Suddenly, he bent, lifted her by her hips and wedged her body between his and the door. “Put your legs around my waist.”

She hesitated. Could people really have sex standing up? She’d never tried anything more exotic than woman on top.

“Do it.” His voice was edged with steel.

Without another pause, Morgan lifted both of her legs and folded them around his hips. Moments later, he rewarded her with the feel of his cock probing at her entrance, all thick and ready. Breath held, she clung to his shoulders, on the razor’s edge, waiting.

He eased his tip inside, and even that hard bit of him felt like heaven, like the magic elixir to cure the ache currently roasting her alive.

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice strained. “Tell me what you want.”

Morgan never considered holding back. “Fuck me. Now!”

With that, he pushed her hips down as he thrust up. Tissues unused to such invasion protested at first, unable to accommodate his girth. She cried out.

“Relax,” he ground out. “Open to me, cher.”

Morgan did her best to loosen her muscles—hard when she was dying a slow death by desire. Jack kept pushing his way inside, the blade of his flesh cutting through her like soft butter, probing past nerve endings with the wide head of his cock, awakening them, leaving tingles screaming in his wake. He made her need soar, and it seemed like forever until he was buried to the hilt. Oh, God, she needed to come.

She’d never taken a man this big, this deep. She could feel him in the back of her tonsils. The width of him stretched her until her flesh burned. But it wasn’t enough.

That hint of pain fueled something inside her. Her blood raced, perspiration burst across her skin. The ache made her hyperaware of being alive, of the pleasure roiling beside the sting.

“More!” she demanded. “Please…”

Without warning, he withdrew nearly all the way, then eased back in, much gentler than before. The pain faded, but it had charged up the tissues in her sex as never before. She swore she could feel ever inch, every vein, of his cock rasping across suddenly sensitive flesh inside her.

Jack brought agonizing pleasure with every slow stroke, every rub of the swollen head of his cock right over the flesh inside that had her gasping. Gasping, burning need took over, receding everything but the feel of him, her need for him.

“Cher, tu sens si douce,” he murmured in her ear as he thrust insider her again. “You feel so sweet.”

She tried to hold on, hold out against the pleasure threatening to sweep away her sanity. But with those words and the next hard stroke of his cock, orgasm engulfed her like a raging hurricane—swift, strong, unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

“Jack!” she screamed, nails biting into his shoulders.

Morgan knew then her first instinct was right; she was never going to be the same again.

With Morgan’s scream ringing in his ears, Jack surged into the silken heaven of her pussy one more time and lost control of the orgasm he held onto by a bare thread.

The explosion originated low in his belly, driving pleasure out through his cock. It burst out across his body, suffusing bliss everywhere. A wave of dizziness crashed over him. His toes tingled. The pulses of Morgan’s second climax fluttered around him, milking him of every last drop of semen, leaving heavy satisfaction in her wake.

When had anything ever felt so good?

Struggling to catch his breath, he opened his eyes to her flushed face, her swollen mouth, the relaxed set of her shoulders.

Did she look like this after a night in Brandon’s bed?

The thought slammed Jack out of nowhere. Anger and denial sluiced through him in a shock, as if he’d jumped into an icy stream. He stilled.

Anger? Yes, that Brandon had touched her. That she belonged to the bastard.

Ah, but you fucked her, he reminded himself. Revenge is sweet.

True, but his gut, that gnawing spot that had festered like a wound in acid for three years because of Brandon’s betrayal, wasn’t whooping with elation. Instead, he fixated on the feel of Morgan around him, of her raspberry scent. He’d just come inside her and already he wanted to do it again.

Not smart, Jack.

He’d lured her in to fuck her as payback. First mission objective accomplished. End of story.

Jack forced himself to withdraw and set Morgan on her feet. She looked at him with wide eyes that both asked for reassurance and wondered what was next between them.

He couldn’t answer either.

Stifling a curse, he turned away, tore off the condom and tossed it in a nearby trashcan. Why he should be pissed off all over again, he didn’t know. Because he’d liked Morgan and she didn’t deserve to be used? Maybe because he’d wanted to believe that she wouldn’t betray the man she’d agreed to marry by spreading her legs for another.

Stupid him.

He zipped up his jeans and turned to Morgan again. Her lower lip quivered. Her posture had gone from satiated to guarded in seconds. Something deep in his gut wanted to reach out to her, reassure her. The other part was scared shitless at the magnitude of his reaction to her.

“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” he tossed out, then turned away.

Jack strode to the back of the house, to his private domain. Fishing the keys from his pocket, he unlocked the door.

Go in. Shut it. Don’t look at her.

Impossible.

Jack turned to face her. Across the length of his cottage, he could still see the shock on her face, along with the rosy marks of his whiskers on her bare skin, the swollen nipples so sweet and succulent they made his mouth water, and the fiery hair covering the slick utopia of her pussy.

His gut clenched. Again. Cross the room, lay her out, fuck her again.

Ignoring the voice, he slammed and locked the door, then stalked toward the computer desk in the corner. He plopped down in his chair and booted up his machine. But the thoughts and impulses pounding at him were unlike his mundane actions. His instinct told him he’d just made a big mistake by turning his back on her. If he’d been thinking beyond his desire to fuck her and the shock of his frenzied reaction to her, he’d have realized that if he wanted Morgan to leave Brandon, he had to keep her sated and enthralled. Constantly. Nothing else would ensure that she willingly walked away from his former pal. And if he had any sense, he’d get on his feet, march back in there, carry her to his bed and tie her to it.

