Clint was older than Kate, and older than most of the guys she'd been with. What he didn't have in stamina, he had in self control. He made it good for her, he made it last for her. He knew more about her body than the young, frat-like boys she'd been with, bringing her to the edge and then settling her back down again until she was whimpering with every movement.
It was good. So good she wished it could go on forever. But at the same time, she was desperate for her release. And she wanted to feel him finish, too. Kate imagined that would be the sexiest thing in the world.