Please don’t leave me alone tonight.

Allegra stood there in the center of her living room, forlorn and bedraggled, in his oversize jacket and his car blanket over that, one white hand emerging from the swathes of cloth to keep them around her.

She was deathly pale, the darkening bruise on her forehead standing out in shocking contrast. The glossy red hair he’d so admired was tangled, falling over her shoulders in rough red ringlets. The little makeup she’d been wearing was long gone. The unfocused green eyes had lost any mascara, the full lips were pale.

She was disheveled, frightened, lost.

She was so beautiful it hurt the eyes to look at her.

Kowalski held her even more tightly. He’d spoken the bald truth. There wasn’t a power on earth strong enough to make him go away. All during the trip across town he’d been trying to figure out a way to stay with her and get her eventually back into his arms.

He was good at making strategic and tactical plans before action. He had his all mapped out in his head.

He’d make her some tea, taking his time, maybe even fix her something to eat. Say that he needed to stick around to see if she really was concussed. Say that he’d just bunk down on her couch.

See what happened tomorrow morning. See if he could wrangle a repeat of that amazing kiss and take it further.

It turned out that he didn’t need to do any of that, and the reason was his own fucking stupidity. He’d scared the shit out of her. He’d just dumped her on her feet and left because he wanted to get the harp in and be back with her as quickly as possible.

Asshole blockhead that he was, he’d completely forgotten that she was blind. That she couldn’t possibly know where he’d put her down. What was he thinking? He’d just dumped her and disappeared. When he came back in, he found her exactly where he’d put her. Looking so beautiful, and so lost.

Had he bothered to tell her where she was in her house? Nope. He’d been in too much of a rush. Result? She had no cues at all. What would it have taken to reassure her? Nothing. All he’d had to do was say—you’re next to the couch, to your right is the hassock, in front of you is the coffee table.

Shit, if she got it wrong, she’d have stumbled over the hassock and fallen onto the glass tabletop. Cut herself, maybe badly. His blood ran cold at the thought and his arms tightened even further around her.

Her arms emerged from his jacket and the blanket to embrace him. It was so mind-blowing, the way she responded to him. The way every movement of his was matched by one of hers.

“You’re shaking,” he said, and she nodded against his shirt. Short little tremors ran through her. It wasn’t the cold. Her house was heated and she was covered in layers. “You’re having a stress reaction.”

“Is that what this is?” she murmured.

“Yeah. It’ll pass. Not a whole lot of fun, though, while you’re in it.”

How often he’d seen it—the tremors that came after violent action. She’d been brave—amazingly brave considering her condition—and she hadn’t broken down so far, but the delayed stress was finally getting to her. She was trembling. Tears were probably next.

That was cool. Physiology 101. Stress hormones are released via tear ducts.

His men didn’t cry after the stress of battle—they usually drank themselves into oblivion, got into a fight, or fucked their way back to sanity if a woman was available. If not, it was the good old fist.

Kowalski had tried them all, every way he knew to bleed out stress, except for the tears. Fucking, drinking, fighting, jerking off. Once, after a particularly vicious firefight where he’d lost four men, none of the usual remedies had held even a remote appeal, so he’d donned sweats and ran all night. The base had a three-mile obstacle course and he ran around it over and over and over again for hours, until his legs turned to mush, until his breath seared his lungs, until his crotch burned with sweat. He ran until the sky turned pink with the coming dawn and then he finally ran back to his bunk, slipping between the sheets and staring at the cracked wooden ceiling until the military day started at oh-six-hundred.

Fighting, drinking, fucking…he knew which one he wanted right now, and if he didn’t move, it would be prodding her right in the stomach.

He pulled away from her, and stepped to her side, keeping his arm around her small waist. To the left, a sideboard held a small but very nice collection of Irish whiskies. “Is that some of Ireland’s finest I see there on yer sideboard?” he asked in his best Cork accent.

“The very same.” Allegra gave a watery sniffle. “Would ye be wantin’ a wee drop for yerself, then?”

“Oh, I surely would,” Kowalski said fervently. A whiskey sounded just perfect right about now. Maybe it would numb his brain enough so he could keep his dick down.

She turned her head up to him and gave him a teary smile that weakened his knees. The blood rushed right back down and he nearly sighed.

“Here.” With a hand to her back, he guided her to the couch and sat her down. “You’ll be wanting some whiskey yourself, too.”

“I will?” She looked startled at the idea.

“Oh, yeah. Trust me on this one.”

Allegra settled down on the couch like a queen. Kowalski couldn’t figure it out, how someone so mussed-looking could still look so regal. Tangled hair, makeup gone, tears drying on pale cheeks, his jacket which could have gone twice around her and his old blanket around that. Yet she sat down primly, white slender hands folded in her lap, as if she were dressed in satin and gold with a diamond tiara, looking for all the world like fucking Queen Allegra, preparing to greet her subjects.

He found glasses, poured a finger for her, filled his own glass three-quarters full and sat next to her, frowning. There was something wrong with the picture. He put the glasses on the coffee table.

“Come here,” he murmured, lifting her up and settling her on his lap. Allegra turned into him, shifting until she was comfortable, ending up with her head on his right shoulder, soft hip right next to his hard-on. There. Perfect. “Give me your hand.”

Like before, she held it out to him without question, and he curled her fingers around the crystal glass. “Here you go.” He downed half his glass in one gulp, enjoying the fragrant peaty warmth as it slid down and settled in a warm ball in his stomach. Ah, nothing like Irish whiskey. Scotch whiskey couldn’t hold a candle to it, in his opinion. Allegra sipped hers, too.

