A Midnight Dance by Lila DiPasqua

his length inch by inch, savoring every moment of his possession, but with his cock at the entrance to paradise, with the overpowering allure of his beautiful forest fairy and his self-imposed celibacy all decimating his resolve, he thrust in all at once.
    She recoiled with a painful cry.
    “Jésus-Christ!” he hissed out from between clenched teeth. A virgin.
    Her face was turned. Her eyes were squeezed shut, refusing to look at him.
    Balanced on his forearms, he was practically shaking with the effort it took to hold still. The pressure around his cock was magnificent, his prick pulsing within the confines of her sex. She had the tightest, most glorious sheath he’d ever known.
    Good Lord . . . There was no way he had the strength to pull away from her now. He was past the point of no return.
    He withdrew slightly. The drag against the sensitive underside of his shaft tore a groan from his throat. Pleasure exploded through his senses. He filled her with one solid stroke. She made a strangled sound at the back of her throat that sounded less like pain. More like pleasure. A mimic of his own sound of rapture.
    His possession was complete. He felt her body relax and she drew her arms around him again, enveloping him further. He couldn’t stop thrusting. The friction was sublime. Dear God, he’d never been inside a woman who felt this good. He gave her long deep luscious strokes of his cock, quickly picking up the tempo, until he was fucking her with complete abandon, with powerful plunges, his angle making perfect contact with her sensitized clit.
    The sensuous sounds she made inflamed him further.
    He drove into her faster. Harder. Her body now rising up to meet him on his every downstroke, sucking him in deeply each time.
    Her inner muscles fluttered and contracted. He knew she was about to come. He braced himself for it, aching to spew everything he had. The most exquisite torture he’d ever known.
    She surged her hips upward, her cry filling his ears. Delicious uncontrollable little spasms quivered through her core, sending spellbinding sensations coursing along his cock, and hurling him into orgasm. He reared just in time; come shot from his prick onto the blanket, powerful jolting eruptions, each a burst of ecstasy, a deeply draining rush. Until his muscles melted.
    Until he’d purged his prick dry.
    It took a few moments before he could muster the strength to roll off her. The lassitude that had seeped into his muscles quickly dissipated, her lies igniting a fury he was all too prone to nowadays.
    Merde! How did a virgin convince him she was a whore? Because you wanted her so badly, you ignored the signs. Everything. Just so you could have her . Merde! Merde! He was livid at her for tricking him. And at himself for letting her.
    She may have been untried, but she was not entirely innocent. She’d put on a performance, with the intention to deceive. Clearly, she was up to something. But what? Why the deception? What did she hope to gain?
    He bolted upright.
    Jésus-Christ , an ambush!
    He scanned the trees and shrubs, looking for men lurking, waiting to attack. No. If it had been an ambush to gain his treasure, it would have occurred by now— before he’d had her, not afterward.
    He shot her a look. Her face was turned away, her alluring form open to his view. She hadn’t moved. The question “Why?” bellowed in his head.

    Sabine reeled. In her wildest dreams she’d never imagined the physical act of copulation could be this powerful. Could leave her this shaken. She was so undone. Emotions clashed within her. She felt good. She felt vulnerable. She felt angry.
    She felt the sting of tears.
    She was not going to cry. Not in front of him. She hadn’t cried in years, not since the day Isabelle left. She hadn’t even cried when she’d been told the news of Isabelle’s death a year later. That day she froze inside, numbed herself to the pain of it all. Since then she’d battled daily between what her head