Their movements grew faster, more frantic.

She popped the buttons of his shirt, while he found the zipper at the back of her dress. In seconds, they were chest to chest, skin to skin, and he pressed long, deep, fiery kisses on her mouth.

Her dress slipped to the floor. Her scant panties combined with those shoes nearly sent him over the edge. He stripped off the remainder of his clothes and eased her down on the big bed, into the neatly pressed quilt and the plump, perfect pillows.

She was all motion beneath him, heat, softness, kisses and breathy cries. Her fingernails dug into his back, while he kissed her lips, her neck, her breasts, kneading his hands along her thighs, up and around. Impatiently, he tore off her panties. She gasped, then moaned and arched against his fingers.

He kissed her hard and deep, strumming her nipples. Her hands roamed his body. He shifted over her, and her legs wrapped around him, her hips arched against his weight in an invitation he couldn’t ignore.

He grabbed for his slacks, quickly retrieving a condom before instinct obliterated reason. He thrust into her exquisite heat, his primal brain telling him to make it last and last and last. Pillows flew to the floor. The bed rocked on its brass foundation, while the stars through her bedroom window melted and slid from the sky.

She cried his name just as his own passion crested. His breathing went hoarse, and long minutes throbbed past before sanity returned. Exhausted, he rolled to his side, taking him with her, pulling her deep into his arms.

Once again, words eluded him. He had absolutely no idea what to say to her. He wasn’t sorry. He didn’t regret it. But, oh boy, had he ever made a big mistake.

Instead of speaking, he cradled her against his body, held her close until she was safely asleep. Then he held her an hour longer. He knew he’d be facing the stupidity of his actions full-on in the morning, but he was in no hurry to get there.