Kowalski waited. The drink would warm her up, start breaking down her defenses. She didn’t want to cry in front of him, but the whiskey would shut down the part of her mind that wouldn’t let her do what she needed to do—shed tears.

Allegra emptied the glass and held it out to him with a trembling hand. He took the glass and put it down next to his own and took her hand. It shook inside his. He brought it to his mouth and kissed the back of it, marveling at her smooth satiny skin, at the delicacy of it.

“It’s okay to cry,” he said quietly, and her head turned faintly at the sound of his voice. She hadn’t quite figured out where his face was, but at those few words, her blind gaze honed in on him.

It occurred to him, in a flash of insight that penetrated even his thick skull, that she needed to hear his voice to orient herself. He hadn’t talked to her nearly enough.

He wasn’t a talker, with anyone, but especially not with women. The way he looked, he was never going to convince a woman to have sex with him by sweet talk. The women he bedded didn’t need or want talk. They wanted to be fucked and more often than not they made that clear without too much input from him. He didn’t need to talk them into it.

Beautiful women wouldn’t even give him the time of day. Kowalski had never really tried talking to a beautiful woman, with the exception of Suzanne.

But Allegra needed for him to talk. She needed to be able to anchor herself in the darkness of her world by means of his voice. The tremors were increasing, despite the fact that she was visibly trying to hold them back.

“If you want to cry, it’s probably the best thing for you.” Kowalski shifted his arm slightly so that it created a cradle for her back. “Crying releases a lot of stress hormones. You’ll feel better afterward.”

She nodded jerkily. “I don’t want to cry. Crying won’t help anything.”

Her voice was thick with tears. A little frown line appeared between her auburn eyebrows. Kowalski waited.

She suddenly buried her head in his shoulder. A shudder shook her entire body, and she broke into tears. Finally. It was what he had been waiting for. Allegra’s long, slim arms wound around his neck, she pressed her face harder against his shoulder and sobbed her heart out. At first they were harsh little whimpers as she tried to repress the tears, then one great sob broke out, unleashing the flood. Her narrow rib cage shook with the force of her weeping.

Kowalski understood very well that she was weeping from not only the stress of the evening, but also the stress of the loss of her world. He didn’t know what had happened to her—and now was no time to ask—but she’d lost a lot.

An accident, she’d said. Car accident? Had she slipped and fallen? Whatever, it must have been a bad accident to leave her blind. She must have been on her way to a fabulous career, with that voice, her skill with the harp and her incredible looks. He hadn’t heard of her but then he’d spent most of the past ten years abroad. So this beautiful and incredibly talented woman, who’d already recorded, had already gone on tour, had had her career and her life stopped short by an accident, leaving her blind.

Crying was the least she could do.

He held her quietly through it all, giving her the animal comfort and heat of his body. At last, she stilled, exhausted. Kowalski glanced down. Even after a storm of tears, she was so beautiful. He pushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes. Her shiny hair was so fiery red he was constantly surprised it felt cool to the touch.

Her eyes were closed, thick auburn lashes lying against the white skin of her cheeks. He dried the last of her tears away with his thumb.

“I was so scared,” she whispered finally.

Of course she’d been scared. She’d heard flashbangs, machine gun fire, people screaming. All without being able to see what was going on. It must have been terrifying for her.

“I know, honey,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “I’m really sorry. But it’s over. There isn’t anything to be scared of now. Just put it behind you. You’re safe.”

“I was so scared something had happened to you,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. Kowalski’s jaw dropped in shock. “I couldn’t believe you went out there barehanded. And then I heard gunfire and—and screaming—” her voice wobbled and she stopped until it was back under control. “I thought you’d been shot and killed,” she whispered finally, voice thick with tears. “There were all these shots…and noise…and no one was coming for me. I just knew that you would be coming back for me, but you didn’t. It seemed like forever until I heard your voice. It was so horrible not knowing what was happening. I was imagining you lying in a pool of your own blood.” A shudder ran through her and Kowalski tightened his arms.

Good God. How much time had actually gone by while he’d talked with Midnight and Suzanne and Larry? Maybe fifteen minutes? Not that long to him, but to her it must have seemed an eternity.

She’d been worried about him.

Kowalski couldn’t remember a time someone had worried about him. Worrying about his men under fire was his job. Nobody worried about the Senior Chief. Everyone took it for granted that the Senior could handle himself.

“It was all under control,” he said finally. “Bud gave me an opening and I took it.”

“What happened?”

“There were five bad guys in the room. Bud took care of one of the thieves. John had knives and he threw them at two of the bad guys and they both went down. I grabbed a gun and took care of the other two. And Larry and the SWAT team took care of the outside guards. They never stood a chance—they didn’t even manage to get off a shot.”

She frowned. “What do you mean they didn’t get off a shot? Bud was hit.”

“That happened before he broke into the main hall. So you didn’t have to worry about me.”

“Of course I did.” Her voice was soft, tentative. She loosened her hold on his neck, bringing one arm down. A long-fingered hand cupped his jaw. Thank God his scar was on the other side. It was as ugly to touch as it was to see. “I was praying you would make it.”

Kowalski just looked down at her. Jesus, she was so fucking beautiful. It never occurred to him that he could ever hold such an incredibly beautiful woman in his arms. She was looking at him in admiration, too, which was even more mind-blowing. Well, not looking looking. But still.

A little dimple appeared by the right side of her mouth when she smiled. It appeared now. “You’re very brave. I don’t think I know anyone who would go after armed men while unarmed.” A little line appeared between her eyebrows. “Well, maybe Suzanne’s husband, John. You worked together, right?”

