Gena Showalter Bundle. Gena Showalter

      Lost in his scent, his body, his maleness, she gave herself completely into the kiss, holding nothing back. Giving him every ounce of herself. Had other women ever experienced such bliss? A bliss that eclipsed reason and time? Movies and books lauded such passion, of course, but had anyone ever really tasted it as she was now?

      How sad if they had not.

      Her arms moved over Jorlan’s muscled chest, feeling his skin, jagged in some places, smooth in others, but hot all over. She jerked the spatula from his waist and tossed it aside. His tongue continued to caress her mouth, bold and passionate. She pushed him down until he lay flat on his back. Her knees braced his sides, spreading her legs wide, and she arched her hips, thrusting slightly against his erection.

      “Aye, just like that,” he praised. “Again.”

      She arched once more. This time, the contact caused a ragged moan to slip from her throat because he arched, too, making the impact deeper. Stronger. Over and over they continued the motion. Then in one fluid motion, he tumbled her over, taking control and pressing himself between her open thighs. He trailed kisses of fire along her cheek. He swirled his tongue around her ear, dipped inside, pulled out, and dipped again. Had he stripped her naked just then, had he plunged into her body and buried his cock to the hilt, she would not have protested.

      She would have thanked him.

      This is the wild, wanton woman I’ve always longed to be, Katie realized. She felt utterly alive. So free. But reason tried to insert itself. You’re lying on the bathroom floor. You’ve only known this man a few days. You wanted only one kiss.

      Yes, she’d asked for only one kiss, and he was taking far more. In fact, he was ravishing her. The thought caused hot, heady moisture to pool between her thighs. How easily she pictured him holding her down and forcing her to face her desires. How easily she pictured…and how easily she wanted the fantasy to come true.

      She wanted to be ravished.

      “We have to stop kissing,” she said, breathless. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

      “When you stop wanting my kisses, katya, then will I stop.”

      Oh, yes, my barbarian warrior. You’re in control.

      He pulled back a little, gazed down at her, his eyes smoldering to a fiery blue. He reached under her shirt, kneaded her breast, and decided the contact wasn’t enough. He shoved her bra up, let his fingers roll her nipple, and then, suddenly, he froze. His growl echoed loud and long off the walls.

      “With much regret do I recall our bargain.” Dark emotion etched his expression. “I cannot give you pleasure unless you ask nicely. Or beg very prettily.”

      No, no, no. She wasn’t supposed to beg for anything except mercy, and he wasn’t supposed to be chivalrous! That wasn’t how a man ravished a woman. He was supposed to take her, seduce her completely, damn the consequences. At this point she’d even settle for a “I know what’s best for you, katya. I’m only doing this for you.”

      “This time, however,” he half snarled, half moaned, “I will make an exception.”

      Oh, thank you. Thank you. She almost smiled. She did tighten her hold on his neck, ready for another mind-blowing kiss. Her elation was short-lived, however.

      “You do not have to beg,” he said. “You do not even have to ask. You only have to push me away if you wish me to stop. I will give you time to decide.”

      She didn’t want time, damn it. She wanted his tongue in her mouth. Wanted his hands on her breasts. Now. But he was the ravisher, and she was the ravishee, and the fantasy wouldn’t work if she forced herself on him.

      “One, two three,” he counted. “Time is up.”

      His mouth smothered hers.

      Relieved, excited, she leaned up for his kiss. The silky heat of his tongue danced with hers. His body pushed against hers. He smelled so hot, so masculine. So delicious.

      “What do you want me to do to you?” he demanded.

      “I have no control over you,” she breathed. “You’ll do whatever you want, no matter what I say.”

      He jerked back, confused. “No, I—” Suddenly, comprehension dawned. He smiled wickedly. “That’s right,” he said, his tone heavy with authority. “I’ll do whatever I want to you. Your protests mean nothing.”

      Hallelujah.

      For what seemed hours, but could have only been minutes, he worked his hands over her body, learning her every curve, teasing her, tempting her, making her beg.

      “Who is in control, katya?”

      “You are,” she whispered. “Only you.”

      “Do not forget.”

      “Never.”

      His big hands closed over her breasts. Intense pleasure rocked through her. He pinched her nipple at the exact moment he pressed his erection against her clitoris. Their clothes added to the friction, and she shot off like a Fourth of July rocket. Her moans became wild cries, a building crescendo, the force of which made her almost incoherent.

      When she quieted, Jorlan held her for a long while, his shallow breaths in her ear. He pulled back, searching her face. “Katie,” he said softly, “you have already—”

      “I know. I’m sorry.” How embarrassing. He was still primed and ready; she was all finished. But damn it, she hadn’t been able to stop it, hadn’t wanted to stop it. Her body had raced toward completion, heedless of anything else. “I truly am sorry. I just couldn’t help myself.”

      “Do not apologize.” His tone was reverent. “Simply do it again.”

      She slowly smiled. “Again? Really?”

      “Most definitely. I command you.” His lips claimed hers once more.

      Her arms wound around his neck, holding him captive. Her ankles locked around his waist. He reached between them, grasped the neck of her shirt, and gave a sharp tug. The cotton split down the middle. She bit her bottom lip to keep from shouting her renewed excitement.

      Jorlan was just reaching for her shorts, and she was just arching her back to give him better access, when a voice said from the doorway, “Uh, am I interrupting something?”

      CHAPTER NINE

      “NICK!”

      Cheeks flaming, stomach filling with a sickening combination of dread, embarrassment and horror, Katie attempted to jump to her feet and disengage from Jorlan at the same time. Before she succeeded, he jolted to a battle position, his feet squared apart, his fists clenched, facing her brother with an expression that clearly read, “Prepare to die.” The swift motion caused her alien’s legs to pound against her knees.

      She collapsed with a shriek.

      Neither man spared her a glance.

      Popping up, she hurriedly tied the torn folds of her shirt together—which barely managed to cover her pink, lacy bra—then shoved her hair back from her face. Jorlan quickly thrust her behind him.

      If she hadn’t known better, she would have suspected he was actually trying to protect her. From her own brother! The idea was simply too ridiculous to contemplate, and she decided he was simply being his chauvinistic self. Something along the lines of get-thee-behind-me-oh-weak-one.

      Then he said, “Stay behind me, Katie. I will eliminate this threat.”

      Oh, he really is protecting me, she thought, melting. She should have been angry. After all, she’d proven her ability to drop an opponent to the ground. But Lord, this made her feel dainty and cherished.

      Reaching up, she moved her fingertips over Jorlan’s bare back. She loved the hardness of him, the heat. Her teeth ground together. She’d finally decided to go all