“The ocean tosses up a thousand arms to embrace the storm that falls across her like a drunken sailor. His thunder slaps her thighs, his lighting piercing her waters.They pound me between the hips and I begin to panic, knowing their passion will destroy me.”

“Fane lightly slapped her thigh. "Luna, behave.""Make me," she challenged as she leaned back, causing him to growl low in his chest.”

“It's only thunder." "It just startled me," she said, her eyes on his. "I'm not afraid of storms.' "Let's see." Still, he moved slowly, taking his time as much to prolong this new moment as to gauge her reaction. He laid his hands on her hips as the rain beat and splashed, sliding them up her body, smooth and easy as he lowered his head, paused-one long breath-then fit his mouth to hers.”

“You’re killing me," he told her, panting, his palms sliding down over her ribs to explore the rest of her shape—her waist, her hips, her thighs. "Killing me by inches." He lifted his body from hers enough to yank up her skirt. "But it’s a damn fine way for a man to die.”

“She took his length gently between her hands, her arms resting on his thighs, and looked up into his face. “I’m very, very angry with you.”And she opened her mouth over him.”

“Your mother’s coming,” he said.“I know—she probably heard us arguing. Do something!”“What?”“Anything!”“Fine!” He grabbed her around the waist, dragged her body flush against his, and ducked his head. His lips crushed hers as his hands wrapped around her tightly so they were plastered against each other, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, breasts to chest.”