“For going on twenty years, yeah. And we weren’t that brave.”

Allegra gave a very unladylike snort. “Yeah, right.”

“No, there was no question of the outcome.”

It was true. He and John had faced much, much worse in their time in the Teams. And Bud had been a Marine. Much as SEALS made fun of jarheads, there was mutual respect there. Marines did hard, dirty and dangerous work and they did it superbly well. The three of them had faced pros in their time—men who trained day and night to kill, just like they did. In comparison, the thieves they’d taken down were fucking amateurs, out for quick dough, thinking they were tough guys because they were armed. The thieves never stood a chance against him and Midnight and Bud.

What had terrified Midnight had been the guy holding the machine gun muzzle to Suzanne’s head. That was the kind of potential goatfuck Murphy’s Law was invented for. The guy could have squeezed the trigger by mistake, or tripped, or could have decided to celebrate his newfound wealth by blowing Suzanne’s brains out of her head. All it would have taken was a four-pound pressure pull. The same amount of energy it takes to open a beer can, and the heart of Midnight’s world would have been ripped out.

That had been the only real danger, and it wasn’t even to them.

“I thought you were pretty brave yourself, tonight.”

“Me?” Her face went slack with surprise. “Good Lord, I didn’t do anything but cower and quiver. That’s not being brave.”

“I don’t know. There’s bravery and then there’s bravery. Going up on a stage and playing an instrument and singing in front of hundreds of people,” he gave an exaggerated shudder she was bound to feel, pleased to see her smile, “I’d have been scared shit—er, spitless.”

The smile widened. “You can say shit. I’ve heard the word before. Often.”

“Have you?” His voice turned husky. “That’s nice.”

God, when she smiled, it was devastating. He forgot what they were talking about. He shifted her in his arms until she was more fully turned to him and reached out with the finger of his free hand. He had to touch her, touch all that softness.

Gently, barely brushing the skin, he ran his finger over her cheekbone, down, down, outlining her lips.

He had rough hands, full of calluses. He was scared to death he’d scratch that incredibly delicate skin. She stopped smiling as he ran the tip of his index finger around her lips, face intent as she concentrated on the feel of his hand on her. She moved slightly and her hip slid right over his hard-on. He caught his breath as his dick surged.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” That soft voice sounded breathless.

“Sure.” The answer came out strangled. He hoped he could answer it. All the blood was draining from his head and he found it almost impossible to concentrate on anything other than the feel of her soft skin.

She shimmied a little over his hard-on and he bit his lips to keep from groaning.

“Is this,” her hip rolled over him, making him even harder, “is this, um, a permanent condition with you?”

His breath exploded in a laugh. “It seems to be. Around you anyway. Doesn’t seem to make any difference at all what else is going on—gunfire, danger…it just goes up when you’re near. Though to tell the truth, usually it pretty much does what I tell it to. Except with you.”

“I’m…flattered.” The dimple appeared. “I think.”

“Um…”

Shit man, say something!

What wanted to come out of his mouth wasn’t anything he could say to her. Jesus, how could he tell her he couldn’t ever imagine his hard-on going down if she was in the same room? The same house. Hell, the same city. He clamped his lips closed because the words wanted to just come tumbling out.

He really needed to be able to talk to her normally, without sounding strangled and without her realizing there was no blood in his head at all. She had to know that he wasn’t sex-crazed, though that was exactly what he felt like right now.

This was where Kowalski got to practice talking to a beautiful woman. He had tons of things to talk to her about. Her music, for one. He loved music, always had, but he’d never had the opportunity to actually speak with a musician. Certainly not with one as talented as she was. Or they could talk about the accident, how she’d become blind. What she liked to read, that was a good one. There were tons of books in the room, presumably from before the accident. All sorts of conversational gambits were possible.

This was probably his one shot in this lifetime at a conversation with someone like Allegra. Pity he couldn’t think of one word to say. He could barely remember his own name.

He bent his head as the arm holding her lifted her up to him. As he slowly brought her face to his, her smile faded and her eyes fluttered closed. When his mouth touched hers, she was ready. She opened immediately for him and it was like before, under the stage. Like plunging into a warm, perfumed tropical pool. He wanted to stay there forever, tongue tangling with hers. Her left arm tightened around his neck and he deepened the kiss, lingering over her mouth, tongue deep inside her. Her taste was sweet and heady, totally intoxicating.

No bad guys with guns stealing jewels, no gunfire, no outside distractions at all, just the two of them in the quiet of the snowy night, the only sound in the room her sighs and his groans. The wet sounds of their mouths meeting, the rustle of clothes as she shifted in his arms.

He lifted his mouth for a moment to look down at her, amazed all over again that Allegra was in his arms. Watching her felt almost like voyeurism. He looked away from beautiful women, always. And yet, deep down inside, a part of him no one had ever seen, or even suspected existed, loved beauty. No one would credit him with an aesthetic sense since he looked like a knuckle-dragger and he spent his days training hard men to kill. Not much beauty in that. But the truth was, beauty moved him.

He was moved now. She was beautiful but she was more than that. Allegra was more than a pretty face. There was humor and character and intelligence in her. Courage, too, if she hadn’t fallen apart over becoming blind.

He could look at her all he wanted, and his gaze roamed over the fine features, the delicate pearl-white skin, the grace of her. She must have sensed his rapt gaze because she smiled slightly and said, “What?”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Kowalski whispered, then winced. Way to go, he thought. Very classy. “Sorry.”

Luckily, that smile didn’t falter. “I’ve heard that word, too. I’m not made of spun sugar. I won’t melt just because I hear a four-letter word.”

