Holding her still with one hand on her hip, Lance rubbed himself against her. Her sharp, startled cry was muffled against his shirt-front.
"I'm so sorry, angel. I don't mean to be crude, but melting into you… it feels so good."
"Lance…"
"Should I stop? Do you want me to stop?"
Annalise threw her head back to look boldly into his face.
"No."
She shuddered.
"No, I don’t… Kiss me, Lance…” she begged a bit hysterically, a bit deliriously, and quite desperately.
His mouth came down on hers with the same kind of desperation she had voiced. It was a violent kiss, an explosive release of pent-up longing and withheld emotion. His lips ground into hers almost brutally, but she welcomed the rough caress, for she'd never felt more alive. She was a butterfly bursting free of a dreary chrysalis,
