“Fuck yes,” he gasped, his other arm going around her waist, and he braced his feet, barreling up into her as she fell forward on spasms and disjointed cries. He released into her, heavy breath and groan camouflaged against her shoulder.
And then he fell back against the seat, head falling back as he stared up at the noon sun burning down on them. Cassidy was breathing hard against him, raining little kisses on his exposed neck, her movements sluggish. He caressed her back, knowing she was about to experience one hell of an adrenaline crash. He knew it because he wasn’t too far from it himself.
“Are you sorry?”
Mac frowned, blinking at the sky. She asked it so quietly while he was still inside of her. How the fuck could she think that?
They both moved at once. He sat up, and she lifted off of him, straightening her clothes, trying to discreetly wipe him off herself. While he rearranged himself and zipped his pants, he stared at her. She was straddled over him, on her knees, cheeks blazing red, not looking at him. He grasped her chin and forced her eyes up.
“What are you asking me?”
Cassidy’s brows came together. “I mean it. I can’t… When I… I hate you for scaring me like that.” She slapped his chest.
He searched her eyes; she was retreating. Her proclamations had been sincere, but now she was scared of his reaction toward them. He raised an ironic brow. “Sweetheart, not how I saw my day going, either; would’ve preferred to have skipped the exploding part.” Then he wagged his eyebrows. “Well, this second kind I’ll take all day long.”
“Mac!” She frowned with another sincere cry and chest slap.
He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her in, kissing her on top of her head. “Not sorry. And I’m fucking grateful for you.” His eyes wandered again toward the camera. “We need to get out of the marina.”
“I don’t want to go home.”
No, he wasn’t taking her home. There was too much for them to talk about before he motored her up to her dock. Before all the questions started coming at them. But fuck, he was tired. Alive and tired, and she was in his arms. “Not going home. Not right now.”
She nodded.
“Go down and sleep this off.”
“Not without you.”
“Day,” he argued.
She sat up and glared back. “Not. Without. You.”
His heart squeezed, but he gave in. “Okay.” She narrowed her eyes at him as though gauging his honesty, and he forced a chuckle. “Small boat, sweetheart, I can’t escape you.”
Satisfied, she crawled off his lap, straightening her shirt dress even more. Only then did she look around.
With a hearty smack to her ass, he teased as he passed by her, “Now you’re worried?”
“Too soon to joke,” she informed him, but she climbed up on the bench and leaned over to untie them.
When Mac had them easing away from the slip, Cassidy slid onto his lap, wrapping her arms around him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. He caressed her thigh once before returning to the business of navigation.
Cassidy knew the lake better than Mac and directed him to a private, shaded nook where they could anchor and rest without being bothered. To ensure search and rescue wouldn’t come looking for them again—although he was pretty sure they had left the marina under someone’s watchful eyes—Mac sent a text to Silas, and then to Grady, that they were okay.
Mac followed her descent to the cabin, watching her as she removed her dress. Her bra and underwear were next, haphazardly discarded. By the time he stepped off the last stair, she was in his arms again, mouth lifted to his, pressing against him. They clumsily made their way up onto the bed, mouths fused, tongues caressing, hands groping, his clothes shed, craving the connection of flesh and body parts eager to reconnect.
He was over her, in her, her teeth seeking his shoulder and biting, her yearning demanding an additional sacrifice on his part. He would give it. Whatever she needed of him, he’d provide. If she wanted blood, he’d spill it for her. He moaned, not from pain—not entirely, anyway; her teeth were sharp—but from the heady arousal accompanied by her marking him. It spurred him into a furious rhythm of jerking his hips, ramming into her.
Cassidy reared up against him, driving her heels into the mattress, her thighs cradling his hips, the motions of their meeting driving her wild as much as his cock claiming her. And god, he’d missed her, missed how he filled her, invaded every part of her, the softness of her body being worked against the rough planes of his, thrilling her, her nipples erect and sensitive for his hands to squeeze, tease, his mouth to suck. All meant to send her spiraling.
“Don’t stop,” she ordered, rearing upward.
He hadn’t even slowed his pace, but he murmured against her ear at her command, “Yes, ma’am.” He punctuated his words with a savage thrust.
But he knew what this was; it was unchecked emotion, it was a loss of control, it was fear and excitement and pleasure, and god knew what else. She’d been in shock, probably still was a little bit, and sex was a release. With her clinging to him as fiercely as she had in the alley, he urged her over the edge, giving her that release.
She hid her face against his neck, her body jolting and writhing against his. One hand tore at the hair at his nape. And he watched the pieces of her soul drift back to her until she lay spent and broken in his arms.