Maybe not, but she looked like she was made of spun sugar. Her skin was so pale and so fine. He watched, fascinated, as a light flush rose up where he touched her. He ran his finger experimentally over her skin, from high cheekbone down to her chin, tapping the shallow little cleft there, then down over the long slim neck, across the delicate collarbones. It was all equally fascinating, pure pleasure wherever he touched her.

Kowalski had no idea whatsoever if what they were doing was going to lead to sex. Just the thought of it made his heart beat faster, but he had to get real here. What would someone like Allegra be doing in bed with him?

If she told him to stop, he would. He would, he would.

He hoped.

He had a hard-on that wouldn’t quit, but it wouldn’t quit even if they had sex. The way he was feeling, he could be in her for three days straight and still be hard.

And anyway, what he was doing now was almost as good as sex.

Almost.

Just the thought of being inside Allegra made his hard-on pulse and he shook, knowing he was weeping come in his pants. She nipped his bottom lip and his hips surged up against her in an uncontrollable movement.

She felt him and flushed.

He watched in fascination. The feelings tumbling through him were so intense it was almost like the slo-mo of battle. So many at once, all mind-blowing. The feel of her, the softest thing he’d ever touched. The colors, from the palest pearl of her shoulders and upper breasts to the faint pink of her cheeks and brighter pink of her lips. He bent to kiss her, biting her lips lightly, lifting his mouth for a better fit, then kissing her deeply again and again.

She wound both arms around his neck, sighing softly. His right hand was clasping her waist. He opened his palm to run his open hand along her narrow rib cage, savoring the soft, delicate feel of her under the light cloth. She wasn’t shying away from him. If anything, her arms tightened around him.

His hand cupped her breast. It was small, perfect, fitting neatly into the palm of his big hand. He could feel her swell under his hand just like his dick was swelling. Suddenly the feel of her breast under the soft gauzy material wasn’t enough. He needed to feel her skin, needed to see what her nipples looked like. He was a real sucker for pale pink nipples, his favorite.

Kowalski reached around behind her and slowly unzipped the dress. The sound wasn’t loud but Allegra must have felt what he was doing, must have felt her gown loosen and the cooler air of the room against the suddenly bare skin of her back. If she wanted to protest, now was the time for it.

But she wasn’t protesting, not at all. She sighed, lifted her mouth away from his long enough to murmur, “Douglas,” and then kissed him again.

She was kissing him. Kowalski was a good strategic thinker and in that electric moment, he realized that they were going to have sex—and soon.

Every muscle tightened as he warred with himself. Part of him wanted to rise up—right now—carry her into the bedroom, throw her on the bed and drop right on top of her. Now that it was completely unzipped, the pretty dress wouldn’t have to be ripped off her, he’d just slide it off with a swipe of his hands. Whatever she was wearing underneath—well, that would have to go right away. Either he’d have to get her underwear off her the easy way or he’d rip it off. Either way, he wasn’t about to wait more than two seconds to get her naked.

And a second after that, he’d be in her, doing her hard. Full tilt, flat-out, pubis-grinding, bed-rocking sex. Holding her legs high and wide as he pumped in her as hard as he could.

That image brought him up in horror. He actually jolted.

“What?” she whispered without opening her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, and bent to kiss her again.

Shit, he’d split her in two if he did that. He was big and as aroused as he’d ever been in his life. His dick felt like a baseball bat. Allegra was so delicately built, he just knew she’d be small and tight. Those two things together weren’t going to work in bed without hurting her, unless he made sure she was ready.

Once in bed he was going to have to be very careful. Kowalski was used to rough sex and probably subconsciously he’d chosen partners who wanted just that, because no one had ever complained. The women he’d been to bed with weren’t looking for anything but a big dick that could stay hard long enough to please them. That was exactly what he had to offer. No more, no less.

This was something else entirely.

Allegra was a lady and needed to be treated like one.

And she was blind. Essentially helpless. That thought jolted him, too.

Kowalski had no illusions about how it was he’d ended up with this beauty in his arms. It wasn’t his charm and it sure as hell wasn’t his looks. Allegra had been through a traumatic experience tonight and was scared to be alone. It was very likely tonight was the only night he’d get with her. He had to do it right. He couldn’t get out of control and forget she was blind.

The last thing he needed was to get too rough and spook her, make her scared.

Kowalski knew how to war-game. It was his specialty. Part of war-gaming is putting yourself in your enemy’s head. In this case Allegra wasn’t the enemy, of course, but for a second put himself in her head anyway. He could well imagine the feeling of being in bed with someone like him who got rough. He was two hundred forty pounds of pure muscle. A man who’d trained in martial arts every day of his adult life. She couldn’t control him in any case, no woman could. But a blind one—

Jesus. She’d be at his mercy. Completely. Not able to defend herself in any way. Not able to grab something to hit him with if she got scared. Unable to phone anyone.

He consciously gentled his hold on her, determined that she wouldn’t have a second’s hesitation about him, a moment’s unease. Tonight had to be pure pleasure.

He lingered over her mouth for a long time, hand gently outlining her breast over the gauzy material. She shifted again and the dress gaped open.

Kowalski put his hand under the bodice of the dress, on the upper slope of her breast, and left it there, heavy and warm, while leaving her mouth to press soft kisses along her jaw. The corners of her mouth tilted upwards. He slid his hand lower, delighting in the feel of her silky skin on the palm of his hand and the silky material on the back of his hand.

Jesus, absolutely everything about this was pure delight. The feel of her, the sounds she was making, the smell of her.

