Her body convulsed. The contractions of her release milked his fingers. It was all he could do to hold his control as he imagined her squeezing his cock.

Once again she had pushed him to a point beyond his usual detached control. He had intended to stir her, to enflame her, to her make bold. Then he could let her explore his body, get to know him as he had her, but now he couldn't endure it. If he wasn't inside her within seconds, he would combust.

As he fumbled with his pants, he felt as clumsy as he'd been at fifteen when he'd first coupled with an over-eager village lass.

Finally free of all clothing save his shirt, he pulled Cassandra to the floor and laid her out on the thick fur rug. Still caught in a web of sated passion, she smiled at him drunkenly. He wasn't sure if she was even aware of her new position.

"Look at me," he said, as he positioned himself above her.

"Mark, please, I need you!" she said, her breathing accelerating again.

"I want to see your eyes as I enter you. I want to see your need."

She looked at him then. Her eyes had darkened from golden brown to rich chocolate. They shone like polished marble.

"Tell me again. Tell me you want me," he said.

She lifted her hips to him, and he began to slip inside her. He saw the pleading in her eyes, but he wanted her confession. He wanted her to want him because her body cried out for it, not because it was a duty she had to perform.

He pulled back. "Tell me."

She opened her mouth to speak but her words were lost when one of the huge windows shattered.