Excitement raged through her, making breathing harder, each breath becoming a moan as he stroked inside her. The callused fingers gripping her hips kneaded her flesh; she felt beads of his sweat drip to her back, felt his cock throbbing inside her, the heavy, ropy veins rasping against her inner flesh, the broad, mushroomed head driving her crazy with each thrust before the heavy shaft lodged inside her, pounding with each beat of his blood racing through the throbbing veins.

“You’re killing me,” she cried, her shoulders collapsing to the mat, her nails digging into the tough canvas. “Stop torturing me, Doogan . . . Oh God . . . Doogan, please . . .”

Slow, so slow she could feel every heated stretch of her inner muscles as the broad crest eased inside her. Flexing, rippling in need, her pussy clenched on the invader, milked it, fought to hold him inside her.

It wasn’t enough.

Each slow impalement only built the need higher, increased the storm beginning to rage through her senses. Lazy, steadily tightening spirals of sensations lashed through her while each slow thrust, each retreat, had her crying out the need for more, for harder, for relief from the steadily building intensity that was driving her crazy.

“Sweet Zoey,” he crooned behind her, that hint of the Irish accent so damned sexy it just made her wetter. “Ah babe, how I love the feel of you.”

“Doogan, I need you. Now,” she groaned, her fingers fisting, perspiration dampening her hair now. He was burning her alive, the flames searing her senses, racing through her body like wildfire. “Please let me cum. Please . . . Fuck me, Doogan.”

A sudden, slamming thrust nearly triggered the explosion she was begging for. As though his control merely slipped for an instant. He stilled as the hard, fast thrust buried him to the hilt, his hands clenching on her hips, a rough groan tearing from his chest.

“I love you fucking me,” she whispered brokenly as he eased back, retreating by slow degrees. “So thick and hard inside me, so hot . . .”

Hard, shocking, white-hot pleasure suddenly snapped through her as he thrust inside her hard and deep, not just one, twice, three times . . . Oh God, she was so close, and he stilled.

“Fuck me. You little witch. You’ll pay for that, love,” he groaned, his breathing harsh, heavy.

“Willingly.” Clenching on the flesh stretching her with such brutal pleasure, Zoey whimpered, stretched on a rack of such pleasure she didn’t know if she’d survive the release. “What pay . . . oh God, what payment?” She groaned as he moved against her, stroking her internally. “Fuck me, Doogan. Deep and hard and the next time you get your dick in my throat—” She screamed.

Or rather she tried to scream.

One hard hand buried itself in the hair at the back of her head, tugging, pulling at it as the other tightened at her hip and the control he’d just had a handle on slipped completely.

Coming over her, Doogan settled at her shoulder, his teeth clenching at her flesh like an animal and pushing her higher as he began thrusting inside her with such hard, deep lunges she felt the ecstasy gathering like supercharged particles. Increasing, moving faster inside her, hotter, tightening . . .

“Oh . . . Doogan . . .” She cried out for him when it overtook her.

Heady, white hot, blinding her with the intensity of the orgasm that detonated inside her with such force, such steadily increasing pleasure she swore for a second she might have died from it.

“Ah hell . . . Zoey . . . Damn you, Zoey . . .” Fiery, lashing, the jetting pulses of his release inside her only added to the ecstasy. Each pumping ejaculation increased the sultry splendor and the orgasm she could feel invading every part of her.

Her breath caught, held just before the racking, uncontrolled shudders of rapture began tearing through her again. And Zoey swore she felt a part of her very spirit open, felt the pleasure invade it, and felt Doogan mark her there even as he marked the flesh he held captive at her shoulder.

As the brutal shudders of ecstasy eased away, she collapsed beneath him, breathless, exhausted.

“Witch,” he groaned, pulling from her as their too-sensitive flesh reacted with a sensation far too close to renewed need. “You’ll kill me.”

She grinned. “Hmm, good way to go, huh?”

Lying beside her and pulling her into his arms, he gave her an odd, almost amused grin. “The best, sweetheart. The best way to go.”

So why, she wondered, did he sound so damned somber and filled with regret?

TEN

The next evening Zoey couldn’t stand the isolation of the apartment any longer. The mark on her neck hadn’t yet faded enough for her comfort, and the fact that she was confining herself to the apartment to ensure her family didn’t see it, was only pissing her off. She couldn’t have a life that entailed anything her brother disapproved of. She couldn’t have a motorcycle that he knew about because it was just too dangerous. And don’t even think about having a lover. Unless he chose that lover for her. She hated it. Hated having to hide so much of who she was and what she wanted. Working out again lasted no more than half an hour. She couldn’t concentrate on the painting she’d started weeks before. And she needed to escape. The restlessness was only growing and she didn’t know why. Why was it tormenting her now? Why did her apartment seem too closed in, her mind her enemy and her life racing out of control?

And why the hell was she hiding, too damned scared to leave because someone might tell her brother she had a hickey? It was making her crazy.

Dressed in jeans, tank, and sneakers an hour later, she escaped and headed out of town in the little roadster she’d managed to buy off Billy Ray the year before. The restlessness she couldn’t seem to do anything with was like an itch she couldn’t scratch, simply because she couldn’t find it. Irritating as hell, impossible to ignore. That feeling that she was forgetting something important from those dreams was like that itch. She knew it was there, it was making her crazy, but she just couldn’t locate the right spot to scratch.

Eli wasn’t even around to distract her.

He hadn’t returned yet, and he’d been acting damned strange since Doogan had begun sleeping with her. She rarely saw him and she found she actually missed him a little. Especially now, when the need to burn away the restlessness required at least a good sparring match.

Driving to her sister Lyrica’s, Zoey grimaced at the sight of Natches’s car parked in the driveway as she neared the turnoff. Graham’s Viper was absent and she had no doubt he was meeting Doogan somewhere. It was nearing dark and she had no idea what Doogan thought of as late, so she had no idea when he’d be back to the apartment.

Being alone was preferable to having Natches interrogate her, though. He’d been doing that for a while now whenever he saw her. What had she been doing? Who were her friends, was she dating anyone yet? She felt like a damned teenager again.

Rather than pulling into the driveway and dealing with her cousin’s questions and general nosiness, Zoey continued along the back road as it wound along the edge of Graham’s property before circling along a tributary of the lake and heading back to town.

As she came to a stop sign before turning onto the main road nearly twenty minutes later, car lights suddenly flicked on, a motor racing, before a vehicle tore from a graveled side road and barreled toward her.

Instinct had Zoey hitting the gas, the car’s motor that her cousin Natches kept in peak condition responding immediately. The tires bit into blacktop and threw her forward, the back end fishtailing before she righted it and managed by inches to keep the truck from running over her. Cursing, she glanced at her rearview mirror, the lights of the other vehicle gaining on her fast once again.