He let his hand rest on her breast, the small, hard nipple stabbing into the cupped palm of his hand. Oh, yeah.

He rubbed her nipple and she purred. That was the only word for it. Fuck, she shouldn’t do that. He was trying to take this slow but he was close to exploding. His balls were tight, close up to his groin.

His mouth drifted down, down, over all that smooth skin, holding her breast up for him. He opened his eyes long enough to look down for a moment, delighting in the sight. There she was and—yup—her nipple was pale, pale pink, his favorite.

She tasted pale pink, too, like some strawberry and vanilla ice cream cone. He suckled, trying to be gentle. When he lifted his head, she had turned a deep shade of pink, nipple and areola gleaming from his mouth. A lock of dark red hair had fallen over her shoulder and he shifted it away, kissing the skin beneath.

“Do we want to take this to the bedroom?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Allegra smiled. She cupped his head with both hands, thank God missing his scar again. She nuzzled his neck, feeling her way up to his ear. “Oh yes, Douglas. I want that very much,” she whispered in his ear, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Then she turned her head and kissed his ear and—bam!—he surged into orgasm.

Almost.

Damn! That was close! He was able to pull himself back at the last second, by tightening every muscle he had, but he hung there for long seconds, shaking.

He rose up off the couch with her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

Allegra felt set free from hated shackles when Douglas lifted her into his arms.

Every second of every day since she’d become blind required grinding effort, a second by second planning of every move she made, lest she fall down or bump into something or somehow hurt herself. She was exhausted by the time she made it to bed at night, only to stay awake for hours, tense and depressed, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

When she did fall asleep, she had nightmares.

This was like having her life given back to her.

She was in Douglas’ strong arms, content to let him take her where both of them wanted to end up—in her bedroom.

She’d been as aroused as she had ever been on that couch, kissing him, feeling his huge, strong hand on her breast, as gentle as a feather. It was such a contrast—the deep power she felt in him, the oversized muscles, the big, long limbs and this gentleness, even tenderness, when he touched her.

Allegra relaxed completely in Douglas’ arms. She didn’t have to think, she didn’t have to plan, she didn’t have to worry—she could just be. Nothing bad was going to happen to her, not while she was being held by him. Not while he was with her. She trusted him completely in that.

He was putting her down, so they must be in her bedroom. Allegra stood, hanging on to his arms.

“I’m not going to turn on the light,” he said in that deep, gravelly voice that seemed to penetrate to her very bones.

“Thanks,” she whispered. Allegra melted. Having the lights on would put her at a disadvantage, so he was depriving himself of light. It was such a thoughtful gesture tears sprang to her eyes.

“Hey,” he rumbled. A large thumb wiped the skin under her eyes. “You want the lights after all? Is that what this is about?”

Allegra gave a watery half-laugh. “No, I don’t want the lights on, silly. What I really want is for you to kiss me.”

“Oh, yeah.” His whisper was hot in the night. She reached up and met his mouth halfway. Oh, God, his mouth. He was a superb kisser, so skilled she felt the heat way down in her stomach and even lower. Each time his tongue touched hers, she could feel her stomach muscles tightening, her vagina clenching. She shuddered and clung to him even more closely.

This was so incredibly delicious, much more of a turn-on than even making love with another man had ever been. Such heat and power. She melted and would have fallen had he not been holding her up.

Allegra lost herself in Douglas’ mouth, twisting to feel more of him, her arms reaching way up high to encircle his neck.

The heat coming off him was so great it took her a moment to realize that he had slipped her dress off her shoulders. It pooled around her hips, unable to fall to the floor because he was holding her so tightly against him. She pulled away for a second, just enough so that her dress could fall to the floor, then she leaned up against him as he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her. One long seamless kiss that lasted forever.

Her bare breasts were crushed against his dress shirt, but beneath the cloth she could feel the hard planes of his chest. God, such power. She wanted to feel his skin against hers and scrabbled to get him naked as quickly as possible. She unbuttoned his shirt and had to reach high and wide to try to slip it off his shoulders. The material stuck and she groaned impatiently.

There was a low rumbling sound, charming in its intensity. Douglas laughing.

“Hang on, honey. Let me do it.” His voice was gravelly, heat in the tones. He set her away from him for a moment and she felt cold and abandoned. Whispers of cloth, the rustle of clothes falling to the ground and then he was back, completely naked, kissing her, and—oh yes! It was bare flesh to bare flesh and he felt just as delicious, just as powerful, as she had imagined.

Her arms stretched to hold him. The palms of her hands smoothed over the broad, deep shoulders, lifted to wind around his neck. She was on tiptoe, pressed against him. His erect penis was hot and hard against her stomach, like warm steel. All of him was like warm, hairy steel. He lifted his head a moment, holding her tightly against him. They stood there, her heart racing so quickly and so hard she thought it would pound its way out of her chest.

Her heart had pounded like this earlier, under the podium, from fear. Her heart was getting a real aerobic workout tonight, terror and sex instead of a five-mile run. Well, she’d take the sex any day, if it was going to be like this. She was so excited she could barely stand and they weren’t even in bed together.

The feel of him was so luscious. Unlinking her hands from behind Douglas’ neck, Allegra brought her hands down over his chest, lingering over the flat male nipples, so unlike her own. They were tiny and hard, like a bead. As she moved her thumb over his nipple, wondering what color it was, she could feel his penis moving between them, swelling and rippling.

How delicious! She did this to him! Humming in delight, Allegra kept her finger on his right nipple so she could find it with her mouth and bent to kiss him there, a light licking, sucking kiss. From high above her head she heard a groan, his lungs bellowed and a light sheen of sweat covered his chest.

