Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch

last of his nightmare vanished, banished by the prospect of taking her to bed. His bed.
     
    “I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that.”
     
    Her lips curved. “We met only three weeks ago.”
     
    He leaned on her, nuzzling her, buzzed on Vicodin and the smell of her hair. “All my life,” he repeated solemnly.
     
    They shuffled the few steps to the bed, moving like kids at a high school dance.
     
    “I’m going to do you slow this time,” he promised. “I want to go down on you.”
     
    “Yes.”
     
    He lowered himself to the mattress, aware of her busy fingers tugging on the covers, on his shirt and belt. He lay back, watching her.
    Her T-shirt gaped as she wrestled with his shoelaces. He could see her breasts. So soft. So beautiful. So . . .
     
    His head touched the pillow.
     
    He slept.
     
    Caleb drifted between wake and sleep, his mind floating and at ease, and his body uncomfortable. He could dismiss the familiar pain of his leg.
    The insistent pulse of his arousal was harder to ignore. Particularly with Maggie lying soft and warm beside him.
     
    God, had he really fallen asleep on her last night?
     
    He turned his head. She slept facing him, curled in on herself, her knees drawn up and one arm tucked under her pillow. Self-contained.
    Secret.
     
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    With one finger, he stroked a strand of hair back from her face, careful not to touch her stitches or the purpling bruise on her forehead.
    Despite her hurts, last night she had cared for him. Comforted him.
     
    Undressed him.
     
    The memory of her small warm hands tugging at him dried his mouth. Anticipation buzzed in his blood, pooled heavy in his groin. He rolled onto his side.
     
    Her eyes opened, and her gaze fused with his.
     
    He felt it again, that little shock of connection, that click inside, like two pieces of a puzzle snapping together in his brain, like a key sliding home in a lock.
     
    “You’re awake,” he said softly. Foolishly.
     
    “Mm.” Her hand glided down his belly, brushing his erection. “You are, too.”
     
    He half closed his eyes at the intense pleasure of her touch. “I conked out on you last night.”
     
    She stroked him up and down, slowly. “You can make it up to me now.”
     
    He caught her wrist and pulled her hand away from his body. “I plan to.”
     
    She tugged against his hold, a tiny pleat appearing between her brows. “Then—”
     
    “Ssh.” He stopped her protest with his mouth.
     
    She responded easily, eagerly, parting her lips and kissing him back.
    But when she would have taken the kiss deeper, when she sucked on his tongue and slid her thigh along his, he trapped her hands again.
     
    “Let me,” he whispered against her mouth.
     
    “Let you what?”
     
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    “Let me . . . kiss you. Here.” He pressed his lips to her warm, flushed cheek. “Here.” He moved to the arch of her eyebrow. “Here.” He nipped her chin.
     
    She stopped struggling. Her mouth curved. “Anywhere else?”
     
    “Everywhere,” he said, and followed through, touching and kissing and licking his way down her lush, firm body, loving the way her breath caught and her muscles tightened under his hands.
     
    Her nipples stood at attention. He pushed her breasts together, sucking and playing with them until she arched and offered more. He wanted more. He wanted everything. To taste her, take her, keep her . . .
    He clamped down on his greed, stroking his tongue over her again. He wanted her to know who she was with. To need him. Remember him.
     
    He skimmed his lips over her smooth, curved belly, pressed warm, wet kisses to the insides of her thighs. Her hips lifted, inviting him, urging him on. He parted her with his fingers, devoured her with his eyes.
    She was slick and hot. Wet. Squirming. He lowered his head, inhaling her excitement, teasing her with his breath.
     
    She raised her head from the pillow, her eyes dark with arousal.
    Watching him. “Please.”
     
    He thrust two fingers inside her, feeling her clench around him.
    “Please what?”
     
    “Caleb!”
     
    His name on her lips broke his control. He lowered his head, loving the way she moved and shuddered, gasped and moaned under him.
    Because of him.
     
    He wanted to make this last forever.
     
    Maggie had other ideas.
     
    She grabbed his short hair and pulled hard enough to get his attention. Her face was flushed, her eyes fierce. “Inside me,” she said.
    “Now.”
     
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    He was flattered, moved . .