Hey—” Becca started, but the air was knocked from her lungs upon impact with the mattress.

Sam was kicking off his sneakers, but she, running on pure adrenaline, bounced up off the bed and gave him a little push until he was up against the wall. With an oomph of surprise, he let her have her way. For a beat. But then he took control, turning them so that she was pinned between his hard body and the even harder wall, her br**sts crushed to his chest. He thrust a thigh between hers and rubbed it against her.

And damn if she didn’t moan. This made his eyes heat with both triumph and a hunger that took her breath.

“Hold on,” he said.

“For what?” she asked breathlessly.

“The ride.” And then, still holding her to the wall, he kissed her.

And God. God, he had a way of kissing like she was his entire world. He was right. She needed to hold on for this. So she did, to him, gripping his hard biceps, his broad shoulders, his back, clutching at everything she could reach because she was starved for this, for him.

When they needed air, he easily switched from her mouth to her neck, licking, biting, sucking, moving against her the whole time. Becca could feel the pressure building inside her, and a wild thrill skittering on the surface of her skin as he drove her body right where he wanted it to go.

She was out of control, and he had plenty of control. Hell, he had all of it, but this wasn’t about pressure, or forcing her. She’d been in that position before, and this was different. Like always with Sam, she was fully, definitely, willingly on board, and absolutely willing to take what he was giving.

And in turn give him everything she had.

It was a new sensation, and she wanted to revel in it, the utter feminine power that came with the surrender, but she couldn’t do anything but feel. He was still moving against her, his hands rough and yet arousing, his mouth taking little love bites as he held her still. She probably should think about being mad at the manhandling, but the truth was, it excited her. She wasn’t mad; she wasn’t afraid. She was so damn aroused she could hardly stand it. So when he paused, she clutched at him. “I swear,” she gasped, “if you’re just teasing me again—”

Planting his forearms on the wall on either side of her head, his big hands captured her face for another long, hard, deep kiss as he rocked into her. “Does this feel like a tease?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet,” she panted. “Depends on what comes next.”

“You do. You come next, Becca.”

Oh, God. She could feel the quivers start in her body at just the words. “Not on someone else’s bed.”

“No,” Sam said. “Right here. Like this.” And then he slid down her body, dropping to his knees on the floor below her. He spread her legs to suit him and then shoved her denim skirt up to her waist. “Hold this.”

“Um,” she said, but did as he commanded, and held her skirt up past her pink lace, cheeky-cut panties, hoping to God she looked good. She must have, because he let out a gruffly uttered “Fucking hot, babe,” scraped the lace to the side, and put his greedy mouth on her. With a soft cry, she sank her fingers into his hair and held on for dear life as he drove her right to the edge, held her there until she mewled his name in entreaty, and then shoved her over. The orgasm broke hard and fast, and she shuddered against his mouth.

“Again,” he demanded, and then made it happen.

Still gasping for breath, she opened her eyes as he slowly rose, kissing her hip, her belly, first one breast and then the other on his way to her mouth.

She could feel him pulsing through the thick cotton of his cargo shorts. He needed to get out of the cargoes and work his magic. Of that she was sure. Goal-oriented, she reached for his top button.

He growled deep in his throat as she shoved the cargoes down far enough to spring him free. She wrapped her fingers around him and stroked, eliciting another growl, a wild, primitive sound that vibrated around her body, through her ni**les, and into her core as he throbbed and leapt to her touch. She wanted to taste him, but that would mean moving and there wasn’t time for that. She wanted him inside her, pounding into her, touching the parts of her body and soul that no man had ever managed to reach.

Except him. “Please, Sam. Now.”

Apparently on board with the demand, he rolled a condom down his length. “The condom’s not blue,” she whispered.

He huffed out a laugh. “No.”

“But still extra large.”

He snorted. Then his mouth closed on hers, drinking in her moan as he slid up between her legs. His hands came up to tug her skirt, top, and bra away, the material fluttering to the floor. He pulled her panties down her legs and slid his hand between them, his fingers creating exquisite sensations against her wet flesh as he caressed every inch of her. Then he slid his hands around her thighs to cup her butt, lifting her. “Wrap your legs around me, babe—Yeah, like that—” His breath hissed out in a long inhalation as he filled her with one thrust, stretching her to the limit.

The quivers began in her body and echoed in his, letting her know he was as close to the edge as she. Sheathed to the hilt, he began to rock, using his hips and hands to move her as he chose. She tightened her legs around him and met each of his upward strokes, racing for the pleasure, growing frantic for it.

Fisting a hand into her hair, Sam tugged her face up to his. “Look at me.”

It was a struggle. She felt drugged, high on him, but she met his searing, intense gaze and something happened: They synced, and then she was free falling . . .