Oh, she wasn’t poor, blind, helpless Allegra any more. No, no, she was big, powerful Allegra, reducing this enormous man to mush. She bit him lightly around the nipple and he cried out. She nearly laughed with delight. Biting him lightly on the hard chest muscles, she dropped a hand to his groin. His penis was huge, rock-hard, big veins standing out so far she could feel them. She ran her hand up its length, her fingers barely meeting around him, her thumb caressing the large bulbous head. He was weeping semen, a sign of uncontrollable male excitement, she knew.

Well, she was unmistakably excited, too, wet and hot, in a more private part of her body.

Douglas’ hands were tight around her, one big hand cupping the back of her head, the other around her waist. He broke the silence of the night, walking her slowly backwards toward the bed. “Don’t worry about anything, honey. I have protection.”

Just moving with him was such a turn-on. Allegra was entranced at the feel of his muscles against hers as he moved. It took her dazzled brain a second to process his words. Protection? What—? Oh.

It was daring and probably risky, but the feel of him was so wonderful she didn’t want to relinquish one inch of his body against hers. In hers. Just the thought of all that power, moving inside her…

She shivered in anticipation. One last brush of her body against his and she had decided. This man wasn’t sick, in any way.

“You, um, you won’t need condoms.”

He stilled. He’d been kissing her neck but now he lifted his head. Her neck felt cold, and bereft.

“What?”

“I said, um, you won’t need condoms. I was in the hospital…a long time, and they had to put me on the Pill.”

A slow exhaling of breath. “I can come in you? Without a rubber?” His voice sounded hoarse, raw.

Well, that wasn’t quite the way she’d put it, but… “Yes.”

In a second, she was lifted, stripped of panties and stockings and laid gently on the bed by trembling hands and then he was on her, hard and heavy, kissing her deeply. These kisses were ferocious, taking, as if she had some secret elixir he desperately needed and could only get through her. He was holding her head tightly, tilting her head this way and that so he could kiss her from every possible angle.

Wonderful as his kisses were, Allegra was distracted by the feel of his naked body on hers. He’d been on top of her before, under the dais at the Foundation, but that had been different. They’d had layers and layers of clothing, and each second felt stolen. Now she felt as if she’d slipped into some different dimension, where time was like honey, golden and slow.

The feel of the man was so delicious she wanted to press tightly against him. Every time he moved, every time he breathed, he rubbed against her, his heavy, hard weight increasing the sensuality by a factor of ten. Sex had never been so…sensual before, where every sense besides sight woke up and smelled the roses.

One hand left her head and ran slowly down her side. He moved just enough so he could touch her breast and it was as exciting as before. More, because she knew they were going to have sex soon and each touch prepared her body for him.

It was so amazing. Her body had completely taken over. It was doing things without her having to direct it. She realized now that with previous lovers she’d had to turn herself on, in a way. She’d had to direct sexy feelings to her breasts and vagina all by herself because she hadn’t been that turned on by the man. But not now. Oh God, not now. Now her body just melted wherever it touched Douglas’ without her having anything to do with it.

His mouth left hers and traveled down her neck and to her breast. She shuddered as she felt his mouth open over her.

His light touch on her breast, his mouth on her nipple, excited her almost beyond bearing. She could feel how hard her nipples were, how his mouth seemed to touch her breast and between her thighs at the same time. Each tug of his mouth was met with a contraction deep inside her.

She could feel how wet she was, how soft she felt. She could feel how wet he was, too, lightly sweating, the tip of his penis wet with semen.

For her.

Douglas was being so very careful, touching her as if she were made of blown glass, capable of shattering at the lightest touch. She wasn’t delicate and she was as turned on as she’d ever been in her life. He needed nudging along.

His hand was moving slowly, ever so slowly, toward her groin. At this rate it would take him all night. Allegra twisted against him, running her hands over that wide back.

“I’m ready, Douglas. Right now.” The whispered words sounded loud, they seemed to echo in her head.

The big body stilled except for his chest, moving like bellows. She could hear his heavy breaths in the quiet of the night.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

She could feel that. The way he touched her was as clear as words, the way he was obviously holding himself back, the way he never, ever used his strength against her…no, he didn’t want to hurt her.

By way of an answer, she opened her legs under his, lifting them along his thighs. She was completely open to him, moist and swollen and ready. He had to feel that.

Oh, yes, he did. Douglas groaned, shifted slightly until he was at her entrance. He was absolutely enormous. She’d known that—she’d felt it—but somehow it was more real, now that he was preparing to enter her. He wasn’t using his hand. Both his hands were now cupped around her head, his tongue stroking deep in her mouth, echoing what he wanted to do further down.

Several of the men she’d been to bed with had to use their hands to help themselves penetrate her because—she realized now—they hadn’t been fully erect. That wasn’t the case here. Douglas could just as easily have been made of warm steel. His penis was utterly rigid and perfectly capable of entering her on its own, without anyone’s help.

She felt his back muscles move as he started pressing forward into her. Slowly. It didn’t hurt because he was so careful, but it could have. He was entering her by degrees, the slow friction creating incredible heat, while kissing her deeply, and it was already the best sex she’d ever had. It was as if she were being penetrated for the first time, he touched so many parts of her that had never been touched before. When he finally stopped, he was so deeply inside her, she felt stretched.

Allegra ran a hand over his back again, feeling the ripple of deep muscle, until she came to the hard flesh of his butt. As she touched him there, he groaned again and circled his hips, grinding in her. His short, wiry pubic hairs felt stiff against her super-sensitized flesh.

