Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch

there. Aah.
     
    She sank her teeth into her lower lip, closing her eyes to take him in, to take it all in, to absorb the sensations inside and out. His thickness filled her. The fire was warm against her back. The moon rode high above the trees, its call cold and sweet on the air like the notes of a trumpet.
     
    “Open your eyes, Maggie. Look at me.”
     
    Startled, she obeyed. Caleb was watching her, watching her face, his jaw clenched, his gaze penetrating. She was joined to him, connected with him. She felt the shock of it like lightning striking the sea.
     
    He pressed up into her as hard, as far as he could go. She surrounded him, rising and falling as if she rode the waves to shore, rocking herself against him, everything in her pulling down, flowing down, rushing to the place where they were joined. Her nipples tightened. Her womb contracted.
     
    She lost tempo, her movements becoming frantic, erratic. Her head dropped to his shoulder. His hands gripped her hips, steadying her, moving her to his rhythm.
     
    Almost there, almost . . .
     
    His fingers bit into her flesh. “Look at me.”
     
    But she was lost, liquid, gone, spinning away from him. Everything in her tightened and spiraled down. She shuddered, crying out, and felt him thrust up to meet her as he released hotly at her center.
     
    Long moments passed before she drifted back to herself.
     
    34
     
    Perspiration glued their bodies together. His chest rose and fell. Her own breath flowed easily, but her heart beat as if she’d just surfaced from a long dive.
     
    “Not twenty minutes, after all.” He laughed softly, a quiet exhalation against her throat. “You’re a miracle, Maggie. ”
     
    Oh, no. Not a miracle. Angels dealt in miracles.
     
    Selkies dealt in . . . Well, as a general rule, they did not deal in miracles. Or humans either. She had not visited him as an angel would, to bring tidings or a sign, to help or heal, to comfort or interfere in any way.
     
    She had come ashore for sex. And now that her craving had been satisfied, she would return to the sea.
     
    She slid her arms from around his neck, feeling him slip from her body with an odd sense of loss.
     
    He grunted as she wriggled from his lap. “Where are you going?”
     
    “I need . . .” She glanced toward the beach, her mind a blank. What could she claim to need? He had warmed her, fed her, serviced her—not once, but twice.
     
    “Right.” He grimaced, stretching his scarred leg in front of him.
    “Don’t go too far. You need a flashlight?”
     
    “No,” she said truthfully. “I can see well enough.”
     
    Even in human form, her eyes were better adapted to the dark than his.
     
    Caleb caught at her hand as she turned away. She looked back at him, trying and failing to resent his hold on her.
     
    He smiled. “Hurry back.”
     
    She did not, could not, answer. But she owed him . . . something.
    Stooping, she kissed him one last time. His lips were dry and steady.
    Sweet.
     
    35
    She straightened, her heart drumming in her ears.
     
    As she picked her way through the trees to the shore, she felt his gaze like a touch on her back.
     
    Caleb watched her go, fighting the urge to call her back. After two rounds of vigorous sex, the girl probably needed to powder her nose or catch her breath or wash up or something. Although he didn’t know anybody crazy enough to brave the water in May without a wetsuit.
     
    But then, he’d never known anybody like Maggie.
     
    It wasn’t her willingness to have sex with a near stranger that made her unique.
     
    Hell, that was how he’d met his ex-wife, in a smoky bar in Biloxi, Mississippi. The Last Call was a hunting ground for lonely soldiers from Fort Shelby in search of pool and pussy—not necessarily in that order—and local girls trolling for free drinks and husbands.
     
    Sherilee, with her tailored slacks and expensive perfume, had seemed a cut above the regular clientele, a bank teller out slumming for the night with her girlfriends. Back then, she’d thought Caleb’s uniform was cute and his taciturn Yankee silence sexy. He’d thought . . . Who was he kidding? He’d been far from home, estranged from his family, and staring down an eighteen-month deployment in the desert. They hadn’t done much thinking. Or talking either. They’d gotten married right before he shipped out, and he was pretty sure Sherilee had regretted her decision before she’d even finished spending his imminent danger