Children of the Sea 01 - Sea Witch

. and incredibly turned on. “Let me get a condom.”
     
    “Now.”
     
    But he was determined to protect her. They’d already had sex once without a condom. Maybe she’d been on the pill then. But she wasn’t now. He needed to prove to her he could be trusted to take care of her.
     
    So he made her wait while he opened the box and covered himself and lay down again. His leg wouldn’t support him on top.
     
    Maggie pushed him flat on his back and swarmed over him, her naked breasts brushing his chest, her knees straddling his thighs.
     
    He grunted in pleasure and pain.
     
    She levered herself up, pushing against his shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
     
    No.
     
    Yes.
     
    Who cared? Her new position pressed their lower bodies together.
    She was hot and wet and right where he wanted her.
     
    He gritted his teeth. “No,” he said, and grabbed her hips, thrusting up into her.
     
    Magic .
     
    He wanted—he’d intended—to take it slow this time. But she was on top, rocking him, riding him, taking him in a galloping rush of pleasure.
    Her breasts were in his face, her lips swollen and parted, her eyes dark and blind.
     
    “Maggie.”
     
    She looked at him, really looked, so he could see the heat and the tenderness in her eyes. That was all it took. He came in a blinding rush that emptied his balls and his heart. And thought he heard, as she collapsed against his chest, her whisper his name.
     
    147

     
    Margred had missed the sunrise over the ocean. She’d missed Caleb’s rising, too. At some point—after they had made love the second or third time—he had left their bed. She heard him moving about in the other room.
     
    But he was right. You really could lie in this bed and watch the sea.
    The dance of the sunlight on the waves gladdened her heart.
     
    She stretched between the sheets, enjoying the feel of the fine fabric against her bare skin. She had never slept with a lover before. It was strangely . . . satisfying. The possessive weight of Caleb’s arm, the steady cadence of his breathing, his naked body beside hers all night long . . .
    His body temperature was several degrees cooler than hers. That, too, was surprisingly comfortable.
     
    The mingled scents of sex and man clung to her skin and hung in the air of the room. She breathed them in, her body loose and relaxed.
     
    And smelled something else. Something—cooking?— teasing her nostrils and her appetite.
     
    Caleb was cooking her breakfast.
     
    How . . . sweet.
     
    She pulled his T-shirt over her head, being careful not to catch her stitches, and padded to find him.
     
    He was in the kitchen, standing half-naked with his back to the doorway, attending to something on the stove. Her gaze skimmed over his smooth, powerful shoulders, down the strong, long line of his back to the waistband of his jeans. And below.
     
    Another hunger stirred. Maybe breakfast should wait.
     
    She came up behind him, slipping her arms around his waist. “Good morning.”
     
    He jerked, tensed, and then relaxed. “Good morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.
     
    148
    She pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades, ruffling her fingers through the line of hair that bisected his muscled belly. He sucked in his breath. His muscles jumped under her hand before he turned in her arms.
    She could feel his arousal through his jeans, against her stomach.
     
    She licked her lips. “What are you making?”
     
    His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Eggs. Toast. I’m not much of a cook.”
     
    She had never cooked in her life. She rocked against him, loving the heaviness in his gaze, the hardness of his body. “It smells wonderful.”
     
    His smile broke, more dazzling than the sun on the sea. “Witch.
    That’s the coffee.”
     
    She rubbed her nose against his bare chest. “Is that what it is?”
     
    “Probably.” He cleared his throat and reached beside the stove for a glass pot full of some clear brown liquid. “Want some?”
     
    “Coffee?”
     
    “It’s fresh.”
     
    Margred had never begged for a lover. (And dismissed the memory of her own voice, saying “Please.”) Perhaps he needed time to recuperate?
     
    Anyway, she was hungry.
     
    With a shrug, she released him. “All right. Thank you.”
     
    He poured her coffee while she sat at the table. She sipped from the cup and grimaced. It didn’t taste nearly as good as it smelled.
     
    “Do you take sugar?” he asked.
     
    Did she? Why