The large base of his penis ground against the swollen lips of her sex and she felt pierced, completely taken. Her thighs quivered with the effort of keeping them open and with the orgasm she could feel coming.

Douglas’ hands left her head and moved down to cup her hips, holding her tightly, moving even more completely into her and she held her breath, the slow free fall of climax moving closer. He wasn’t moving but the weight of him, the fierceness of his grip, the depth of his penetration—it was almost too much. So when his lips left hers and he kissed his way along her jawline down to her neck, and nipped her there, right there, where stallions nipped their mares, it was like lighting a match to a fuse. With a wild cry, Allegra simply exploded, contracting sharply around him as he ground even more deeply into her.

Douglas moved his mouth to her ear. “Now it begins,” he whispered darkly.

Kowalski thought he knew a lot about sex. He had to. Ugly men had to know more if they wanted to get laid on a regular basis. He needed a lot of sex so he’d learned how to do it right. The good old fist worked when necessary, but women were better and he’d learned how to please them.

So he knew how to control his strokes, he knew how to read the signals a woman’s body gave about how she wanted her sex—slow and deep, hard and fast, a mix. He knew he did it right because they usually asked for seconds and thirds.

Pleasuring a woman meant using your head and not just your dick. Kowalski was used to keeping some consciousness alive in the back of his head during sex, observing whoever he was with and adjusting his moves to suit her desires. There was always a little bit of him holding back, watching. He never lost it.

He knew how to keep his cool under fire, and in bed.

So nothing in his personal experience prepared him for the hot, raw pleasure of parting Allegra’s soft tissues with his dick, pleasure he felt from his hair to his toes. Fierce, hot pleasure that had him shaking, a second from coming. Pleasure that wiped almost every single rational thought from his head and reduced him to an animal operating on raw instinct.

He’d never had bareback sex and when she’d told him he could, he’d been tempted to throw her on the bed and get inside her as fast as he could. Both because it would be the first time ever for him and because it was Allegra, the most beautiful and desirable woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

He hadn’t though. He’d held on to his self-control by his fingernails, even withstanding the initial jolt of entering her. It had been like sticking his dick in an electrical outlet, the shock was that great.

Some last vestige of thought, somewhere way back in his head, told him to go slowly because every instinct he had was screaming for him to slam into her and start doing her hard—wall-banging, violent sex.

He couldn’t do that with Allegra. The instant he entered her, even just the head, he realized he’d hurt her if he let himself go. She was aroused, she was wet—that wasn’t a problem—but she was small and maybe a little unused. So he pressed forward slowly, sweat breaking out all over his body. He couldn’t plow her, but he could ravage her mouth instead, and did. He wished he had a hundred tongues, a thousand dicks, all inside Allegra.

Inside Allegra was the most fabulous place in the universe to be. Warm, welcoming, the source of mind-blowing pleasure.

He bit her lips, then licked his tongue back into her mouth, angling her head for the best, closest fit. She tasted heavenly. He just bet her sex tasted heavenly, too, but that was for later, when the excitement died down a little, when he’d had her a few…hundred times. Oh God, just the thought…

His tongue in her mouth was as exciting as his dick in her sex and it was there, in her mouth, that he felt her climax first.

He was finally in her all the way, but he didn’t dare move. He hardly dared breathe. He pressed forward, just a little, and felt her mouth soften, a little moan which he felt in his own mouth and she climaxed, just like that.

And, just like that, he did too.

It was unheard of. Kowalski could go for hours, but at the first contraction of her little vagina against the bare flesh of his dick he exploded. He ate at her mouth, holding her head with his hands because if he held her hips he’d hurt her. So they kissed and came and shook and moaned, both of them, for an eternity. At least that’s what it felt like. Kowalski lost all sense of time while he was coming inside Allegra, the first time he’d ever come inside a woman and not a rubber.

It blew the top of his head off. He clung to her mouth, gasping and moaning, holding himself rigidly inside her while every drop of liquid in his body came spurting out of him. What little liquid didn’t come shooting out of his dick came out his pores. At the end, he was wet all over, from her mouth, from his sweat, from his come—dripping with it.

It was the most intense climax of his life. He’d actually seen stars behind his eyelids, and he wasn’t even close to being done with her, still hard as a rock and still so aroused he could hardly breathe.

“How are you doing?” he whispered against her lips. He felt her smile against his mouth, lifted his head and, with an effort, opened his heavy lids.

He’d let her choose whether to have the lights on or off to give her a semblance of control, but he had excellent night vision and saw just fine by the light of the streetlamps outside her window. She was still coming, he could feel the contractions. In his experience, women got tense when they came, muscles rigid, faces strained, looking almost as if they were in pain. But not Allegra. Allegra’s face was soft, dreamy, tender. Her mouth was swollen and wet from his. She was smiling, sightless eyes half-closed.

Her open palm was against his face, delicate fingers caressing him.

The contractions were dying down and her thighs fell open from where they’d been clinging to his hips.

“How am I doing?” she sighed. “Wow. That’s how I’m doing.” She lifted her head and kissed him, awkwardly, off center, hitting the side of his mouth. “Thank you,” she said softly.

His chest felt tight, his muscles tense. The kiss had been tender, touching. He wasn’t used to tenderness during sex. It staggered him, made him uneasy. He wasn’t recognizing anything that was happening as sex-as-usual. It was all new and a little scary. “Don’t thank me yet,” he growled. “It’s not over.”

“Oh? Oh!” she cried out, startled, when he reversed their positions suddenly, rolling over with her in his arms until she was lying on top of him. A soft, fragrant curtain of red hair surrounded his head, fell over her shoulders onto his, like a warm, living blanket. He needed to start moving and if he was on top, he’d get rough.

