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“It’s on my to-do list, and we didn’t get to it yet, so we’ll have to go for it now. Pizza can wait.”

“You have a to-do list?”

“It was supposed to be spontaneous, and uncontrolled, but we’ll have to go with what we’ve got.”

She drained the glass of champagne, set it down, then released her weapon harness. “Go on, strip it off, pal.”

“A sexual to-do list?” Amused, fascinated, he watched her dump her harness on the counter, then start on her boots. “Was that bout we had last week on the dining room table, and the floor, on your list?”

“That’s right.” She pried off a boot, kicked it aside.

“Let me see the list.” He held out a hand, wiggled his fingers.

Bent over for the second boot, she lifted her head. “It’s what you’d call a mental list.” She tapped her head. “All up here. You’re not stripping.”

“I love your mind.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just get this little chore ticked off, then we can—”

She broke off when he swooped her up, then dumped her butt first on the kitchen counter. Taking her hair in two fists, he yanked her mouth to his, and ravished.

“Spontaneous enough for you?” he asked when she sucked in a breath.

“It might be—” The words tumbled back down her throat when he ripped her shirt open.

“How’s that for uncontrolled?”

It was a little hard to comment when her mouth was being assaulted again. He yanked what was left of her shirt down to her wrists. Her hands were trapped, tripping an instinctive panic that tangled messily with a spurt of excitement as he tugged the tattered material like a rope.

Her hands were behind her back now, and the blood was buzzing in her ears. She couldn’t seem to draw a full breath. The champagne she’d drank began to spin giddily in her head, and her thigh muscles quivered.

“My hands,” she managed.

“Not yet.” He was mad for her. It seemed he spent his life mad for her. The shape and the scent of her, the taste and the feel of her. And now the sound she made as his hand raced over her.

He feasted on her skin, the lovely rise of her breast with her heart raging under his mouth. She moaned again, trembled, losing herself, he knew, as he used his tongue, his teeth.

Let go. There was nothing more arousing to him than when she let go.

She still couldn’t breathe, but no longer cared. Sensations were storming her, too brutal, too dark, to be called something as mild as pleasure.

She let him take, would have begged him to take more if she’d had the words. When he yanked her pants down her hips, she opened for him. And those hands, those wonderful hands, drove her over.

She cried out as she came, as the orgasm flashed through her with such intense heat.

Her head dropped weakly on his shoulder, and she managed one word. “More.”

“Always.” His lips were on her hair, her cheek, then on hers again. “Always.”

His arms came around her, and once freed, hers around him. She locked her legs around his waist and struggled to speak as her breath came in short, strained pants. “We’re not on the floor.”

“We’ll get there.” He nipped at her shoulder, her throat, wondered how he could stop himself from simply eating her whole.

He hitched her off the counter, taking her weight as their mouths fused again, as heartbeat slammed against heartbeat. Her hands had worked their way under his shirt, her short nails scraping over his damp skin.

Then she tugged it up, tugged it off, and fixed her teeth on his shoulder. “God, your body. Mine, mine, mine.”

They were on the floor, pulling at clothes, pulling in air as lungs threatened to burst. And this time when her legs locked around him, he buried himself inside her.

Hot, so viciously hot, she trapped him there, rising up to take more of him, dragging him down to follow her. His hands slid off her slick skin, then found purchase on her hips. They dug in while he plunged.

Chapter 12

They were lying on their backs on the floor in a sweaty heap. Her throat was wild with thirst, but she wasn’t entirely sure she could swallow. Just breathing took all the energy she had left.

As far as spontaneous, uncontrolled sex went, she