Children of the Sea 03 - Sea Lord

sound.
    “Does it matter?” He sounded impatient. Amused.
    No.
    Yes.
    She wanted to pull him down among the broken corn rows, open his pants and straddle him. She swallowed hard. “It might. I don’t know you.”
    “What better way to learn?”
    He had the trick of answering a question with another question. Like a cop. Like Caleb. Like a man with something to hide.
    “We could try talking.”
    “Come with me,” he urged. “Away.”
    The possibility pulled at her like an undertow. She almost staggered. “I can’t leave .”
    “Why not?”
    “I have . . .” She searched for solid ground, reasons that would stand against the tug of his temptation, the demand clamoring through her blood. “Obligations. School. My father.”
    “This is no place for you.” His voice beat at her like the sea on the rocks at night, whispering along her nerves, eroding her control. “This is no life for the woman you have become.”
    She pressed her hands to her temples. Her body throbbed like a bruise. “You don’t know anything about what kind of woman I am.”
    And he couldn’t.
    No one must ever know.
    “Tell me.”
    Oh, God, she wanted to.
    She stared at him, tempted, appalled, dismayed. Her heart pounded in her chest. This was what came of asking questions.
    His eyes darkened and expanded until they filled her vision. Twin black whirlpools, drawing her in, dragging her under.
    She could barely hear over the rushing in her ears. Her head buzzed. Her blood itched and crackled. She worked her tongue, trying to lick her words into shape. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    He smiled slowly, the first time she had seen him smile. “Then we will not talk.”
    “I should . . .” What? “Go home,” she managed.
    “I will take you where you need to go.”

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    Take me. Yes.
    His mouth possessed hers in a long, deep, drugging kiss that blanketed her brain like fog rolling in from the sea. She was lost in it, in him, in her rising need. His lips followed the trail blazed by his fingertips, the curve of her cheek, the hollow of her jaw, her throat. His hands pushed under her shirt to close on her breasts, and her knees folded like wet string. He shifted her, pulling her sweatshirt over her head, throwing it to the ground. Sliding his hands to her hips, he turned her against his body. His chest was fitted to her back, his erection pressed her buttocks. She panted with excitement, liquid heat running through her veins, surging through her body, melting her insides. She could not see his face. She could only feel, his breath hot at her ear, his arm hard around her waist, his solid body pulsing, rocking against her. His free hand unbuttoned her jeans, tugged on her zipper.
    “Uh,” she said. Assent? Or warning?
    Then it didn’t matter because his hand was there, in her panties, between her legs. His long fingers stroked her, pressing firmly and then delicately, making her hot, making her wet, making her shudder and cry out. It wasn’t enough. His beard rasped the side of her face. His hand was busy, making her mindless. She arched against him, frantic, pushing her hips into his hand, fighting the constricting denim.
    “I need . . .”
    More.
    “Yes. Trust me,” he said.
    She struggled to turn, to face him, and he used the break in her balance to sweep her off her feet and onto the ground. The sun dazzled her eyes, silhouetting his head. He came down hard on top of her, still fully clothed. Her hair spilled among the leaves and vines. The smell of rich, ripe, growing things enveloped them.
    Hooking his thumb into the neckline of her tank top, he dragged it down, exposing her to the cool air and his heated gaze. The stretchy fabric caught beneath her breasts, pushing them upward like an offering.
    The sun glinted on her navel ring.
    He paused. With one finger, he touched the tiny aquamarine sparkling like a tear against her belly.
    “Beautiful.”
    But she was too far gone for compliments. Or delays. Grabbing his head, she guided it to her breasts. He suckled her strongly, his mouth hot and wet. She tangled her fingers in his sleek, warm hair, feeling the pull all the way to her womb. The earth exhaled as the sun poured down like honey, sealing her eyelids. It still was not enough. Never enough. Something had seized her, a hunger, a fever. She rose to meet him, her heels pressing the earth, feeling the clods cool between her