become an erogenous nerve center, ready to detonate. Plus, when he started to move with more demand, his testicles began to hit her clit with each stroke, the stretch of her labia to accommodate his thrusts sending little frissons of sensations to that rich nerve center. She curled her hands around his arm over her chest, wanting, needing to hold on to him as he took them both somewhere she’d never gone before.

The climax was almost unbearably pleasurable, coiling up tighter and tighter, like the moment before a dancer bounded upon the stage in a dramatic grande jete, a leap for the heavens.

“Let me hear you come, Mistress. Make my cock harder.”

The words were like the stage manager in the wings, that dramatic whisper.

Go.

She made that leap, pouring all her energy and desire into it, breaking loose of every restraint, every binding and fear of the past to give him all of herself. To soar.

She cried out his name, mixing it with screams of pleasure as he kept thrusting, taking her over that cliff and sending her flying, a grande jete with no end, so she reached the heavens in truth. She bit his arm, and his fingers tightened on her shoulder, holding her with bruising strength now. He understood—she wanted to feel his lust override his gentleness. Everything was primitive yet euphoric, animal demand meeting a profound, mind-numbing experience.

Toward the end, he came again as well, a tight, intense release that shot her into a series of rippling aftershocks. She reveled in his male groans against her ear, the jerk of his hips as he spilled his seed inside of her. Yes, yes, yes…

When the carousel came to a stop, they were clinging to one another, chests rising and falling in rapid counterpoint. His mouth was against her throat again, hers against his arm. She squeezed him inside of her and won a half-chuckle, half groan. “Jesus, that feels good.” So she did it again, and a few more times after that, enjoying his grunt of response each time, but then she was out of energy.

He shifted them so he was curled behind her, giving her his heat against that Texas post-sundown coolness she was only now beginning to notice. He wrapped both arms around her, holding her close. She didn’t feel a need to talk and apparently neither did he, the two of them listening to the night sounds outside and the slowing rate of their thundering hearts.

She remembered what Gayle said. Many of them eventually go into law enforcement, security, things where they can indulge that craving, the edge they need…

She closed her eyes. Whatever would be, would be. Maybe she couldn’t bear it, but she couldn’t bear being without him either. She’d cope, make sure that side of the scale kept the upper hand. Maybe that was how Gayle did it. Love could be fragile, yet once it passed that “all clear” sign, it became one of the strongest things on earth.