Again he reached for her. Again he brought her up against him. But this time he showed her how very much he'd restrained himself before. Sliding his hand along the base of her neck, he thrust his fingers in her shorn hair and cradled her skull. He put his open mouth on hers, demanding response at once with the thrust of his tongue, and when she didn't open to him, he nipped at her lower lip. She cried out, an incoherent, startled sound. He was inside. Their first kisses had been exploration, a chance for him to taste her, a chance for her to grow used to him. His tongue thrust rhythmically into the cavity of her mouth. Her lips grew tender under his assault. She hardly knew what to think, what to do... but it didn't matter. He had taken control. The care he'd used the first times he'd kissed her was absent now. This time he sought satisfaction, and he sought it angrily, passionately.