But Jack hesitated. Morgan had been like a match on the tinder of his control. He needed a breath to recover, to think. She and her feelings weren’t important; only the fact that he’d achieved the first part of his revenge was. Deciding how to achieve the other half, the part where she left Brandon…that ranked up there.

Instead, dangerous fantasies of him laying her out on his bed and having a leisurely feast assailed him. He’d kill to work his mouth from the lush heat of her lips, down that silken throat, to the sweet treats of her berry nipples, over the sleek plain of her abdomen…all the way down to her wet, clenching little pussy he knew would be like ambrosia.

Damn it, he had to get his mind off his dick and remember that Morgan was the means to an end. She’d cheated on her fiancé—not the kind of woman to get tangled up with. Been there, done that. He had the scars to prove it.

To top it all off, she still had a stalker who wanted her dead. She was scared out of her mind, and he’d promised to protect her and get her some answers. It was the least he could do. Repayment for using her. He needed to focus on keeping her safe, not dwell on the feel of her around him. Not on how challenging she would be to truly tame.

He’d find some way to convince her to leave Brandon that didn’t involve sinking his cock into her body over and over until they were both too sated to move.

A quick glance at his watch told Jack it wasn’t quite seven in the morning, too early to call Deke, his business partner, or anyone else. Deke had a million connections, from senators to janitors. He’d know someone who knew something about her stalker. But until then, all Jack had to focus on was Morgan or revenge.

Okay, revenge. He’d think about that, focus on how sweet it was going to be to pay Brandon back for his perfidy. He didn’t feel elation, at least not yet. Likely he wouldn’t until Morgan left the bastard. But he’d known at the start there was a potential flaw in his plan: If Morgan didn’t tell Brandon about her indiscretion, Jack had no way of ensuring Brandon found out. No way of proving it. And proving it—that was important. Everything, in fact.

Rising from his chair, Jack paced. How could he prove to Brandon that he’d gotten deep inside his woman and made her scream his name? He’d gotten irrevocable proof of Brandon’s backstabbing via video but—

But…he might be able to provide Brandon the same.

Jack smiled. Paybacks were a bitch…

Ignoring the sting of his conscience, he raced back to his chair and fell into his seat, fingers on the keyboard. A few commands later, he found what he’d been looking for: the security footage inside the cabin from just a few minutes ago. Clicking into the file that started at 6 A.M., he watched it in double time until Morgan came out stomping and screaming in that little green towel.

Then he sat back to watch at normal speed and full sound. He didn’t want to miss a second of this.

Hell, she was gorgeous, all that red hair hanging over her shoulders like a fiery flag of temptation. That creamy skin, lightly freckled and teasing his tongue. He got hard again just remembering the way she smelled, like fresh raspberries with a hint of cinnamon. Morgan was the kind of woman—strong, only bendable with effort—that he loved to dive into and eat. He hadn’t found a woman like her in a long time. She was wasted on Brandon.

On his black-and-white video, he kissed her, touched her nipples. Watching her eyes slide shut, her skin flush, her back arch to him in offering aroused him all over again. Being there to experience her had been…beyond mind-blowing, but watching her this way was like having her again and savoring her every reaction.

She whispered something. He said something back, but the audio on the tape didn’t pick it up. It hardly mattered when she dropped the towel. Though his body blocked most of the view of her body, he saw the plump curve of a breast, a flash of soft, pink folds guarded by fire-red hair. But he saw more. The lush line of her hip, the fluid shape of her thighs. The vulnerability on her face. She was taking a risk with him, and she knew it. And the reservation. She wasn’t 100 hundred percent committed to this. But the aching curiosity had finally overwhelmed her concern. She was dying for a dominant…and didn’t want to accept it.

There had to be a reason why. He was way more interested in solving that mystery than he ought to be.

Jack swore again, torn between guilt, curiosity, and the hot flash of desire, as he watched himself lift her up, brace her against the door, and fill her with a series of ramming thrusts. He remembered—so well it had him sweating—how tight she’d been, how she’d struggled to take him. But she never uttered a word, never complained. A wince of pain crossed her face, and Jack bunched his hands into fists. Damn it, why hadn’t she said something? Hurting her had been the last thing on his mind. Next time—

There may not be a next time, he reminded himself. He had what he needed now that he’d found this video. Would the knowledge that she’d felt utter sensual devastation at the hands of a virtual stranger be enough to make her leave Brandon? Too early to tell, but he feared getting her to leave the senator’s son wouldn’t be that simple. He’d have to devise something…

As he watched her accept the entire length of his cock and her face suffuse with pleasure, he hoped like hell that one encounter wasn’t enough, that she ached to submit to him again. And again. Why fight the truth? She called to him. Everything about her, her skin, her smell, her grit. She was an interesting mixture of naiveté and temptation. Shy and holding back one minute, opening wide and begging him to fuck her the next. He liked being a little off balance, and she gave that to him.

The video kept playing, second after second, of their hard ride against the door. He could see the orgasm mounting within Morgan. Her sweet lips parted. She groaned and tightened her legs around him. He watched her gasp and could nearly feel her silken heat all over him, even now. Erasing the memory of her scent, her reactions—Morgan herself—wasn’t going to be easy.

Jack shifted, adjusting himself in his pants. He grimaced. How often was he rock hard and ready to sink balls deep into a woman fifteen minutes after taking her? Rarely. How often had a woman lingered in his mind like this after one mere fucking? Never.

He exhaled. Why was she different? Then his grandfather’s words hit him like a battering ram in the gut. If you’re dreaming about a redheaded woman over and over, you’re about to meet her and she’s your heart’s mate. Impossible. The woman in his mind, his dreams, was just a fantasy. It wasn’t necessarily Morgan.

But she’d felt a whole lot like a fantasy come true.