Ravenously.

Greedily.

As if he were a man starved and she all his succor.

Heat hit her in a crashing wave, passion and hunger and want and need all churning in that burning kiss. An instant conflagration erupted between them. She felt like she was melting, muscles taut yet turning passive, fluid and giving, emptiness-a hollow ache-burgeoning at her core, yearning to be filled.

Primal. Urgent. Demanding.

He was all that-and he made her feel the same.

Her hands skimmed his shoulders. Even as she battled to regain her mental feet, she registered the warmth spreading beneath his still cool skin.

If nothing else, the exchange was heating him up.

If he’d been awake, her turning would have made him pause long enough for her to douse his flame. Instead, his unconscious, his dream-mind, had read that sinuous slide to face him as encouragement and agreement. As surrender.

By the time she’d realized that, he’d laid claim to her mouth and every one of her senses with a primitive passion that curled her toes.

He plundered, his tongue mating with hers, and her body came alive as it never had before. Yet he was… dreaming?

Even as she wrestled with that conclusion-tried to think what it meant, what she should do-he tore his lips from hers, ducked his head, and set his mouth to her breasts.

Took a furled nipple into his mouth and suckled.

Hard.

Her body bowed; she fought to stifle a scream-the first of pure pleasure she’d ever uttered. He pushed her onto her back and loomed over her in the dark. She gripped his shoulders, gasps tangling in her throat as, head bowed, he continued to feast, to lave and suckle her breasts.

Even asleep, he knew exactly how to make her body come quickly, rapidly, roaringly alive. Make it sing, make it burn.