***
Guinevere collapsed against him, her body trembling with the force of her release, yet Alexander did not stop. His lips found hers, and he kissed her madly, desperately, as if he could not get enough. And he doubted he could.
His fingers continued their wicked work, delivering final strokes to prolong the waves and shudders that wracked her body, drawing out every fragile aftershock. She clung to him, her breath uneven against his neck, and he held tightly onto the armrest with every ounce of force he possessed, knuckles whitening. The restraint was agony, but it was all he could do not to lay her right there on the cold, unforgiving floor and claim her utterly, without pause or reason.
