Children of the Sea 02 - Sea Fever

“You’ll flip the boat.”
     
    “Mm,” she said and licked his chest. He tasted like salt, like sex, like man. Her starved palate craved him like a drug. She wanted to eat him up.
    So she did, trailing her tongue over the quivering muscles of his abdomen to where his jeans gaped and his body strained to meet her.
     
    She sank to her knees on the sunlit deck, enjoying his choked exhalation. She could do this for him. For them both. He was so beautiful to her, smooth and then rough, dark and then pale, hard and silky.
    Inhaling his musk, she laid claim to him with her mouth. His hands fisted in her hair as she fed.
     
    The boat rocked, pulsed, pitched. Dylan trembled and groaned. He sank beside her, his hands cradling her head, dragging her mouth to meet his. Her touch streaked over him.
     
    He reached for the hem of her shirt. “I want to see you.”
     
    She raised her arms. He ripped the shirt over her head. The sun was warm and heavy on her eyelids, on her naked breasts.
     
    “Beautiful,” he said hoarsely.
     
    She felt beautiful, powerful, and free. She unsnapped her jeans and worked them over her hips and down her legs. She kicked them across the deck and reached for him, blinded by the sun, dizzy with the heat, drunk with love and lust. His hands shaped and caressed her. He tucked her into his long, strong body, turned her so she kneeled with her forearms flat along the bench and her buttocks in full, warm contact with his groin. He
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    covered her, his breath hot in her ear, his body hot at her back, thick and tempting.
     
    But she twisted again, pushing at his chest, shoving him back against the bench seat.
     
    “I want to see you.” His face, his wonderful body. Let him see her.
    Let him see who was loving him.
     
    She rose on her knees to straddle him, strong and broad and hers, watching her with dark, dazed eyes as she came over him. She took him, lowering herself by inches, balancing herself with her hands on his shoulders, biting her lip with pleasure.
     
    “I need you.” He gripped her hips. “Now.”
     
    A fresh thrill assaulted her system. “Yes.”
     
    She let him pull her down, felt him surge up high inside her, deep inside her, closer than she’d ever felt to anyone in her life. His eyes were hot and dark on hers as he rocked inside her, hard at her center. She was pinned by his hands, impaled by his cock, while everything around her, sea and sky, was flowing, molten, golden.
     
    She stooped to lick his parted lips, his breath so hot it seared her.
     
    “Mine,” she said, her voice thick with satisfaction, her nails curling into his shoulders, and he shuddered and came, inside her, hers, and that was enough to make her come, too, over and over in a blinding white rush that emptied them both beneath the blue sky.
     
    *
     
    Regina draped over Dylan like seaweed on a rock, limp, boneless, fused to him by sweat and sex. Her hair was in his mouth. His body was lodged in her body. She was soft and slick surrounding him, and he wanted her again.
     
    As soon as he got his breath back. His strength back. His mind.
     
    The boat had steadied, but he was reeling still.
     
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    She lifted her head, dislodging his face from the slim curve of her throat. She smiled at him with her kiss-swollen mouth, flushed and warm and desirable, her heart right there in her glowing eyes, so beautiful it hurt his chest to look at her.
     
    “I love you,” she said.
     
    Which hit him like a two-by-four upside the head.
     
    Panic seized him. He didn’t, couldn’t, speak. What could he say?
    “Thank you”? He wasn’t grateful.
     
    “I am . . . honored,” he managed.
     
    That sounded good. Reasonable. Appreciative, even.
     
    Her clear brown eyes clouded with annoyance. “No, you’re not.
    You’re scared.”
     
    She scrambled off his lap, her slim pale legs flashing in the sunlight, and stooped for her underwear. The curve of her butt made him dizzy.
    Regret weighted his tongue.
     
    “Regina . . .”
     
    “Don’t sweat it.” She scooted the thong— red— up her thighs and wiggled it into place. “You want lunch?”
     
    Dylan watched the movement of her hips and didn’t know what he wanted. He was uneasily aware of something missing, something lost: a mood, a moment, an opportunity.
     
    “I am not scared.” His jaw set. He was terrified. “You surprised me, that’s all.”
     
    She shot him a glance over her shoulder before she tugged her shirt over her head.