That was the theory, anyway—putting her on top to give her a little control over what he was doing. In practice, he held her still, tightly against him, breasts to chest, mouth to mouth, hands on her hips holding her still for the thrusting he couldn’t help now. It turned hard and fast because he was losing control. Putting her on top at least made sure he didn’t have his heavy weight behind the thrusts.

She was warm and slick with her own juices and his come. His dick was probably making noises in her but he couldn’t hear it above his grunts, the creaking of the bed and the thundering of his heart in his ears.

His big hands cupped her ass, pressing down and he settled into a driving rhythm, the hard, fast thrusts that usually came just before climaxing. He had no sense of time or even timing, he just moved straight into another orgasm with totally unstoppable and uncontrollable force, jetting into her and crying out at the same time.

Kowalski usually wore a watch but he didn’t need to. He had an accurate clock in his head and could tell you the time to a minute, night or day, without checking his watch. The clock in his head always ran in the background and he could tell you how long anything had taken. Except now. Now he had no idea how long he spent in her, whether it was five minutes or five hours. He just lost himself inside her until he exploded.

Kowalski clung to her, shaking, as he came. He was unable to stop, short hard jabs up into her, his dick on fire, coming so hard he almost blacked out. By the time the last drop of come had been wrung out of him, he was able to think, just a little.

She’d come again, too, thank God. When he stopped moving, he could feel her contractions, a gift of the universe because he hadn’t done anything to merit that orgasm. He was behaving like an animal. He was lucky she wasn’t sitting up in disgust, ordering him out of her bed, which is what he deserved.

She moaned and he stopped, panting, lifting her up a little so he could see her face. Her eyes were closed and she tried to smile.

“Douglas,” she murmured. She was sweating too, not like a pig, as he was, but that was definitely the dew of sweat on her upper lip and forehead. She looked exhausted and wasn’t responding to the exploratory little thrusts he was making with his dick. He wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot, but she was.

Kowalski kissed her neck and her mouth, lightly—her mouth was a little honey trap—and lifted her off him as he pulled out of her. Her muscles were lax, pliant, unresisting.

Kowalski ran a hand down her side, marveling at how beautiful she was in this dim light, like a princess in a fairy tale. A very tired princess. He kissed her cheek, said, “Sleep,” and watched as she drifted off instantly.

He watched her for a long while as the sweat cooled on his skin. He’d sweated horribly, the sheets were wet with it and with his semen. He’d pumped what felt like several quarts of come into her and he wondered if he’d dehydrated himself.

Allegra was lying on her side, lower leg out, her thighs wet, pearly drops of semen like little jewels in her pubic hair.

She looked so lovely lying there, long hair in silky ringlets over her shoulders and breasts, one strand lying across her mouth. The strand moved gently with her soft breaths. Kowalski shifted it with a finger, trying not to touch her skin. If he touched her, even gently, he’d want more, now that he had the feel of her in his hands. The temptation to bend down and take her mouth again was so great he nearly shook.

Kowalski wasn’t used to holding back in bed. Once a woman was there, he took it as a given that he could have as much of her as he wanted and he hadn’t been wrong yet. But Allegra was tired and stressed from the violence and the sex. However much he wanted her—more than he’d ever desired another woman—he wanted her to rest, too.

He looked down at himself, chest and pubic hair dark with dampness, his hard-on practically bursting out of its skin. It showed no sign whatsoever of going down. He hadn’t even begun to get her out of his system. Well, there was only one remedy for a hard-on he couldn’t use on a woman. With a sigh he headed for the shower, where he could take care of two problems at the same time.

Once in the shower, though, he had a shock, the latest in a whole goddamned series of them tonight. He lathered up with soap that smelled of Allegra while his hand reached reflexively for his dick. His fist had barely closed around his penis when he yanked it back, as if it were radioactive.

Kowalski had rough hands, the hands of someone who worked with them a lot outdoors. He made sure his nails were clean and cut short but that was it. The skin of his palms was calloused and he’d never thought twice about it until he clutched his dick and it practically howled its protest.

His dick did not want his rough hand around it. It wanted Allegra around it. It wanted her soft tissues, clasping warmly around him, it didn’t want his fist.

And the damned thing was, it only wanted her, Allegra. Another woman wouldn’t do.

Kowalski looked down at himself in bemusement, hot water sluicing over his body, running down in rivulets and circling around the drain. He stood there for a long time under the jets, feeling as if his life was circling that drain together with the shower water. He looked down at his red, inflamed dick that simply wouldn’t go down. His tried-and-true remedy—jerking off—wasn’t working. The only remedy in the world was Allegra, and that was scary as hell.

Gritting his teeth, Kowalski turned the water off, dried himself and padded back into the bedroom.

There she was, stretched out on the bed, slender and luscious and pale. Fairy princess and angel and magical musician, all rolled into one. She’d moved, to clasp her arms around herself. Maybe she was cold. The thought of Allegra even vaguely uncomfortable was unsettling.

He climbed into bed, rolled her into his arms and pulled the blanket up, tucking it around her shoulders. She sighed deeply and settled against him, a knee high up against his groin.

Jesus. Right against his inflamed dick.

He gently edged her knee back down and stared at the ceiling, left hand full of wondrous woman, right hand longing to drop down to his groin and do something, anything, to get rid of his hard-on. There wasn’t anything he could do.

Finally, he cradled his head with his right hand and started counting sheep.

He stared at the ceiling, listening to Allegra breathe, until the sky turned pearl-gray.