Tanya didn't know what to make of that, though she stopped fighting for the moment. But her confusion kept her from yielding completely to Stefan's mouth.
Did she really want him to take her in this mindless fashion, merely as an outlet for his anger? If that was the only way she could have him, then yes. But was it the only way now, when he'd said that he'd decided to come to her, not in anger, but in need, because he wanted her? He'd made that decision before he got angry with her tonight, so angry that this was the result. And if she stopped him, he might not come to her as he'd planned to, because of his new anger with her.
He was furious that she had tried to kill him — as he saw it. Furious that she was lying about someone trying to kill her — as he saw it. So if she tried to calm him down now so they could make love for no other motive than mutual desire, his calm might take him right out of here and right back to Alicia, because his fury with Tanya would still be there, just under control again.
The decision was almost out of her hands, her senses already heightened, her innards already whirling with excitement. So she asked herself the simple question, did she love Stefan Barany?
She was afraid she just might, but she wasn't positive yet. But she was positive that she wanted him, and did not want him to go to another woman to satisfy his needs, even his present need to slake his anger with mindless fornication. So she had her answer. She'd take him this way, even if it was savage and over quickly... but it wouldn't be that way, would it? She'd been thinking only of the anger, and comparing Stefan with other men under similar circumstances, forgetting that even in anger, Stefan took his time at this, and wasn't rough with her, merely ruthlessly determined.
She was forgetting one other thing, too, Tanya thought with a shiver of pleasurable anticipation. There was very little that could stop Stefan from having his way. She had never been able to. But he had been stopped those other times, by a noise, by an imminent intrusion. Suddenly a measure of urgency entered her own responses. She let everything he'd already aroused in her loose, and began kissing him back with every bit of it.
He had been moving her slowly, unknowingly, toward the bed. The backs of Tanya's legs came up against it now and gave her a start of surprise. She wasn't surprised when she was lowered to the mattress, however, and that, too, was done slowly, carefully, without releasing her mouth. She couldn't seem to impart her urgency to him, but that shouldn't surprise her either. He was oblivious of everything but the anger, the compelling need to release it, but in his own way, not as she'd like, and his way was without haste, instinctively similar to how it would be if he weren't angry. She should be grateful for that, and she would be — if there were no interruptions this time.
The back of her sleeping gown had been raised before she was lowered to the bed. The front lacings had been untied without her notice. The kiss broke now as the white linen was whisked over her head, but his lips came back almost immediately. And now she had his heat, what she associated with his anger but was always there, his skin so hot to her touch. And his weight, glorious sensation, pressing against her breasts, her belly, settling between the legs she opened for him quite willingly.
While his tongue swirled with delicious languor inside her mouth, his hands slipped between their bodies, one to fully cover each breast, kneading, gently plucking at her nipples, then not so gently squeezing once they were quivering buds. It all had the same effect, however, making her wild to have more, the heat in her loins igniting, fast becoming an ache.
He was caressing her arms now, her face, kissing her fiercely one moment, gently the next. And she thought she would go mad because he still wasn't reacting to her own passion, which had already surpassed anything she'd ever felt before. Nor would he stop kissing her long enough for her to tell him. But she was hoping she wouldn't have to, for the fear was there that if he did stop, if he heard her voice now, he'd come to his senses and stop altogether, leaving her in this agonizing state of need.
She tried to calm herself, to relax, reasoning that she must not be going about this right, that she should just follow Stefan's lead, because although she might know what went where, she was basically ignorant about lovemaking, at least the subtleties of it. But she couldn't do it. She writhed, she arched, she pulled at his hips, his hair, his skin. He was in no tearing rush, but she was going to be a cinder before long.
Finally, she found the thick bulge pressed to her loins and undulated against it in a simulation of what she wanted. That brought his hand to that area, but he didn't actually touch her there. When she realized he was removing his trousers instead, she almost melted with relief. And then he was entering her and she held on tight.
Somewhere deep in Stefan's mind, he knew Tanya wasn't fighting him anymore, was instead wantonly responding to him, and he knew there was something that should bother him about that. But what it was never quite surfaced in the quagmire of his thoughts, blessedly blank for the most part, rife with rage and passion the rest. He was functioning purely on instinct, primitive in nature, and thanks to too much alcohol, on the drunken assurance that he wasn't taking anything that didn't belong to him.
The anger was still there, but lust was now overriding it, and that was suddenly so strong at finding her so wet and tight, he didn't even notice his difficulty in entering her. The slight tug and give of her maidenhead was nothing next to all that moist heat squeezing him. And when he reached her depths, he stayed there, the pleasure so great he couldn't bear to move.
It was that pleasure that brought him to his senses, wiping out his anger completely. And with the anger gone, he knew exactly what he had done, and that damn near sobered him completely. He was inside her, deep inside her at last, and he couldn't recall with any clarity the details of having got there.
Guilt washed over him in waves and would have unmanned him, but he was still encased in the tightest, warmest sheath he had ever entered, and that exquisite sensation was separate from everything else he was suddenly feeling.
After the last time this had almost happened, he had sworn to himself that he would never take Tanya in anger. That was one of the reasons he had stayed away from her on the ship, where forced confinement could so easily make tempers flare. But he hadn't been back with her one complete day before he took her anyway. Only she had responded to him — hadn't she? Or was that wishfulness on his part, her wanton wildness actually resistance?
Even as he thought it, her arms suddenly tightened around his neck, and in his stillness he felt it, unbelievably, without his having moved at all for the past few moments, she was climaxing, the pulse of it surrounding him, squeezing him with each glorious throb, and firing him with a savage exultation that whipped his desire for her to a frenzied peak. He thrust, and thrust again, and went over the edge so explosively, he wasn't sure he would survive it.
Tanya held on tight and smiled very smugly to herself when Stefan finally went wild in his release. She'd caused that, and if it was anywhere near what she'd just experienced, then the man ought to get down on his knees and kiss the ground she walked on. She was certainly ready to make that concession. Having someone tell you, "It's wonderful. Try it," just doesn't prepare you for that maelstrom of sensation. Nothing could.
He dropped his head on her shoulder now, his heartbeat slamming against her breast, his breath stirring the hair tangled about her neck. Her fingers smoothed his black mane, her other hand caressed his back. She felt so close to him just then, and that was a wonderful feeling in itself. She didn't want him to move, didn't want him to remove that part of him that was inside her, because it still felt so delicious, having him there.