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Alistair.

He took over as she lost control, continuing to stroke her while he used his hold on her hip to shift her forward so he could thrust upward into her. She didn’t care; her eyes were squeezed shut and her breath was caught in her lungs, trying not to miss one glorious heartbeat of this ecstasy.

His hips bucked, thrusting up into her twice, thrice—and then with a sound from deep in his chest, he sheathed her core around him once more.

Dimly, she felt liquid heat spilling into her, but by this time she’d collapsed against his chest, each of her bones turned to jelly, each of her breaths a miracle in itself.

He’d…

He’d done that for her. He’d done that to her.

He’d allowed her to do it herself.

She wasn’t certain which one was more amazing.

And then…she was.

With a gasp, Olivia pushed herself upright. Alistair was slouched beneath her, his breathing rapid, his dark hair—normally so perfectly arranged—tousled from her fingers. And he was watching her.

Warily.

“You spoke!” she accused, then broke into a smile, realizing how that must have sounded. “I mean, you said my name!”

He slowly sat up, his arms going around her waist. As he did so, his softening member slid from her. She felt sticky and sated and energized all at once, and he had spoken to her.

“Alistair?” She leaned toward him and kissed his nose. “Thank you.”

One of his brows twitched, as if asking her what she was thanking him for.

Her smile grew. “For everything.”

This time, his answering grin was proud, with a hint of sheepishness.

When he suddenly stood, she yelped and threw her arms around his shoulders to prevent herself from falling—but he was carrying her. He really was enormous, but she felt safe cradled in his arms.

He took the time to kick off his trousers, which resulted in an awkward little dance. Giggling, she pressed her face into the crook of his neck and he kissed her ear.

Then they were both tumbling onto the bed, and she squealed again, but Alistair rolled in time to keep from squishing her.

She thrust herself upright, even as he attempted to swaddle them both in the counterpane. Pushing aside the blankets, she peered down at his legs, not even trying to be surreptitious about it.

Both thighs had long, white scars snaking around their sides, as if they’d been cut open for an operation. She remembered what his sisters had said about him not being expected to walk after the accident. This, presumably, was the result.

Slowly, Olivia tugged the counterpane back across his legs, then peered up at him. He was watching her warily, shame in his eyes.

Shame, for the way he looked?

Heart clenching, she planted her hands on his scarred chest and leaned down to kiss him. “You are a remarkable man, Alistair Kincaid. You taught yourself to walk again, after your legs were broken, didn’t you?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

Remembering the miracle he’d shared with her earlier, she smiled softly. “And you can speak.”

Another hesitant nod.

“Does it hurt?”

This time his expression screwed up for a moment, then he shrugged. An almost nod, then he shook his head.